You Are Not Broken: A Story of Quiet Survival and Finding Strength in the Mess (My Story)

I’ve always loved music. For me, it’s been a way of connecting to myself, to my emotions, to something bigger. So when I noticed I couldn’t feel much while listening to it anymore, when it just became background noise, I knew something was off. That’s often a quiet sign, amongst others I’m not quite myself.

There have been long stretches, on and off, where the things that usually bring me joy like music just don’t land. No emotional spark, no sense of connection. The same happens with basic tasks. Doing laundry, tidying up and the necessities of life things that should be simple start to feel like climbing a mountain . There’s a sense of hitting a brick wall, of being stuck.

And for a long time, I didn’t have the words for it. I just knew that under my calm exterior, I was carrying more than most people could see. Now, I want to begin sharing little parts of my story, even though it’s hard because I truly want to help others through honesty.

The Inner Life No One Saw

I’ve often been described as “the good girl.” People have called me calm, kind, even angelic. And yes, there’s truth in that. But it’s not the whole story.

Underneath that exterior, I’ve always struggled with negative self-talk. I remember feeling unworthy and different from as young as five years old. I shrank myself emotionally, stayed quiet, rarely expressed what I was really feeling. People called me shy, but it was more than that. It was self-protection.

And yet, I wasn’t invisible. I always had friends, I was part of a group. I did well in school and loved learning. But even that came with its own pain, like the time I was avoided by a group of classmates (who i’m now fine with) for doing slightly better than them in my last year of school. I remember trying to dim myself down just to fit in. Eventually, I chose to lean into my passions, even if it made others uncomfortable. But the belief that being fully myself was “too much” stayed with me.

The Chaos I Grew Up In

It’s only recently that I’ve truly come to terms with how chaotic my childhood was. One of my parents, who I love deeply, has been severely mentally ill my whole life and often absent during my early years. I was with childminders most days, moving between homes, while my well parent did their best to care for the family amid impossible circumstances but also wasn't physically or emotionally available enough.

Even though I was loved, the emotional neglect I experienced was real. I didn’t grow up with routines. I didn’t see what adulthood looked like day-to-day. One parent was caught in a legal battle and as a carer to my ill parent, the other was barely around and unwell, and I often felt confused and emotionally untethered.

We lived in a converted shed near my grandparents’ house due to poverty. It wasn’t glamorous, it was cramped and very unconventional. But that was my normal. What hurt wasn’t the situation itself, but how others reacted to it. Cruel comments from classmates. Dismissive words from professionals who supported my family. They didn’t get it. It left a mark.

The Storm Beneath the Calm

On the outside, I’ve always looked serene. But internally, I’ve bounced between emotional overwhelm and anxiety and complete numbness, whilst also experiencing genuine postive emotions. I rarely sat in the middle ground. It was either too much or nothing at all and that’s exhausting.

Only now do I realise this was my nervous system trying to survive. I wasn’t lazy or emotionally immature. I was protecting myself the only way I knew how. Even as an adult, I’ve learned to hide it well. I smile, I show up, I carry on. But behind the mask is someone who has struggled with anxiety, low-level depression, burnout and maybe even PTSD.

The Small Things That Stay With You

There’s one memory from childhood that’s stayed with me so vividly. I was in the school nativity play, in a starring role (which I felt very nervous about) as the Angel Gabriel and my well parent was meant to pick me up afterwards. I was already used to not having my parents come to watch those kinds of things, performances, school events. That kind of involvement was rare. But I remember waiting, feeling so much anxiety when they were late.

It wasn’t just that moment, it was everything it represented. I didn’t have a proper costume either. Just small, simple things that, on the surface, don’t seem like a big deal. But they are. To a child, they matter more than we realise. They become the little emotional imprints that linger long after the moment passes.

The Weight of What Others Can’t See

Sometimes, the chaos I carry inside shows up in the simplest places. Not long ago, I was staying over at a friend’s place, and we were making up the bed together. She looked at me and asked, “Have you never made a bed before?”

And I just stood there for a moment. Because yes, I do these things every day. But maybe what she didn’t realise is how hard I was finding everything, even basic tasks at that point in time. It’s not because I’m incapable. It’s just, I’m very in my head. I’ve lived so much of my life in survival mode or in emotional overwhelm that the down-to-earth, practical stuff sometimes feels like it flies right over my head.And for a long time, I saw that as a flaw. A weakness. Like I should just be able to do these things with ease.

The truth is, she wasn’t wrong for asking. She was just being normal. It was a casual comment, not meant to hurt me. But it hit me because in that moment I realised just how fragile I still was. And how well I’d been hiding it, even to myself. It’s strange how the smallest, most ordinary things can carry so much weight.

