Some days, life presses hard against me. The mistakes I’ve made, the people I’ve lost, the moments I wish I could take back… they leave marks I didn’t expect, lessons I didn’t ask for. I feel bruised by disappointment, by loss, by choices that hurt more than I can admit. I’ve stumbled, questioning my strength, my purpose, even my place in the world.
But even in the heaviness, something inside me refuses to give up. I am still here.
Every bruise I carry tells a story not of defeat, but of endurance. Of the times I got back up when it would have been easier to stay down. Of the resilience I didn’t know I had until life demanded it. I’m learning that being strong doesn’t mean being untouched. It means choosing to heal, to grow, to move forward, even when the path feels impossible.
I am not the same person I once was, and maybe that’s the point. I am becoming someone who understands that pain is not the end it’s a beginning. A teacher. A doorway to deeper strength. So yes, I am bruised. Life has hit hard. But I am not broken. I am still rising. Still learning. Still becoming the person I’m meant to be.
And in the quiet moments, when I simply breathe and let myself feel, I realize that being here bruised, scarred, but alive is enough.
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