A Shell of Myself: What If We’re Not Broken—Just Re-Formed?
Author’s Note: While on vacation in Roatan (in the Bay Islands of Honduras), I was snorkeling and inspired to write a blog series called “Saltwater Musings” – a tropical take on love, loss, healing, and the courage to dive deeper…written in the style of the character Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City and in collaboration with AI. It was a fun project that got me thinking creatively while still supporting women who are going through divorce, loss, and rebirth. This blog, A Shell of Myself: What If We’re Not Broken—Just Re-Formed? is the final blog in the series. I hope this series inspires other women to plunge into the unknown to find something beautiful.
On my last morning in Roatan, I woke early and walked the beach alone. The sky was still smudged with stars, the air humid and sleepy. I was leaving that afternoon, but my suitcase wasn’t the only thing that felt full.
My heart was heavy—with endings, with beginnings, with all the little realizations that had floated to the surface during this trip. I wandered, barefoot, letting the tide sneak up and soak the hem of my dress. That’s when I saw it.
A seashell.
Broken.
Beautiful.
It was pinkish white, ridged like a fingerprint, with a jagged edge where some piece had clearly snapped off. It wasn’t perfect. But I picked it up anyway. Because in that moment, I realized: So was I.
The Myth of Wholeness
We spend so much of our lives chasing “whole.” As if it’s a destination. A fixed state. Something we lost along the way and need to earn back by doing all the right things—therapy, yoga, journaling, green juice, boundary setting.
We want to feel whole again after the divorce. After the betrayal. After the years we lost to someone else’s agenda. We want to be fixed. Polished. Untouched by our past.
But what if we were never meant to return to the person we were?
What if the goal isn’t to be unbroken—but reshaped?
What if healing looks more like sea glass than restoration? Worn by time. Softened by experience. Changed by the waves.
Still beautiful. Maybe even more so.
Beachcombing for Identity
There’s something meditative about walking the shore. You look down and suddenly you’re a child again—scanning for treasure, judging shells on instinct, picking up the ones that call to you.
I didn’t go looking for a metaphor that morning. But when I found that broken shell, I couldn’t unsee it.
Because for so long, I’d been trying to glue myself back together. To “bounce back.” To be the woman I was before things fell apart.
But what if that woman is gone? And what if that’s okay?
Breakage as Becoming
The woman I was before… she needed people to like her. She wanted love, but often settled for attention. She thought being chosen by someone else would finally mean she mattered.
The woman I am now?
She knows that being chosen starts with choosing yourself. That silence is not a failure—it’s a signal. That leaving is not always a loss.
I’m not unscathed. Far from it. I’ve cracked in places I didn’t even know could break. But those breaks? They let in light. They changed me. They revealed strength I didn’t know I had.
So maybe I’m not broken.
Maybe I’m just… becoming.
A Lesson From the Ocean
The ocean doesn’t return shells the way it found them. It tumbles them. Tests them. Wears them down until only the essential parts remain.
We don’t call those shells failures. We call them treasures.
So why don’t we do that with ourselves? Why do we treat our own wear and tear like evidence of damage, instead of proof we’ve lived?
Maybe that cracked shell on the beach was never meant to be discarded. Maybe it was meant to be held. Admired. Pocketed. A reminder that beauty doesn’t lie in perfection—but in the survival of the journey.
Who Are You After the Storm?
So many women I know—clients, friends, strangers who DM me after reading something raw I post—ask the same question:
How do I get back to who I was?
But what if the better question is:
Who am I now?
You are not the same woman who tolerated that job, that relationship, that silence.
You are not the same woman who cried in parking lots and bit her tongue and stayed when she wanted to run.
You’ve changed.
The storm didn’t destroy you.
It refined you.
And now, you get to choose who you become.
Reinvention vs. Recovery
For years, I treated healing like a return trip. I thought if I just did enough work, I could get “back” to a version of myself I liked better—one who was lighter, braver, more trusting.
But the truth is, that version never existed.
She was trying. She was faking it. She was holding her breath and calling it peace.
What I want now isn’t a recovery—it’s a reinvention. Not going back. But going forward, stronger for the breaking. Softer, too.
Because heartbreak doesn’t just harden us—it can humble us. And that humility? It’s where the real beauty starts.
The Woman Who Came Back From the Sea
As I write this, the waves are pulling back from shore in rhythmic pulses, like the ocean is exhaling. And I realize I’ve been holding my breath for years.
For the marriage that didn’t make it.
For the love I gave too easily.
For the version of myself I abandoned to keep someone else comfortable.
But now?
Now I exhale.
I let it out. All of it.
The grief. The guilt. The shame.
The hope, too.
Because I don’t want to carry it anymore. I want to make space—for new beginnings, for gentler love, for joy that doesn’t require me to shrink.
And that’s the most radical thing I’ve learned on this trip:
Healing doesn’t mean returning to who you were. It means creating space for who you’re becoming.
Final Thoughts from a Pocket Full of Shells
When I leave this island, I’ll take my shell with me.
Not because it’s perfect.
But because it reminds me that I don’t need to be.
We are all cracked open by life. Worn down by tides we didn’t see coming. Re-shaped by people who left fingerprints on our hearts. But if we’re lucky—if we keep going—we come out of it softened, stronger, more us than we’ve ever been.
So if you find yourself staring at the pieces of who you used to be, don’t rush to put them back together.
Pick them up slowly. Hold them in the sun. See what shines.
And then decide, lovingly, what comes next.
Because maybe you’re not a shell of yourself.
Maybe you’re just beginning to take your new shape.
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I hope you enjoyed this five part blog series, “Saltwater Musings”, and if you are a woman looking for a safe place for your divorce journey, contact Alexandra Geczi PLLC to help you take your new shape.
Missed the other blogs in the series?
Blog 1 – The Snorkeling Situation: Do We Have to Go Deeper to Find What We Really Want?
Blog 2 – Saltwater Cleanse: Is the Ocean the Only Place We’re Allowed to Fall Apart?
Blog 3 – The Beach Blanket Breakdown: When the Baggage You Unpack Isn’t in Your Suitcase
Blog 4 – Sunscreen and Second Chances: Can We Protect Ourselves From Getting Burned Again?