Op-Ed: I Am Not Broken

And yet, within the exhaustion and upheaval, something unexpected stirred: the slow, steady growth of strength. Not the kind we celebrate on stages, but the quiet kind. The kind that shows up every single day and simply stays.

That quote offered me a framework. In caregiving, letting the experience define you can mean disappearing into the role, becoming invisible even to yourself. Letting it destroy you is a real risk—burnout, depression, financial ruin, and emotional isolation. But to let it strengthen you? That’s the radical, quiet revolution.

It means reimagining the caregiving journey not as a diminishment, but as a place where grace is practiced daily. Where identity isn’t lost, but expanded. Where love is no longer a feeling, but a choice made a hundred times a day.

I recently wrote the song, “I Am Not Broken,” for people, like myself, who live this reality.

It’s a folk-country anthem for caregivers of all kinds—parents of children with disabilities, spouses caring for partners through illness, adult children navigating dementia with their aging parents. People who rarely get their stories centered. People who are told to be strong, but rarely geniuinely asked how they are.

This isn’t a lament. It’s a declaration. The lyrics say:

I am not broken / Though the nights run long / Though the weight I carry / Feels a thousand strong…

I am not broken / I am becoming.

These lines are a rallying cry—for resilience, yes, but also for recognition. Because caregivers don’t need to be told to be tough. They need to be reminded that they can come through this, not for the worse, but rather, transformed. That they’re still whole, even when weary. That they are seen.

In this song, and in this story, I wanted to speak to the quiet triumphs that don’t get headlines: the hand held in the dark, the late-night tears, the courage it takes to show up again tomorrow. Because caregiving isn’t just about sacrifice. It’s about transformation.

No, we didn’t choose the hardship. But we can choose what it makes of us.

We can choose to be softened, not shattered.

To become, not break.

To say: I am not broken.

And believe it.