Broken But Still Building: A Story of Survival, Advocacy, and Starting Over
- Peter Morande
- Jul 21
- 4 min read
There’s a moment in every story where everything starts to unravel, not all at once, but strand by strand. That’s where this post begins.
In early 2025, I started a new job at a statewide business publication. I was optimistic. It was a return to media work, something I knew well, and something that I had hoped would create financial stability after years of transition. But almost immediately, it became clear that things weren’t going to go the way I’d imagined.
What I hadn’t expected was how quickly my health, my work environment, and my mental well-being would collide.
The Quiet Cost of Pushing Through
I’ve lived with chronic migraines and a traumatic brain injury since 2007, with ongoing struggles from a severe hand injury in 2020. When I was hired, I disclosed my disability, not to ask for anything special, but to avoid misunderstandings when symptoms flared. I tried to communicate clearly, even before the first day.
But when flare-ups came and I asked to work from home temporarily to avoid worsening symptoms, the accommodations I needed were ignored, delayed, or questioned. Emails went unanswered. Promises changed. Instead of support, I found myself navigating a fog of confusion and increasingly discriminatory remarks.
At the same time, I was expected to keep pace with sales goals, onboarding, and internal expectations that were never formally defined. I didn’t even receive an offer letter, just verbal agreements that were later disputed or ignored.
On June 3, 2025, I resigned. I had no other job lined up. I was burned out. Physically, mentally, emotionally, I was done.
From Burnout to Battle Mode
Resigning didn’t end the hardship. In many ways, it was only the beginning.
I had to fight for the wages I was owed. My final paycheck was incomplete, as commissions were withheld, and my salary was prorated to a figure that didn’t even reflect the minimum wage. No documentation. No breakdown. Just silence or contradiction every time I asked for clarity.
So I did what I had to do.
I contacted Disability Rights Vermont. I filed a complaint with the EEOC. I reached out to the Vermont Human Rights Commission and the Vermont Department of Labor. I asked for support from HireAbility and VCAP, two local organizations that advocate for disabled individuals. I submitted documentation and responded to every email, even when it was exhausting.
I wasn’t just fighting for backpay. I was fighting to be seen as someone who deserved to work and to be treated with dignity while managing a disability.
School in the Middle of the Storm
All of this happened while I am actively enrolled in college. I didn’t pause or withdraw, though I came close. I am currently taking a couple of classes, including Story Thru Media, a class that asks us to reflect, write, create, and tell our stories using digital platforms.
And somehow, that class, right in the middle of everything falling apart, became the anchor I didn’t know I needed.
Our first major assignment was a mock-podcast. I didn’t have access to a studio. I didn’t have collaborators. But I still found a way. I wrote scripts for two fictional characters inspired by my own experiences and used ElevenLabs, an AI voice tool, to bring them to life. I edited the audio myself in Adobe Audition, layered the effects, built the visuals in Premiere, and released a podcast episode I could be proud of.
That podcast became the spark to ignite the platform Broken But Resonant.
Building Something Out of the Collapse
I never planned to build a platform.
But the more I created for my class, the more I realized I had a chance to do something lasting. Something that wasn’t just a project to pass or a story to vent, something that might help others feel less alone.
So I created a website. I taught myself how to host, design, embed, write blog posts, and build out pages. I added a “Share Your Story” contact form. I created a newsletter. I linked to my YouTube channel. I wrote the first blog post and revised it based on my professor’s feedback. I even built a Resources Page, filled with direct links to advocacy tools, disability support organizations, and state and legal contacts.
And then something unexpected happened.
A personal injury law firm reached out, inquiring about being listed on the site. It gave me pause. I didn’t want to compromise the integrity of the site, but I also knew there was value in professional help, especially for those who don’t have the strength to fight alone.
That’s when I started drafting a framework for a Sponsored Resources section, which would be ethically disclosed, transparently priced, and separated from the main list. It’s still in development, but it’s a way to offer more while supporting the future of the site. Given my background in advertising and media sales, it’s a natural fit. And it might be the start of something bigger.
Where Things Stand Now
As of writing this, I’m still unemployed. I’m still healing. I have a head MRI scheduled for July 31, 2025. I have a hand surgery consultation on August 7, 2025. I’m still trying to gather years of scattered medical records, dating back to my TBI in 2007 and a hand injury in 2020.
My personal GoFundMe is still active, and every contribution goes toward stabilizing my life and continuing the healing process.
But despite the pain, the silence, and the setbacks, I’ve built something.
Broken But Resonant isn’t polished. It’s not backed by a team or a big grant. But it’s real. And it’s growing.
The blog, the podcast, and the resources are all rooted in my lived experience, and they exist because I refused to let my story be minimized.
Why This Matters
I’m not the only one with a story like this.
Countless others are navigating invisible disabilities, toxic workplaces, and silence from the systems that should be helping them. Most won’t go public. Many won’t be believed.
That’s why I built this platform.
If you’ve felt alone, unheard, or overwhelmed, your story belongs here, too.
Visit the site: brokenbutresonant.com
Explore the Resources Page
Read Other Blogs: "Signal in the Wreckage"
"Because sometimes, the most beautiful sound comes after the break."
- Peter Morande
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