I Love to Find Broken Things

Today, someone told me, “You love to find broken things.” At first, I didn’t know how to take it. Was it a compliment? A judgment? Or maybe just an observation about the way my heart works.

The truth is I do. I see beauty in what others call broken. I see possibility in pieces that don’t quite fit anymore. I see worth where the world has already turned away.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been broken myself. I know what it feels like to be overlooked, to feel unworthy, to sit in silence wondering if anyone will choose to love you where you are. That’s why when I see brokenness in someone else, I don’t run from it I lean in. I want to understand, to nurture, to remind them they are still valuable even in their shattered places.

But here’s the hard truth: loving broken things comes at a cost. Sometimes I try to fix what was never mine to fix. Sometimes I lose myself in the process of putting others back together. Sometimes I confuse love with rescue.

And then there’s the part I don’t always admit: sometimes I’m the one who needs fixing. I spend so much time being the healer, the comforter, the strong one, that I forget I carry my own wounds too. The healer needs healing. The fixer needs mending. The one who sees light in everyone else’s cracks often hides in her own shadows.

I’m learning that it’s not my job to save everyone. It’s not my role to pour from an empty cup until I’m left with nothing. Loving broken things doesn’t mean destroying myself it means offering compassion while still protecting my own heart.

Maybe that’s my gift: to see light in the dark, hope in the hurt, beauty in the broken. But maybe the greater lesson is this I deserve that same kind of love, too. The kind that doesn’t try to fix me, but simply sees me, holds me, and reminds me I’m still worthy in all my imperfect pieces.

Because in the end, even the healer needs to be healed. And sometimes the most beautiful love is when broken things come together and remind each other they were never unworthy to begin with.