Photorealistic image of a woman with angel wings breaking out of a cracked stone egg, with words like doubt and fear written on the fragments.

The history of our lives is written in the damage to our bodies. It is etched in the lines on our faces, the scars on our bodies, and the pain in our souls. Every line tells a story. Every scar carries a memory. Every pain leaves its invisible mark. They are the evidence of who we are, where we have been, what we have endured, and all that we have survived. But history does not have to be destiny. There comes a time when we must break forth from the scarred, painful, self-built cocoon of our history that has held us. A cocoon can protect us, shelter us, even save us—but there comes a moment when it becomes a prison. And when that moment of realization comes, we must tear through it. Break forth. Fight for the life within the glowing, emblazoned you. Run from the things that would keep you trapped. Run toward what awaits beyond the walls of the life you have known. And when the time comes, spread your wings and fly. The lines will remain. The scars will remain. The memory of the pain will remain. But so will you. And perhaps that is what that damage has been telling us all along: not that we are broken, but that we have survived. Break forth. Fight. Run. Fly. See more