There were times I really thought I was done. Not in a dramatic way, just… empty. Burnt out. Like something essential in me had been quietly taken apart piece by piece. I’ve been through things that should have broken me. And in some ways, they did. I’m not untouched. I’m not “healed” in some clean, finished way. There are still cracks. There are days I feel like I’m barely holding it together. But here’s the part I keep coming back to— nothing has been able to actually destroy me. Not what people did. Not what I lost. Not the nights I didn’t think I’d make it through. Something in me keeps surviving. Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But it survives. And I’m starting to trust that part. Maybe resilience isn’t about becoming unbreakable. Maybe it’s about realizing that even when you do break… there’s still something underneath that can’t be touched. I don’t feel powerful all the time. Honestly, sometimes I feel like a mess. But I’m still here. And I think that means something.