“The Person I’m Becoming”

“I’m made of missing pieces, but I’m still whole.”

If you had told me years ago that I’d survive everything I’ve been through, I wouldn’t have believed you. Back then, survival didn’t feel possible. It felt like too much pain, too much loss, too many people walking away.

But here I am. Still standing. Still becoming.

I’m not the same girl who used to sit in empty hallways, wondering if anyone would notice if she disappeared. I’m not the same person who thought being left meant she wasn’t worth loving. I’m not even the same person I was a year ago. I’ve grown softer in some ways, stronger in others. I’ve learned that softness isn’t weakness — it’s choosing to keep loving in a world that’s given you a hundred reasons not to. I’ve learned that strength isn’t just pushing through the pain — sometimes it’s letting yourself feel it.

I’m a nurse now, caring for people the way I wish someone had cared for me. I’m a parent, loving my children in ways that break old cycles. I’m an artist, painting feelings I can’t put into words. I’m someone who still cries at sunsets and gets lost in songs, who still notices the way wind moves through trees, who still finds beauty in little things.

I still carry the missing pieces. The parents who left. The friends who weren’t real. The years of feeling invisible. Those parts of my story will always be with me. But they don’t define me anymore.

Because I’m not just the girl who was abandoned. I’m not just the one who was bullied or betrayed. I’m not just the kid who felt like a burden.

I am the woman who rose from all of it. The one who built a life out of the pieces she was given. The one who’s still learning, still loving, still here.

And maybe I’ll never feel completely “finished” — but maybe that’s the point.
We’re all still becoming.
And in my becoming, I’ve learned this: even with missing pieces, you can still be whole.