Do you know you broke my heart a bit today? We were not in love, but we were deeply in like. You are a “mench,” a good man and did not ghost me or break-up via text. You took the time to meet with me and almost cried as we spoke. You had a great reason, which was not about me, but about your heart. What you might not know is this new heartbreak opened a much older wound, one I have carried from childhood, one that desperately needs to heal.
Growing up I was told that I was too strong-willed for any man to ever love me and that it was amazing I even had friends. Repeatedly I was told that I was emotionally flawed, cold and heartless, too wild, and destined to be alone. My family saw me as a soul needing to be captured and tamed. This is an old deep wound that was already oozing when you told me we were over.
While you spoke I held tightly to a new book I had hoped to share with you on Kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending cracked vessels with gold. This tradition teaches that cracks reveal the true beauty of the vessel, much like the healed breaks in our hearts. Kintsugi shows us the map of our lessons and truths, teaching us to love our journey and ultimately ourselves. Our golden lined wounds mark the challenges we have overcome, the powerful scars we have earned, the fears we have embraced, and ultimately reveal our true beauty.
Today was rough. I curled up in bed and sobbed into the phone, grateful for the many amazing women in my life. I snuggled with the dog and drank a bit too much wine as I lanced the frightening recesses of a wound that still echoed with painful judgments and accusations. I repeatedly wrapped my arms around my solar plexus trying to keep the pain from shredding me. And then I let go and allowed the hardened shards to melt into and through me, much like the way I melted into your arms.
Perhaps today was a gift from the universe, to be free from the past and shift deeper into my own wild untamed sensual beauty. I am not done crying, but I am done with ghosts from my past. This, my deepest, oldest and most shameful wound is becoming a work of art. I am becoming a work of art. It is sad that you will not be here to see it.