Beauty in the Breakdown

We talk a lot about rising. Rebuilding. Becoming. But not enough about the moment before that—the breakdown.

The truth is, I didn't become strong in spite of my breakdowns. I became strong because of them.

There was a time in my life where I lost everything I thought made me "me". My body, after the accident. My independence. My confidence. My ability to walk. And for a moment—my will to live.

I had a breakdown in every sense of the word. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually.

But here's the thing they don't tell you: The breakdown is where the rebuilding begins.

In those dark, messy, ugly moments where everything feels shattered—that's where the truth starts to surface. That's where I found clarity. That's where I realized what I was really made of.

I stopped performing strength and started living it. I stopped pretending to be "fine" and started getting real.

There is beauty in the breakdown when you let it crack you open, not crush you. When you allow yourself to unravel, cry, scream, fall apart—and still choose to get up the next day.

One breakdown I remember vividly happened several years after my accident. It was after my second thoracic spinal fusion. I was lying in bed in more pain than I ever thought was possible. The medication they gave me wasn't helping—in fact, it seemed to make things worse. I was so malnourished I could barely eat, and I was deteriorating more and more with every passing day.

I remember laying there, crying so hard I could barely breathe, screaming at God. "Why did you save me from that car accident, just to make me suffer like this?" I felt completely abandoned. It was one of the lowest moments of my life—a total breakdown. One that rocked me to my core.

But I got through it. And I know now that it made me stronger.

Sometimes healing doesn’t look graceful. Sometimes it looks like surviving one minute at a time.

If you're in a breakdown right now, you're not broken. You're in a sacred pause before the rise.

You don’t have to rush your comeback. But don’t underestimate it either. Your breakdown isn’t the end of your story.

It might just be the beginning of your most powerful chapter.

With love,
Christina

Motherhood, Guilt & Grace

Motherhood is beautiful, messy, sacred, and so damn complicated.

We carry children in our arms, in our hearts, and sometimes only in our memories. We carry love, but we also carry guilt. Guilt for what we couldn’t do. For what we didn’t know. For the versions of ourselves we were while trying to survive.

I became a mother young. I loved my daughter deeply, and at the time, I thought giving her to her father’s family to raise was what was best for her. It hurt. Still hurts. But I made that choice from a place of love, not abandonment. And yet—the guilt never quite leaves.

Then came more motherhood. More lessons. Two amazing kids I get to raise and pour into every day. And now, I’m in the process of adopting my niece—my sister’s youngest child—after losing my sister in a car accident.

My motherhood journey isn’t traditional. It’s layered. It’s raw. It’s covered in battle scars and grace.

I’ve mothered through grief, through healing, through pain I didn’t think I could survive. And the one thing I’ve learned over and over again is this:

There is no perfect mother. There is only a present one.

I used to drown in the guilt of what I didn’t do, what I couldn’t fix, and the ways I fell short. But the truth is, I was doing the best I could with what I had—and most of us are.

So this week, I’m giving myself a little more grace. Maybe you need to, too.

Grace for the days you yelled. Grace for the tears you hid. Grace for the love you gave while you were still trying to learn how to love yourself.

To all the mothers out there—the biological, the adoptive, the bonus moms, the grieving, the hopeful, and the healing:

You are enough.

Not because you did it all perfectly, but because you never stopped loving.

This Mother’s Day, I hope you remind yourself: You are allowed to be both the storm and the calm. The nurturer and the one still healing.

You are not alone.

And you are never too far gone to rise again.

With love,
Christina

My Scars Don’t Shame Me—They Crown Me

When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted to be was a model.

Not because I craved attention—
but because something deep in me wanted to feel seen. Beautiful. Worthy.

But as I got older, life chipped away at that dream.
Insecure relationships, self-doubt, trauma...
I let it all convince me that I wasn’t enough.

And then came the accident.
Waking up from a coma, I was covered in 250 staples, wrapped in tubes, and surrounded by unfamiliar faces.
My body had been shattered and stitched back together.
When I finally saw the scars… I broke.

