There’s a resignation as you say it. As you talk about being broken. It pains me to see, to see how resigned you are when you talk about yourself. You’re way more impressive than you give yourself credit for. It’s wild that you don’t see it. Instead, you only see your flaws and shortcomings, aspects most people never see at all and certainly don’t hold against you, distracted as they are by your much more obvious strengths.

But this is not how you experience it. You feel broken.

And I feel like arguing with you — because the way you’re saying it, it’s clear that you think you’re damaged. That you have no redeeming qualities. That you’re a burden on the world and not a blessing.

And none of that is true. You are wonderful.

If you’re broken, it’s the other kind. You’re like an overpowered game mechanic — the kind that the player discovers and it instantly renders them incredibly powerful and the game ridiculously easy. “That’s so broken,” gamers say when they discover an exploit like that. A nifty hack that completely transforms the experience of a game.

You’re game-breaking that way. You change everything simply by being you. Yes, you experience this reality as being less than or damaged. But to everyone you know, you are transformative. You stick out sharply from other people with your kindness, your authenticity, your refreshing presence. To know you is to play a different game — because you’re so lovely, so much of a breath of fresh air, that if you were a game mechanic, you would be completely and utterly broken.

So maybe you’re right when you call yourself broken. Maybe that’s true. But not in the way you mean. Maybe it’s true in a different context, one that it is obvious to other people and hidden from you.