You Are Not Broken (Even If It Feels Like It)

Let’s get this out of the way early: You are not broken. Even if it feels like it. Even if your brain has convinced you otherwise. Even if you’re so deep in the spiral you can’t remember what solid ground felt like.

You’re not broken. You’re tired. You’re overwhelmed. You’re probably unsupported. And you’ve been trying to carry the weight of your world with no one to hand the heavy stuff to.

If that sounds familiar, you’re not alone—and you’ve probably been gaslighting yourself into thinking you just need to “try harder” or “be better.”

I Didn’t Know I Was Struggling. I Just Thought I Sucked.

I’ve dealt with mental health issues for most of my life. The other part? I just didn’t know I was dealing with them yet.

And that’s how a lot of people live. Not broken—but misdiagnosed by the world and mislabeled by themselves.

You don’t realize that anxiety is what’s causing you to black out mid-presentation. You just think you’re “bad at public speaking.”

You don’t realize that unprocessed trauma is behind the emotional numbness. You just think you’re “cold.”

You don’t realize that your overthinking, panic, and shutdowns are symptoms. You just think you’re failing at being normal.

Anxiety Doesn’t Always Look Like Fear. Sometimes It Looks Like Silence.

I remember standing on a stage to speak and completely blacking out—not emotionally, but physically. I said “thank you” at the end, but had zero recollection of what happened in between.

That’s anxiety. Not nerves. Not butterflies. Straight-up hijacking of the mind and body.

And if you’ve ever experienced it, you know how hard it is to explain. Because to everyone else, it just looks like you did fine.

That’s the cruelty of invisible struggles: the world only sees you functioning. They don’t see what it costs you.

You Can’t Heal What You Can’t Name

Here’s the hardest truth I’ve learned in therapy: You can’t heal from what you refuse to name.

You can’t meditate through burnout if you won’t admit you’re burnt out. You can’t “positive vibe” your way out of panic. You can’t fix a problem you keep pretending is just a bad personality trait.

The first step is recognition. Not resolution. Just naming it.

I didn’t get better overnight. But I did get better once I started saying, “I’m not okay—and I need help figuring that out.”

You Don’t Have to Be Fixed to Be Functional

This is where a lot of people get stuck. They think healing means being happy. They think recovery means never spiraling again. They think success = symptom-free.

It doesn’t.

You don’t need to be “fixed” to live a full life. You just need to understand how you work, so you can work with your brain instead of constantly fighting it.

If you’ve got a glitchy operating system? Cool. Figure out how to keep the thing running anyway. Get the patches. Create the shortcuts. Ask for tech support when needed. But you don’t have to replace the machine.

Therapy Isn’t a Fix—It’s a Mirror

I’ve said this before: therapy didn’t give me some magic answer. It gave me a safe place to say, “This hurts. I don’t know why.”

It permitted me to stop pretending I had it all together. It gave me space to fall apart without judgment.

That’s not brokenness. That’s bravery.

So if you’re in therapy, or thinking about it, or avoiding it because it sounds “too serious”—I get it. But I’m telling you: you don’t have to hit rock bottom to ask for help. You just have to stop pretending you’re already at the top.

What If You’re Not Broken—Just Burnt Out?

It’s easy to label yourself broken when everything feels heavy. But ask yourself:

• Are you broken, or have you just been trying to do too much for too long with too little support?

• Are you broken, or are you just exhausted from carrying unspoken pain?

• Are you broken, or has the world failed to offer the necessary tools?

  
  

Sometimes, the answer isn’t to change who you are. It’s to change the story you’re telling yourself about what being “functional” looks like.

You Are Not Broken. You’re Still Here.

And that’s the mic drop. You’re still here. You’re reading this. This means part of you still believes there’s something worth salvaging—even if the rest of you doesn’t.

That part of you? That’s the truth-teller. The survivor. The core you that never stopped trying.

So no—you’re not broken. You’re just in progress.

And if no one has told you lately?

You’re doing better than you think.

And you deserve more support than you’ve been given.

Let’s work on changing that.