You Aren’t Broken, You Are Healing

Christian Acosta

For every time they tell you to take a step back, move forward. And, stop. Walk in circles. Do it all at once. Don’t constrict your limbs. Collapse if you must. Break down. Let yourself go.


Re-write. Scribble a few pages away. Hit the backspace rather generously, and start again. Pen down memories you want to re-live, moments you felt you could wrap nature in your arms and focus your cluttered mind on all things beautiful; the times you swam into the ocean despite your sea- sickness, letting the saltiness engulf your tongue and numb your taste buds, and in the numbness you opened your eyes and stretched your arms, letting your other senses feel the depth of the universe, as if in that moment, you lived.

Lived not just as a plus one to breathing, but invited yourself to explore spaces that you thought would make you claustrophobic. And, they probably did, but you also yearned the life you’ve dreaded for so long.


Weep and wail as if it detoxifies your body. Tears make you beautiful, because beyond that ache, you’ve learnt to be kind. Take out some ice cubes and clench it in your palms. Be kind to yourself as they melt away, reminding you how your state of being is so fragile and fluid. You don’t have to preserve them in the freezer.


The void. The empty spaces that weren’t meant to be. Live the silence. Be as helpless as you want to. Pick up the broken shards of your being and guard yourself against your own invasions. Stop trying to be the infinite. Be the multiple once. Let yourself grow, exponentially and finitely. Measure how long you take to bloom.


The stench of ugliness. The crooked staircase, and the dim-light hallways, and the scratch on the door – everything that doesn’t fall into symmetry – dark block colors, lacking shades and tones. Stretch your arms to the night sky without stars. Embrace the galaxies for what they can’t contain. Listen to the vulnerabilities – the ones you’re taught to neatly wrap up in beautiful looking packages for display. Lay it bare open.

You’re not broken. You’re healing. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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