You don’t know what broken is, until that moment, that remains undefined, when you suddenly understand that you will remain broken for the rest of your life. And that’s okay.

It is a culmination of so many pieces of you, that others chipped away from you, knowing, that their actions were infinitely harmful. Like that moment when you were facing the accused, taking the stand, defending your childhood as a victim of sexual molestation.

Or, that moment when you were sitting across from the father of your child, 13 years later, and you are told. “He is not my child and never will be.” A statement that knocks the wind from your gut. A man rejecting the child of whom paternity was determined in the same court more than a decade ago – a test done, at his request.

Or, perhaps, the reality took your breath away when you fell in love with hope and stepped out in faith, that maybe, just maybe, there can be love in brokenness. Only to realise that this was an illusion, a fantasy, of what is forever lost and unattainable?

The reality, that you’ve been hurt, without provocation, by those who should have been protecting you against harm from others. Instead, they devalued and hurt you.

My thoughts, a day before my son’s 15th birthday as I write with contentment in the knowledge that while I may be broken, I continue to rise in infinite love and gratitude for the gift of motherhood. The precious life, and blessing, my son.