50 letters. 50 lessons in life. And a poem from my heart.

Dear reader,

This is letter number fifty.

Fifty weeks of showing up to the page and myself. Fifty weeks (50 lessons in life) of sharing the tangled thoughts, hidden fears, messy contradictions, and quiet revelations that come with being a woman, a mother, a partner, a coach, and most of all… a human.

Each week, I’ve written from wherever I was standing in confidence, in collapse, in control, or chaos. And today, I want to bring those pieces together in the only way that feels honest enough. A poem. A reflection. A reckoning.

This is for all of us who were once shiny and new and have since cracked and come undone in pursuit of love, perfection, and approval.

This is The Broken Doll.

The Broken Doll

By Vikki da Rocha

She came into the world whole and complete,

new shiny and boxed up perfectly.

No questions or doubts just happy to BE

with nothing but hopes and dreams.

Once unwrapped, the joy of being new felt thrilling,

the love, the cuddles, the endless caress

built the new shiny doll up

helping her leap, jump and dance with glee.

Then things shift, just slightly at first,

she is no longer so new and prioritised first.

There are other things that have come,

and she feels left behind, so what does she do?

She adapts and tries to shine.

She stretches and leaps,

“look at me,” she says so loud

but the muffled sounds keep drowning her out.

She tries to understand what made the love disappear.

Was it her?

Was it something she did that made it go clear?

Every time she twists and turns

she hears a crack but ignores its burn.

That will be fine, she mutters to herself

just keep on dancing,

they will see you again

and you can be on top of the shelf pride of place.

She searches in places to find the lost love,

but the cracks keep coming

as the love is not right.

She is thrown, she is pulled at and terrified at times

but the need to keep turning

with arms stretched out wide

keeps her going even when there is nothing but hate inside.

She looks in the mirror,

who is that she declares?

They are so broken, dirty and scared.

She feels sorry for that broken doll,

but at least it’s not her

she is shining and bold.

But then she looks again,

wait — what is that?

A small crack in her dress,

how did that get there?

She tries to find the broken doll she had seen

to ask ‘how to fix her small crack’

and as she searches for the doll

only she herself looks back.

And suddenly she sees it

the crack has spread more,

the dirty broken doll was her all along.

She has danced and shone for everyone else

but in the darkest moments of night

she realises the truth,

she danced to please,

she shone to get it back —

the love she lost when she first arrived.

Instead of evolving and learning to move

she just kept on doing what she thought she had to do.

But when no one is watching

and when she can’t turn anymore,

she realises she is tired and searching for more.

A deeper love for being just her,

no longer new but broken and torn.

Her scars are lessons, she knows that for sure,

but she kept picking at them to try to make them go away,

instead, she realises they are there to show her the way.

Each scar which is healed over will never go away,

so keep spinning the same way?

Instead, learn to love them,

and know they will hurt again

but each new lesson means she is living today.

Yes, she is a broken doll,

no longer shiny and new

but she loves the scars that she has carried through.

It’s lumpy, it’s dirty and not all are healed

But she will keep dancing

only this time to her own special reel.

She dances for herself, no one has to see.

She dances for the losses, the missed opportunities,

She dances for the faces of those she searched for love,

She now knows they too get down in the dumps.

She dances for the pain of her decisions,

for the times when she has never forgiven.

She dances now slowly and with love for herself

because she knows she is whole just as herself.

I am the broken doll,

my story is not profound,

I am sure we have heard the tales of those left unfound.

But this is my story

with all of its stitches

all knotted, stretched and twisted.

So come in close everyone

for my story is about to start,

the story of the broken doll

who would not fall apart.

I’m not perfect (besides who would want to be). I’m not polished. (too shiny anyway) But I am real oh so very real! And like the broken doll, I’m not here to be put back on the shelf, I’m here to move, to feel, to keep growing and becoming the person I am meant to be.

These letters were never about having it all figured out, although it would have been easier sometimes. They were about going through all the emotions and moments learning and realising with every step that we managed; we got through it and we are still smiling and most definitely dancing along the way.

Because something shifts when you realise that the cracks are not the problem they are the proof of having lived. And that perhaps, just perhaps, you don’t need to shine for anyone else anymore.

That you can dance simply because it brings you back to yourself.

5 Lessons from 50 Letters

Over the past year, I’ve learned…

1. You don’t have to be perfect to be powerful.

The more honest you are about your mess, the more magnetic you become.

2. The words we say to ourselves become the world we live in.

I’ve seen the shift that happens when we change “I should be better” to “I’m doing beautifully.”

3. Our children don’t need our perfection — they need our presence.

The letter on comparison and chaos was for every mum who’s ever felt like she’s getting it wrong.

4. The mind is a mirror.

Perception is projection. What we judge in others often leads us back to what we haven’t healed in ourselves.

5. Growth is not always loud.

Sometimes it’s the quiet moment when you choose to rest instead of push. When you say no without explaining. When you finally let go of the story that’s kept you stuck.

Your Invitation

As I close this chapter of 50 letters, I invite you to pause and ask yourself:

• What has this past year shown you?

• Where are your cracks — and what are they teaching you?

• Are you dancing to be seen, or because you’re free?

I’m not perfect. I’m not finished. But I’m here. Still dancing. Still writing. Still becoming.

And I’m so grateful you’ve been here with me.

With love,

Vikki

The not-so-broken doll