I heard Andy Grammer’s new song *The Best Hearts* recently, and one line has been sitting with me ever since:

*”The best hearts are broken.”*

At first, it almost feels backwards.

Wouldn’t the best hearts be the ones that have never experienced pain? The ones that have never been betrayed, disappointed, or left wondering why life unfolded the way it did?

But the longer I sat with those words, the more I realized they ring incredibly true.

Some of the kindest people I’ve ever met have also carried the heaviest burdens.

They’re the people who have lost someone they loved, yet somehow know exactly what to say when someone else is grieving.

They’re the people who have battled anxiety, depression, or loneliness, and because of that, they notice the person sitting alone before anyone else does.

They’re the leaders who have made mistakes, experienced failure, and questioned themselves, yet they lead with humility instead of arrogance because they remember what it felt like to need grace.

Pain has a way of doing one of two things.
It can make us hard.
Or it can make us compassionate.

I’ve seen both.

Sometimes when we’ve been hurt, it’s tempting to build walls so high that nothing can reach us again. We convince ourselves that protecting our hearts means closing them off. We stop trusting. We stop believing the best in people. We stop taking chances because disappointment feels too expensive.

I understand that temptation.

Life has a way of leaving scars.

I’ve walked through grief that changed me forever. I’ve wrestled with anxiety that whispered lies I desperately wanted to believe. I’ve experienced seasons where I questioned whether what I was doing even mattered.

Those moments didn’t make me who I am.

But they certainly shaped who I’m becoming.

Because here’s what I’ve learned.

Brokenness doesn’t automatically make us better.
It gives us a choice.
We can become bitter, or we can become compassionate.
We can decide that because we’ve experienced pain, we’ll make sure someone else doesn’t have to carry theirs alone.

That’s the kind of person I want to be.
Not someone who pretends everything is fine.
Not someone who has all the answers.

Just someone whose own experiences have made them quicker to encourage, slower to judge, and more willing to show up.

As a leader, that’s especially important.

The people around us don’t need leaders who’ve never struggled.
They need leaders who remember what struggle feels like.
Leaders who know what it’s like to fail.
Leaders who understand disappointment.
Leaders who can offer hope because they’ve needed hope themselves.

Our greatest credibility often comes from the places we once wished we could hide.

My faith reminds me of this too.

Jesus didn’t avoid broken people. He moved toward them. He understood suffering, rejection, grief, and loss, yet He continued to love with an open heart. Scripture reminds us in 2 Corinthians 1 that God comforts us in our troubles so that we can comfort others with the same comfort we’ve received. Our pain isn’t wasted when it becomes a source of hope for someone else.

Maybe that’s why the best hearts are broken.
Not because brokenness is something to celebrate.
But because hearts that have been broken and still choose to love are some of the strongest hearts in the world.

If you’ve been through a difficult season recently, don’t believe the lie that your story has only left you damaged.

It may have also made you more compassionate.
More patient.
More understanding.
More willing to see people who are hurting.

And in a world that desperately needs more kindness, those are exactly the kinds of hearts we need.

Keep your heart open.

Someone else’s healing may begin because of what yours has survived.