I don’t remember life with a heart that was whole. From 4 years old there was always something missing and piece after piece I lost. Life for me was always something to endure, never to truly enjoy. I saw it as a challenge, as a test to prove that I could be strong no matter what.

The future was dim at best. The parts of me that I no longer had loomed over what was left. The pain became the only thing that made me feel alive. I learned how to be happy despite my trials. But no matter what version of the future I saw there were always things missing and I accepted that true happiness just didn’t belong to me.

I accepted that I would never be whole. That I would never have the things others had and that pieces of my heart would forever be so far away from me. I prayed my pain away. I begged for a different path. But oh how grateful I am now that he didn’t just take it all away.

I found the missing pieces in the broken cracks within my own heart. They truly did reflect the most beautiful kaleidoscopic view. And that view was mine. I found the “whole” version of myself among all the broken pieces.

The very cracks that I thought made me broken were in fact the pieces that made me whole.

My broken heart is my most prized possession, for within it holds every thing I’ve ever loved and its spaces have given me my greatest joys.

It is the very essence of who I am and it holds my journey to happiness.

It’s in the darkest shadows that I’ve found my light and in my weakest moments that I’ve found my greatest strength.

There truly is so much beauty in tragedy. So much joy that can be found in turmoil. I would never give up my greatest heart breaks. I would never wish away my cracks. My heart will forever remain broken, in the most beautiful and incredible ways.

And that brokenness is the very thing that makes me whole.