Your Brokenness Makes You Beautiful

“When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something’s suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful.”—Billie Mobayed

Some people believe that broken hearts are like broken pottery. Broken pottery can be put back together and you will always see the places where it was once whole and perfect. There are cracks and sometimes holes that you are unable to fill because pieces simply crumble or get lost in isolation. There are people who like it like that.

Then there are people who throw the damn thing away because it has no use anymore. It can no longer hold any water, it looks worn, ugly, damaged. The beauty it once held is no more and neither is the original sentiment. So away it goes with the daily trash.

Then there are those that think it more beautiful for having been broken.

If only broken hearts could be fixed with Kintsukuroi: the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer resin mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.


The damage, the brokenness becomes part of the history of the object, rather than something to disguise. It also comes with the understanding that the piece is more beautiful now for having been broken.

Beautifully interesting.

More beautiful for having been broken… hmm

I’ve fallen in love about oh, I don’t know… a few times. Deeply in love. I don’t let myself get there very often. I love the feeling of being in love. It makes me feel inspired clear, open, raw, vivacious, and surrendered. And yet I know there is a darkness to love that I want to avoid. The darkness also makes me feel inspired, clear, open, raw, vivacious, surrendered with an added sense of the pain of a thousand swords piercing through every inch of your soul. And knowing this, every time I am faced with the act of falling in love I surrender like the masochistic beast that I am.

My broken heart was diagnosed about 3 days ago. To which afterwards I’ve spiraled down the long slippery slope to a tortuous demise and death. It’s okay. I like it there. It is isolating, dark and I can sit there with my thoughts and emotions and witness my heart cry out in tortuous pain. I dwell there.

The problem arises when the pain becomes intolerable. There are times, like today, when emotional pain becomes so unbearable that I want to substitute it with physical pain. OR, I want to numb out and take some lovely pill that will put me to sleep where I don’t even have to feel my own body touching the bed. I don’t know whether to punch a wall, cut myself, or take a morphine tab. All very viable options to my shattered heart.

Today is that day. Today is the day the pain becomes insufferable. I can’t sleep. I cry, I do fear inventory, and the space inside me that is left when I clear myself, only fills with more pain. I can’t help it. I’ve cried for three days straight.

I miss him. I love him. I hate myself for putting myself (again) in this position. I fucking hate him for not giving us a chance. I fucking hate him for being so damn scared.

And then I remember the woman I become when I’m with him.

I soften. I breathe. I surrender. I am.

There are no masks, there is no pretending, there is only authenticity and surrender. He reads me like a book. I let him flip through my pages. I let him smell of me, touch me, devour my very existence. I feel held, seen, and appreciated.

That’s the reason I fell in love with him. That’s the reason why it was so easy. That’s the reason my defenses didn’t go into full alert. Because with him it felt easy. And before I knew it, I was beaming with a bright red dancing heart every time he was near.

And now, my heart is before me… shattered in a million pieces ready to be put back together. I’d like to do it this time with golden resin. I’d like to do it this time knowing that my heart will beam an even brighter red next time it dances. That it will be stronger and ready to love just that much more the next time. (And I truly hope that day comes.)

Right now, I just feel the pain of the shattered pieces trying to find each other to become whole again. I want to help put them back together but the rain of my own tears floods my sight so that I can’t see what is before me. I’m in an enormous amount of pain. And I guess, before the golden resin puts me back together, that is where I should be.

So I will dwell, drown, and die and one day I will once again come up for air.


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