I've been broken.
Saddened.
Left to cradle the pieces of a heart that has forgotten how many times it has shattered.
I know — I know — that true love begins with self-love.
But that truth never stopped me from loving others more than I ever loved myself.
It never stopped me from falling , again and again .
even when I swore my wings were too torn to fly.
I've been hurt so deeply,
I thought I'd never open up again.
Yet I did.
I grew.
And then I was broken again.
And again.
It became a cycle.
Like a wound that scabs over, only to bleed again with the slightest tug,
from a misunderstood word,
a forgotten text,
a fantasy I let myself believe in.
They say pain makes you stronger.
But sometimes, it just makes you softer in ways that no one sees.
More guarded.
More tender.
More tired.
And still, I walk this path.
Because healing — real healing — isn't linear.
It's a storm that comes and goes,
sometimes quietly, sometimes violently.
And the journey to self-love?
It's not paved with affirmations and morning sunlight.
It's a dark, winding road that tests you,
breaks you,
and then dares you to piece yourself together differently.
Some days, I wonder why it has to be this hard.
Why love, both given and received feels like a battlefield where I keep losing parts of myself.
But then I remember:
The journey to self-love is for the chosen.
And maybe I didn't choose it…
Maybe it chose me.
Because only those who've been cracked open again and again
can learn the art of glowing in their own light ,
even when no one else sees them.
And maybe that's the most powerful love of all.