In that moment, I thought: It doesn’t matter. Not really. Because i’ve realised that while practicality is useful, its not a measure of character. If she knew how much I’ve been suffering inside, how hard it’s been just to get out of bed some days, she wouldn’t have made that comment. Just showing up, being there, making conversation, that was already a huge act of courage.

The Risks I Took to Feel Something

At times, I’ve taken risks, nothing extreme, but moments that could have turned out badly. Not because I’m reckless, but because I was numb. I wanted to feel something and I had moments where I felt I don’t care anymore. Those choices weren’t brave they were coping mechanisms. I don’t judge myself for them. That version of me needed care, not criticism.Thankfully, I’ve mostly made sensible choices in life. I haven’t taken things to a dangerous extreme. But there have been a few times where I’ve looked back and thought, What was I doing? Something bad could have happened.

And it wasn’t just about actions I took, it was also about who I let into my life. I made poor choices in trusting people who, because of their own unhealed chaos and pain, ended up hurting me deeply. Sometimes it wasn’t intentional on their part but the impact was still there. I was in a vulnerable place, and I didn’t always have the tools to spot what was unhealthy or unsafe. I believe this is strongly connected to the patterns and internal messages about myself that I learned and created unconsciously. Messages like I’m not worth protecting, this is the love I deserve, or I have to accept whatever is given. These beliefs were never consciously chosen but they were shaped by my early experiences, and for a long time, they quietly guided the way I let people treat me.

Now I’m learning to rewrite them, with more self-awareness, more gentleness, and a lot more care but it is still not always easy.



What I’ve Managed to Do Anyway

Despite everything, I’ve achieved things I’m proud of. I got my degrees, even though university was a rocky experience with ups and downs. And honestly, i’m proud of that. I’ve spoken on podcasts and blogs about supporting a loved one with a mental illness and to try and reduce stigma . I’ve taken part in awareness campaigns, served as a trustee as a young adult, been a guest panelist, and spoken to hundreds of schoolchildren about mental health. These moments helped me see my value and inspired me to start this blog and i’m grateful to those who say something in me and gave me opportunities. When I was a guest on a local radio show raising awareness, the interviewer said to me, ‘You should do a podcast to talk about all of this’. At the time I tucked the idea away. But now, I feel ready to share something, ready to speak more openly about the things i’ve carried and the lessons i’ve learned. And the reason I share my achievements is to show you that it’s possible to turn your pain, your difficult circumstances, into something meaningful. You can shape a life that you are proud of, even if it’s been messy or hard. I’ve done that and I want to keep doing that even more.

To See Someone Like That Misunderstood or Dismissed because of their Illness is Soul-Crushing

But behind those moments and even now there is chaos. My ill parent’s condition has been severe, multiple suicide attempts, hospitalisations, going missing and being found by the police several times and more things that are shocking and distressing to me who knows the situation inside out, let alone others.

This parent is the most sensitive, deeply creative, sweet and kind people I know, an inspiration to me. That’s why it frustrates me even are that there is still so much stigma around mental health, especially when illness is severe, long-term and at times invisible. My parent isn’t always seen as being on the same level as others. They’ve been spoken to as as if they are less capable, less human, less deserving. However, I must acknowledge that there have also been people, especially in hospitals who have been amazing: empathetic, kind and understanding. Those people have my deepest admiration.

Healing, Grace, and the Journey Back to Myself

Eventually, I burned out completely. I left my job, not just because I wanted something new, but because I didn't have much left to give. It was a chance to breathe. Unexpectedly, the pain I’d been holding hit me all at once. I was emotionally and physically drained , not only from being there for my parent and constant stress and unpredictability, but also from the grief I was carrying. Over the last few years, I’ve experienced a lot of loss, including bereavements of people who meant a great deal to me. And all of it, combined finally caught up with me. For months, I sank into a deep low and at the time of writing this,I still am a little low. But that crash began my true healing, as painful as it was and I needed that pause.

Now, I’m learning to create emotional safety. To build gentle routines. To nourish my body and finally treat myself like I matter. I still bury my true feelings sometimes. I still find it hard to let people in. But I’m trying. Slowly, but surely.

You Are Not Broken

If you’ve grown up in chaos, if your story doesn’t fit the mould, please hear this: you are not broken or weird. You are human. And your life doesn’t have to look perfect to be valuable.

I’ve grown more compassionate because of my pain. Am more patient. More open. My childhood lacked structure and safety, but it taught me how to feel deeply, be empathetic and open minded, how to love hard, and how to keep going.

I’m using that strength now. To heal. To help. To become more myself.

And if you’re still here, still trying, that’s your strength too.

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Burnout: A Personal Reflection and a Path Towards Healing