Broken does not mean not fixable.

A birthday reflection

Broken does not mean not fixable.

Even if the fixing comes with super glue.

I want to tell you something I wish someone had told me earlier.

Ugh. That sounds cliché.

Okay, come, walk with me.

No. That sounds like one of those Twitter threads.

Alright. Close your eyes.

Relax. I’m not going to kill you. Just close them for a moment.

Take a deep breath.

Think about those things. The situations you cannot control.

Now try to control them.

Did you succeed?

If you did, congratulations.

If you didn’t, welcome to the broken league.

And it’s not that we lack strength or ability to control those situations, but that certain facts are unchangeable. We just cannot handle some situations.

Open your eyes.

Take this warm tea. It will ease the cold while you listen.

“You say? Oh, the super glue?”

I laughed.

“That comes after the story. It’s a free gift.”

Things break all the time, you know.

Mugs, glassware. tables. chairs.

So do bodies, plans, hearts, and dreams.

You pray. You try. You stretch yourself to the very edge of your limits. You hope until the river of hope begins to dry. You wait for another rain of optimism, and yet nothing moves the way you want it to.

My right leg. Let me start there.

Years ago, something happened to it. An accident tangled with a wrong injection.

Now, that face you’re making? Please don’t make it.

We did everything we could, but it never healed the way it was supposed to. It isn’t useless. No. But it is not what it used to be. For a long time, that made me feel broken too.

There was the subtle mockery at the beginning.

The innocent child across the road who laughed at the way I walked. I smiled and suddenly became aware of every step I took. Sometimes I wanted to grit my teeth at them like some grinch mama. That’s a lie. I always smiled. But I really wished I did that though. Lol.

Then there were the questions. Strangers throwing concern like stones.

“I think there’s a shoemaker down the road.”

I would smile again and say thank you.

“No, my shoe didn’t cut. I have a problem with my leg.”

Sometimes people don’t notice.

And yes, I rock heels. With confidence.

Just not everywhere.

Okay. I’m digressing. Lol.

Here is the point.

Recently, I decided I wanted to learn how to drive. And of course, it is the right leg that controls the accelerator.

At first, it felt like the world was laughing at me.

Like, “Look at you. Still trying to run when your leg won’t let you.”

It stung.

I cried quietly. The way strong people sometimes do.

And yes, I am a strong girl. Duh.

Do you know the violence it took for me to cry and make sure no one heard it? Because on a normal day, I cry like a hawk.

But I tried again, fixed the leg with a glue of determination.

I found a way.

Now I drive with that same leg. Slow but steady. Faulty, twitchy. Not perfect. But it works. And I get better every day.

That was when it hit me.

Broken does not mean not fixable.

And fixable does not always mean restored to what it once was. Sometimes it means adapting. Or perhaps rerouting. And even learning to love function over form.

Funny, right?

So to you, whatever your broken looks like. Your heart. Your confidence. Your body. Your dreams. I want you to know this.

You are not beyond repair.

Maybe you will never return to the version of yourself you miss. But that does not mean you cannot become something strong or functional.

Now take your super glue.

Fix what you can.

Adapt where you must.

And watch how beautifully whole you still are.

To another year of fruitfulness 🥂🤍