I've been carrying the below around on a sticky note for years, since three months after I was diagnosed with PPD and PTSD, in fact, and rereading it, I realized it still rings true...although the glue is no longer as fresh.
I am a China cup, once all pretty patterned, smooth outside, delicate handle. Then, dropped to the ground, shattered, scattered in jagged pieces. Now, glued slowly back together, still patterned, still a cup, but now imperfect, rumpled, no longer smooth. I still hold the same inside, mostly, but it's moved by the lumpiness of the glued together fragments.
The same, but not at all.