Thankful for the Breaking
Because what shattered me shaped me
Dear Breaking Season,
You came like a storm I never saw coming.
No warning, no mercy—just the sound of everything I built crashing to the ground.
You showed up in the middle of my plans, my prayers, my peace.
You took what I thought I needed to survive. You stripped me of certainty, of comfort, of control.
And for a long time, I thought you came to kill me.
But now I know… you came to reveal me.
See, I used to think “broken” meant “unusable.”
That God could only bless the version of me that was whole, polished, and presentable.
But you taught me something sacred—He doesn’t bless perfection, He blesses surrender.
You exposed the places in me that were cracked long before you ever showed up.
The hidden fears I masked with busyness.
The insecurities I dressed up with confidence.
The people-pleasing I disguised as love.
You peeled back the layers until all that was left was truth.
And it hurt.
It hurt to lose what I thought made me valuable.
It hurt to watch doors close and relationships fade.
It hurt to admit that I was exhausted from pretending I was okay.
But it was in that pain that I met God differently.
Not as the God who fixes things, but as the One who sits with me while it’s still broken.
The One who gathers every shattered piece and says, “I can still use that.”
The breaking stripped me, but it also stretched me.
It pulled something out of me I didn’t know I had—resilience, endurance, a quiet kind of faith.
Not the loud, shouting kind that needs evidence to believe…
but the whispering kind that says, “Even if it never changes, I still trust You.”
I used to pray for breakthrough, not realizing that breaking is part of breakthrough.
You can’t rise until something falls apart first.
You can’t pour out until you’ve been poured into—and sometimes, that requires being emptied.
Now, when I look back, I see you as a gift wrapped in pain.
Because you didn’t destroy me.
You delivered me—from people, from perfection, from the version of me that thought survival was enough.
You forced me to see that healing isn’t about going back—it’s about growing forward.
You showed me that the woman I was clinging to couldn’t carry where I’m going.
You taught me that surrender is strength, and tears are holy when they water new life.
So, Breaking, I thank you.
For introducing me to the version of myself that peace built.
For silencing the noise so I could finally hear God clearly.
For reminding me that sometimes losing everything reveals the One thing that matters.
I no longer hate you.
I honor you.
You were never the end of me—you were the birthing place of her.
The woman who now stands with healed hands, grateful eyes, and a grounded heart.
The woman who no longer hides behind what hurt her, but holds her head high because she survived it.
And if I ever start to forget what you taught me,
remind me that being broken was not the curse—it was the classroom.
It was where I learned how to breathe again,
how to release,
how to trust.
So, thank you, Breaking Season.
You shaped me for this moment.
You stripped me to strengthen me.
You emptied me to fill me again—with peace, purpose, and a love I never imagined I could carry.
And now I can finally say it without trembling—
I’m thankful for the breaking.
Because the version of me that stands here today isn’t fragile anymore.
She’s fireproof.
She’s free.
She’s found.
💖 Prayer
Father, thank You for every breaking that became a birthing.
For every time You allowed what I clung to fall away so I could cling to You instead.
Teach me to bless the breaking, to honor the process, and to never confuse pruning with punishment.
May every fragment of my past become a mirror that reflects Your grace.
💭 Journal Prompt
Write a letter to the season that broke you.
Name what it took, name what it taught, and name what it birthed in you.
Then say thank you—and release it.
🦋 Unmute. Heal. Amplify.
Dr. Apostle Anita McDaniel