I hated summer for so long because of all my scars. I always thought people were staring at my arms and legs, wondering if I used to wrestle tigers for a living. But one day, I realized these are battle scars, and not only did I win the battle, I won the whole damn war. 

I've been a borderline since I was probably 13. I'm a survivor of r\*\*\*, SA, DV, a borderline mother (she was the witch, the waif, and the queen), su\*\*\*de attempts, and SH. I have chronic anxiety and C-PTSD. And I spent 12 years fighting like hell to get better. DBT, group, meds, hospitalization, one-on-one therapy. 

Now? Now I'm in my mid-50's, happily married, and about to be a grandma for the first time. I feel joy, I feel peace, I don't have thoughts of hurting myself. If you'd asked me 30 years ago what my life would be like at this age, I most likely would have told I didn't expect to live this long. But here I am. 

There's a Japanese art form called Kintsugi. Potters take broken pots and put them back together using liquid gold. The pots are more beautiful than they were before being broken. I like to think that people who have survived trauma, who have struggled with mental illness, who've seen some sh\*t, are like those pots: more beautiful for having been broken and put back together with gold.