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Broken, But Not Beaten: How I’m Rebuilding a Life Worth Loving

Broken, But Not Beaten: How I’m Rebuilding a Life Worth Loving

I used to think being broken meant I had failed. That I’d never be whole again. But here’s what I’ve learned being broken isn’t the end of your story. It’s the beginning of a new one. One that you get to write.

My story cracked wide open on September 30, 1988. I was just seven years old when I watched my father take his last breath. It was a heart attack—his final one. I remember my mom frantically calling 911 from the landline in the kitchen, and me, still trying to understand death, asking her if Daddy was gone. She told me to go look. So I did. That day changed my life forever. The world stopped feeling safe.

Grief has a funny way of settling into the bones. You carry it into places you don’t even realize relationships, choices, coping mechanisms. For me, it led to two decades of running from pain. I turned to opioids, seeking numbness. I blurred every line when it came to sex and survival. I lived wild and reckless, chasing something that never came.

But on February 29, 2024 a leap day, fitting for a leap of faith I got clean. I’ve been sober since. Recovery hasn’t been easy, and it damn sure isn’t perfect. I still wrestle with choices. I still have to pause and weigh my actions before I act. But I’ve made peace with the fact that healing isn’t a straight line it’s a messy, magical spiral of falling, learning, and getting back up.

One of the hardest parts was changing everything, including how I work. I went from hustling for daily pay to waiting two weeks for a paycheck. That shift alone was a crash course in patience and trust. I’m still figuring it out. But the most important thing I’ve learned is this:

Even on my worst day clean, I’m doing better than my best day using.

My head is clearer. My heart is louder. I feel things now. And I let myself.

And I wouldn’t have made it this far without my best friend. He didn’t just open his house to me he opened his family and his heart. This past year would’ve broken me if not for his support. He made it bearable. He made it fun. He made it challenging in the best way. There were times when he was the only support I had, and he always gave me a shoulder to cry on when I needed it. I will never forget that kind of love and loyalty.

I’ve been slowly rebuilding my relationship with my mom something addiction once strained to the point of distance. She loved me from afar when I couldn’t love myself. Now, I’m showing up, one day at a time. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress. And that counts for something.

I still struggle with mental health. That’s a lifelong ride I’ve been on since childhood. But therapy helps. So do my Zoom NA meetings. I had to learn how to have fun again without self-destruction. Thank the gods both old and new for giving me The Sassy Gazette. Writing gives me joy. It gives me purpose. It gives me back me.

Not everyone made it into this next chapter with me. And that’s okay. Recovery requires boundaries. I’ve had to shrink my circle and love some people from a distance. I wish them well, always. But I’ve worked too hard this past year to let anyone jeopardize the fragile, beautiful thing I’m rebuilding.

If you’re struggling, hear this: It’s okay to be broken. But you owe it to yourself to start putting those fractured pieces back together. Dolly Parton’s song The Bargain Store really opened my eyes to this. We’re all a little worn, a little scarred but that doesn’t mean we’re worthless. It means we’ve lived.

Some days I’m my own best friend. Other days, I’m my own damn cheerleader. That’s how it has to be. Cry if you need to. Take a breath. Take a break. But then, honey pull yourself up by the bootstraps and take back your life.

I’ll leave you with the best advice Dolly ever gave me:

“Find out who you wanna be, and do that on purpose.” – Dolly Parton

I’m doing just that. And it feels like home.

A Note on the Visuals:
All images in this post were AI-generated by The Sassy Gazette editorial team.
These visuals are crafted to sharpen the mood, elevate the message, and scream metaphor — not mirror reality.

The glitter is fake. The fury is not.
When the truth needs a little edge, we hand it a spotlight and let it shine.

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