I am broken.

You are broken.

We are broken.

Some of us…some of us are shattered.

Some are so shattered that every time we exhale all we can do is watch the dust of ourselves blow away. As much as we try and grasp at that dust, try to catch who we used to be, we can never catch it because we are not that person anymore. We will never be that person again and that’s ok.

So we hold on to those still whole pieces that are rapidly falling from us, but what do we do now with the pieces that are broken and beyond repair?

Being broken isn’t inherently bad. Being broken gives us a chance to put ourselves back together. To bring newness to us.

At first we may be more like Frankenstein’s monster, with pieces that are rotten. Pieces that are ugly. Pieces that don’t fit.

But…

We can replace those pieces. In putting ourselves back together we have the opportunity to pick and choose and change our minds, as we have no mold or map to go by anymore. The expectations of self have fallen away, even if others pile their ideals on to us.

That is a wondrous thing.

The new pieces that were bloody, ugly, and unrecognizable to us, will heal with scars.

As time goes on our scars from the new pieces will fade. They will never be gone but will serve as a map of our journey. Our new selves. They are a reminder of the battle we have fought, of how far we have come.

Our babies lived. Our babies mattered. I believe our babies brought us to this sucktastic journey because each of us need to be torn down and be rebuilt. Who else can say that but us mothers who would give every thing to not be on this journey?

We are here. We are still mothers. We are still standing even if we are standing still. We will continue to to walk, crawl, run or leap rewriting and rebuilding the map of our selves.