Broken Strings, Healing Chords: How I Found Strength in My Song
My name is Zalena, and I grew up in New York City, a place where dreams often feel just out of reach. My childhood was far from easy. At the age of seven, I witnessed my father’s sudden death—an image that never really left me. My mom, already struggling to make ends meet, had to pick up the pieces.
She lost her cleaning job soon after and took on a tougher role in housekeeping, barely keeping the lights on for us. Things got even darker one night when a robbery at her workplace turned into an attempted assault. Though she made it out physically unharmed, the trauma scarred her deeply. Watching her battle her fears while trying to raise me made me feel helpless and angry at the world.
Life in the Shadows
As a teenager, I sought solace in music, entering contests and pouring my heart out through melodies. But I always came up short. Rejection after rejection gave the mark of failure in my confidence, and I started retreating into myself.
My weight became a point of cruel mockery. One random day, I was walking down the street when a group of strangers cornered me, hurling insults and laughing at my body. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the hardest to shake. Even someone I thought cared for me—the man I trusted with my vulnerabilities—tried to take advantage of my innocence.
That was the breaking point. I felt like the world was too brutal for someone like me. I isolated myself, shutting out everyone and everything. In 2016, my mom passed away, leaving me completely unanchored. Strangely, her death didn’t just leave me grief-stricken—it lit a fire in me. I promised her memory that I wouldn’t let the misery define me anymore.
Finding a New Path
Two years later, I met Jane, a girl whose story felt like a mirror of mine. She was broken but determined, just like me. We bonded over music and art, but survival took precedence. Together, we scraped by, working odd jobs to pay for our shared apartment.
One day, while talking about our struggles, we decided to try something neither of us had considered before—becoming nurses. It wasn’t just about earning a paycheck; it was about finding purpose.
The journey wasn’t easy, but as Jane and I trained, we began to feel something we hadn’t in years—hope. Caring for others allowed us to see how deeply pain connects people and how healing doesn’t just flow one way. Over time, caregiving became more than a job. Every patient we helped taught us something about resilience, courage, and the human spirit.
There were moments when my mind was consumed by self-doubt and anxiety, the weight of my past creeping back. I often wondered if I’d ever be good enough, but nursing taught me to focus on the present. Slowly, I learned that overcoming anxiety in recovery was about acknowledging the gloomy presence of dark days and moving forward anyway to find the light ahead of our sights.
Navigating Grief in Recovery from the Traumas
Healing wasn’t linear, and grief didn’t disappear overnight. But I stopped running from it. Instead, I leaned into the lessons my grief had to teach me. Each step forward felt like reclaiming a piece of myself. Today, I feel balanced. The girl who once hid from the world now wakes up with a sense of purpose. I still hear the echoes of my past sometimes, but they don’t define me. They remind me of where I’ve been and how far I’ve come.
I’ve learned that life’s lows and highs are like music—vibrations and frequencies creating a melody uniquely our own. For me, that melody is one of resilience, love, and the power of giving. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine, and for that, I’m grateful.