One of the very first thoughts I had was,
“Well, so much for ever becoming a model. Who would want to look at this?”

Fast forward five years later—
I was finally in the most healthy, supportive relationship I had ever known.
And one day, I got invited to a casting call.
My gut reaction? “No way. Not me. Not this body.”

But something in me whispered,

“What if the worst they can say is no?”

So I went.

I showed up to that room filled with flawless, airbrushed beauty—feeling like I didn’t belong.
And then they asked us to strip down to our bra and panties.

I was shaking. My scars were visible. My fear was louder than my heartbeat.

But when it came time to walk that runway…
I owned it.

I walked with my chin high, my spine straight, and every single scar on display.

And to my surprise, they didn’t look away.
They clapped. They cheered. They cried.

That moment—owning my story in front of strangers—changed everything.

Since then, my modeling career has taken off.
Not because I’m flawless, but because I’m real.
Because I represent something raw and untouchable: survival.

Now I model not to be seen, but to show others what can be seen.

So if you're hiding your scars—whether they're on your skin or in your heart—
I want you to know:

Your scars are not your shame.
They are your crown.
They mean you survived.
They mean you’re still here.
And they are more beautiful than perfection ever will be.

– Christina

Mindset Saved My Life: Why Your Thoughts Matter More Than You Think

There’s a lot I don’t remember from the night of my accident.
But there’s one memory that will never leave me:
Standing on the side of the highway, crying harder than anyone could imagine—looking down at my own body lying there.
I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t even scared.
I was gone… and yet somehow still fighting.
Fighting to stay.
Fighting not to go.

It was a total out-of-body experience—one final decision before everything went black.

When I woke up, the odds weren’t in my favor.
Doctors told my family to prepare for the worst.
They gave me a 7% chance of ever walking again, and warned that I might never even think again—that I would likely live the rest of my life in a nursing home.

And if I’m being honest, there were moments I wanted to believe them.
Moments when giving up would have been easier than hoping for a life I wasn’t sure I could reach.

But somewhere inside me, something stronger refused to quit.
A voice that whispered:

“You’re not finished yet.”

Mindset isn’t about pretending everything’s fine.
It’s not about forcing toxic positivity over real pain.
It’s about what you choose to believe in the moments that break you.

• I chose to believe healing was possible, even when everything felt shattered.

• I chose to see my scars as proof of survival, not shame.

• I chose to fight for a life I couldn’t yet see.

Was it easy?
Hell no.

Was it worth it?
Absolutely.

You are not your trauma.
You are not your diagnosis.
You are not your worst day.

You are what you decide to build next.

If my story teaches you anything, I hope it’s this:

Your mindset can save your life—if you let it.

And if you’re standing in the middle of your own wreckage right now,
I hope you hear this in your heart:

You’re not finished yet either.

– Christina

This Is Me: Why I’m Finally Sharing My Story

I’ve started and stopped this blog post more times than I can count.
Not because I don’t know what to say—but because for so long, I didn’t believe anyone would care to hear it.

But something shifted.

I’ve lived through more than most people could imagine—childhood trauma, sexual abuse, abusive relationships, a car accident that nearly took my life, and 22 surgeries that followed. I was clinically dead, told I’d never walk again, likely brain dead, and would need to live in a nursing home.

But I did walk again. I rebuilt myself. And today, I live with a fierce purpose.

I used to think my story made me “too much.”
Too intense. Too scarred. Too broken.
Now I know—my story makes me powerful. It makes me real.

This blog is where I finally stop hiding and start speaking loud.
It’s where I’ll share my journey—the healing, the hell, the hard truths and the high moments.
It’s for every person who’s ever felt like they weren’t enough, like their pain was too big to carry, or like they had to keep quiet to survive.

You don’t.

I hope my words help you breathe deeper, stand taller, and maybe even fight harder.
Because you were never meant to just survive either.
You were meant to rise.

This is just the beginning.
Thanks for being here with me.

– Christina

#Survivor #Mindset #Healing #ChristinaRanee