What Broke Me. Built Me series….
PART 1: I CHOOSE MYSELF
I’m sitting on my front porch, and as the warm breeze moves through the trees, I can’t help but drift back to another porch. The furniture may be the same, but I’m not. I’m in a different place now: physically, emotionally, spiritually
Back then, I would sit outside not knowing where I was headed. I didn’t know what I wanted, only that I wanted a life that felt like me. One that reflected Brooke: not just the mother, but the woman too.
The days are still long. They’re hard, messy, and unpredictable. I didn’t expect to be here a year or two ago. But here I am. And somehow, there’s beauty in building it all myself. The lessons. The quiet strength I’ve found in showing up, day after day. The woman I’ve become through it all.
I never imagined I’d be raising a baby alone. But the truth is, I’m not. I have three incredible children who complete my little circle. Together, we laugh, cry, grow, and carry each other. We see each other’s struggles and celebrate each other’s strengths. And I know now: we all belong here. Bailey is not just a baby raised by one woman, he’s part of something so strong. A legacy I am building with my own hands.
It’s humbling, even ironic at times, to look around and realize: this is the family I’ve nurtured. This is the family I belong to. And while it may not look “traditional,” it is whole. It is normal. It is ours. And it is rooted in love.
My children will grow up knowing that love isn’t about convenience. It’s not something you walk out of when it stops serving you. Love is showing up. It’s found in the small, simple, everyday tasks. In the breakfast routines, the bedtime songs, the scraped knees, and the car rides. That’s where traditions are made. That’s where memories live.
And while I’m tired, I’m also grounded. Rooted. My foundation is solid. I know who I am, and I know what I was made for.
My days start before the sun comes up. I wake, not just for myself, but for my baby; feeding him, changing him, dressing him, tickling him, smiling with him. And in those moments, I’m reminded: this is love. Not the kind that needs to be spoken or promised, but the kind that is shown, over and over again, especially when it’s hard.
This isn’t starting over. This is starting true. I’m not borrowing someone else’s life. I’m not stepping into a role or in someone else’s story. I’m writing my own. And it is worth every tear, every ounce of strength, every sacred beginning.
You might say I was never this strong, but the truth is, I’ve been laying the foundation all along. Every stone I placed, every risk I took, every goodbye I survived, it brought me here.
This season is made of resilience. And that’s what makes it love.
I’ve always had this gift of turning broken things into beauty. Of taking the pieces and creating something meaningful.
What I’m writing here isn’t just content, it’s a movement. It’s the rising of a woman who chose herself. It’s the birth of something bold, and brave, and entirely mine.
My story will not be silenced.
It will be the story that sets other women free.
