What didn't kill me shattered me into tiny pieces. Pieces I'm still putting back together many years after I thought I was fixed. Pieces that don't fit the way they used to.
What didn't kill me left scars and holes - footholds for anxiety, guilt, fear, shame.
What didn't kill me taught me it's OK not to be OK. It's OK to not know what you want or where you're going. It's necessary to be selfish sometimes.
What didn't kill me made me learn how to accept help and support from others. It made me try to be kinder to myself.
What didn't kill me didn't make me stronger, it did something far more valuable. It made me more tolerant. It made me aware that weakness is not always a flaw to be fixed, but can be a foothold for tenderness and understanding. It made my relationships stronger so I can better deal with the inevitable setbacks.
What didn't kill me taught me that I am, and will always be, a work in progress.
Perfection is a lie. I find that idea much more reassuring than I used to.
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