No one tells you that breaking can feel like both a betrayal and a relief.
That the life you prayed for might one day become the life you quietly walk away from.
That letting go isn’t always brave — sometimes it’s just necessary.
What Breaking Really Looks Like
I used to think “breaking” was one big moment — dramatic, cinematic, something everyone could see.
But now I know it’s rarely that.
It’s quieter. Slower. It happens in the small hours when you realise the life you built no longer feels like home.
There wasn’t one moment I broke. There were hundreds.
Moments that seemed insignificant to everyone else — but each one chipped away at the version of me I was trying to keep alive.
The conversation where I stayed silent instead of speaking my truth.
The morning I woke up and didn’t recognise the person in the mirror.
The smile that didn’t reach my eyes.
The goals that no longer lit me up.
That’s the thing about breaking — it doesn’t always look like collapse.
Sometimes it looks like calm detachment.
Like finally exhaling after holding your breath for too long.
When Your Soul Whispers “It’s Time”
One day, you look around and realise you’ve outgrown the life you thought you wanted.
The routines, the roles, the relationships — they don’t hold you anymore.
They once did, but now they feel too small, too heavy, too far from who you’re becoming.
And somewhere deep inside, your soul whispers, “It’s time.”
It’s terrifying.
It’s disorienting.
But it’s also true.
The Beginning After Breaking
Because breaking isn’t the end — it’s the beginning.
It’s the space between who you were and who you’re meant to be.
It’s the quiet surrender that makes room for rebuilding.
You don’t have to rush the rebuild.
You don’t have to explain the breaking.
You just have to honour it.
Let the pieces fall. Let the old version of you rest.
And when you’re ready, you’ll begin again — softer, clearer, and more yourself than ever before.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re breaking — you’re not broken. You’re unfolding. And on the other side of this unraveling, there’s a version of you waiting — freer, lighter, truer.
