What Broke Me. Built Me series.

Part 2: The Rebuild

When I think about the past few years, I can’t help but reflect on how many pieces of my life felt completely broken. But now I’m realizing, there was actually nothing broken at all. It was an unraveling, a shedding I couldn’t yet see.

I was married for 17 years. I was a wife, a mother. I had a home and a family, and everything I had ever known started when I was just 19 years old.

Looking back now, I barely recognize the girl who grew into the woman I am. I still see her sometimes. I remember her smile, her laugh. I think about her routine, her dreams, the ones she hadn’t yet dared to chase. And even though I feel like I don’t fully know her anymore, I carry pieces of her still. Those pieces built my character. They built my strength. They shaped my purpose.

I became a young mom. I remember those early days, home with two toddlers, only two and a half years apart. I lived in a fog, not knowing what direction my life would take. That town, that family, that home we built, it was all I had ever known. It was a safety net. A bubble. Life may have felt mundane, but it was mine.

What I didn’t realize then was that the unsettled feeling I had, the sleepless nights, the quiet ache, was because I had never truly chosen myself. From the very beginning, I’d been pouring into everything but me. I hadn’t faced what needed healing. I hadn’t even started writing my own story. That’s where the unraveling began.

I coped the best way I knew how. I moved through my days like a machine, showing up, holding it all together, but never truly allowing myself to feel. When my marriage ended, I was left with all the broken pieces scattered around me, and no idea who I was or where I was going.

I felt lost. I knew that chapter had closed, 17 years of life since I was 19, and it was over. And while it had been beautiful in its own way, I couldn’t keep living the same story in a life that no longer fit. I didn’t want to keep rewriting a version of myself that wasn’t mine. I needed something new, even though I didn’t yet know how to begin.

So I did what I knew: I stayed busy. I buried the grief in motherhood. But truthfully, I missed being a wife. I missed the togetherness. Eventually, I found myself hiking and healing alone in the North Georgia mountains. And in time, I made the decision to uproot my kids and begin again, our brand new chapter.

And as if that wasn’t enough change, I found myself pregnant again.

That chapter of my life, the baby years, had been closed in my mind, but never in my heart. I don’t think I’ll ever stop longing to hold a baby in my arms. I never thought I’d get that chance again… to nurture, to kiss soft cheeks, to start fresh as a new mother.

It’s strange knowing this baby will never know that town where it all began. He’ll never grow up in that old home. He won’t remember the memories my three older children and I still carry, but I was hopeful. I was ready to build something new with him.

And this time, I was standing on my own two feet.

Pregnancy looked and felt different. All I had to compare it to were my three older babies, three pregnancies with the same partner, side by side. But now… I was Brooke. Alone.

I had no doubt that this baby would be loved, protected, and raised with intention. He would have purpose. He would be part of the family I was building. Part of the legacy I was choosing.

Those first few months, holding him in the quiet of the night: nursing, rocking, remembering, it was nostalgic… but also lonely. That old ache came back. But this time, I reminded myself of my purpose. I reminded myself that my strength in motherhood had brought me here for a reason.

In the small moments, Bailey’s first laugh, his first smile, I would smile through tears and glance around the room, instinctively searching for someone to share it with. But instead, I found my three children rallying behind him. Celebrating with me. Celebrating him.

We witnessed each milestone together.

And though the ache still lingered, it began to fade, because I finally saw the beauty in all the pieces coming together.

I wasn’t finding myself.

I was meeting her for the very first time.