They say that when something breaks, it can never be the same again.
And that’s true — I am not the same as I was before. But I’ve come to see that being different is not the same as being weaker. Sometimes, it’s in the broken places where our greatest strength is born.

I used to look at my scars with shame.
I thought they made me less, proof that I had failed, proof that I had been hurt too deeply. But now I see them as maps — reminders of the storms I survived, evidence that even when the world tried to break me, I did not stay broken.

The cracks in me let the light in.
They remind me that I am human, fragile and strong all at once. They remind me that pain is not the end, but the beginning of transformation.

Strength doesn’t always roar.
Sometimes it whispers in the quiet moments:
in choosing to get out of bed when you want to hide,
in daring to love again when your heart is still trembling,
in smiling even though your soul still aches.

I am stronger not because I avoided breaking, but because I learned how to stand after I fell apart.
And though I may never be the same as I was before, maybe that’s the point. Maybe I was never meant to stay the same.

So I honor the broken places, because they are not signs of weakness.
They are the places where I was remade.
Where pain carved space for resilience.
Where endings carved the path for beginnings.

And today, I carry my scars with pride.
Because they are proof of one simple truth:
I am still here.

Always and Forever

💬 What did your broken places teach you about strength? Share in the comments — your words may remind someone else of their own resilience.