The Shattered Heart

There comes a point in life where the pieces become too many to hold, too sharp to gather, and too painful to pretend they aren’t cutting you anymore. That’s where I am. Standing at the beginning of a story I never thought I’d have to tell — the story of a heart that has been shattered more times than anyone ever warned me was possible.

People talk about strength like it’s a choice. Like all you have to do is “keep going” and somehow things will magically get better. But the truth is… sometimes life doesn’t get better. Sometimes the weight doesn’t lift. Sometimes you look around at everything you’ve survived and wonder why surviving had to hurt so much.

I’ve carried loneliness in rooms full of people. I’ve felt empty while standing right next to the person I’m married to. I’ve held on when the only thing I wanted was rest — real rest, not the kind that comes after a long day, but the kind that comes after a long life of trying.

There are days I feel invisible. There are nights where my heart feels so broken that I’m not sure it even remembers how to beat whole anymore. It feels like something inside me cracked a long time ago, and instead of healing, the fracture just kept spreading — through my childhood, through my relationships, through all the moments where I needed someone to show up and no one did.

And so here I am. Writing. Not because I have all the answers or because I’ve suddenly figured out how to fix myself. I’m writing because holding all of this inside is becoming too heavy. I’m writing because even shattered hearts still deserve to be heard.

This is the beginning — not of a happy ending, not of a perfect recovery, not of pretending I’m okay. It’s the beginning of honesty. The beginning of letting my story exist outside the walls I’ve kept around it. The beginning of saying, “I’m hurting,” without apologizing for it.

Even in the darkest moments, some small part of me believes there might still be a reason I’m here — that somewhere in the brokenness, there’s meaning, or strength, or connection waiting to be found.

But right now… this is me. Shattered. Tired. Lonely even when I’m not alone. Trying to remember that a broken heart is still a living one.