She feels things very deeply. My daughter was about four months old when a friend offered un-tethered perspective to the escalation of her newish-born cries and my inability to soothe them.
It would be a long time before I gained perspective on my own feelings buried deep.
Five hundred and nineteen months before my cries reached a fevered pitch that slowed into mournful acceptance.
When the only thing you ever feel is anger…….
Only all-the-time anger
You forget that there’s anything else to feel.
Or, maybe you never knew in the first place.
After five hundred and nineteen months. The tiniest tip of a needle reached through a hairline crack in the armor of my heart. I was surprised to find it beating behind barricades of anger and deep disappointment.
I guarded it closely.
I had no idea that a shattered heart could be so sacred, hold such hope.
Can you cherish heartbreak?
Can the very poison you’ve quarantined for 43 years be the medicine that heals?
When you’ve spent your whole life looking for something that you thought didn’t exist, and you find it? You take a lesson from Mary.
She treasured all those things in her heart. I treasured discovering mine for the first time.
There were tears and songs and moments of sweet sadness I’d never felt before. Because when you’re heart cracks and spills out all over, you finally feel alive.
And when you’re heart breaks for the first time, you discover there is intrinsic value in your soul. A value separate from serving, attending, giving and loving. A value disconnected from any action verb at all. A value that rests solely on your state of being.
When it’s just you and your powdered heart and the God who created the precious thing in the first place, you’d be a fool not to store up that treasure.
So I wrapped myself up in the hurt.I wasn’t hiding or wallowing, I was finally feeling.
I found out that I could love my family better while expecting less of myself.
I found out I had never before believed myself worthy of heartbreak, only worthy of spinning porcelain plates.
Forever laboring and twirling and somersaulting and jumping to keep the plates spinning. All day, all night, fingers stretched a little higher to keep it all together.
But when the feel of Real reached down between the cracks of shame, it was finally time let the Lenox shatter.
The people pleasing.
The nodding at others.
The nodding in the mirror.
The smile because that’s what you do while you’re dying on the inside.
It was finally time to let the whole thing crash and crumble too the ground so that the powdered parts of a real heart soaked with tears could begin to be molded, to take a different shape.
I sat in quiet. Listened to music. Gave myself permission to feel in the absence of words that I didn’t bother to uncover.
I found that when you’re alone with your heart for the first time, the merciless need to explain yourself falls right to the floor. It was the first time in five hundred and nineteen months that I didn’t need to give, or receive a nod.
When you’re introduced to yourself for the first time, you finally feel understood.
The ways that our hearts can be broken are endless. Have you ever treasured a broken heart?