Starting. That’s the hardest bit. Making words appear on a blank space. But not just words. Word in the right order the evoke meaning and feeling. (Quite obviously this is not something that has been happening much around here.) Words can be so beautiful and their power fascinates me. But, sometimes the effort it takes to make those words fall on the page in the right order is just too much.
But words are still beautiful and for me healing. For some reason, watching them fall on the page and reading them back to myself can open a window that seems connected to my soul. They have a wisdom that I have no memory of applying to them. That is a truly beautiful thing and I guess holds the key to why I have lived life loving them so much.
I am on the cusp of turning 46. My girls are growing like weeds in the spring sunshine. They delight me, frustrate me and bring me unspeakable joy. (Not to mentioned leave me living life at a million miles an hour as I drive them everywhere they need to be.) I think I’m leaving 45 behind as a much ‘wholer’ person than I started it. Thanks mostly to a wise lady counsellor who gave me the space to understand my own value. I’ve lived so much of my life completely without this awareness. But there was no way my heart could store value when rejection tore down every wall that self-value tried to build.
But now, things feel very different. Admittedly, I was a self-pitying mess. I was giving out love and compassion at a rate that was unsustainable and left me broken and miserable. A husband dealing with his own set of issues, a mother with Alzheimers and an aged father-in-law all jostled for my love and attention. (And that was before I even began to think about the girls – who are the centre of my life and deserve the best part of me.) My own brokenness stopped me seeing how desperately in need I was and left me on an exhausting treadmill continually trying to make everyone else’s life better (which of course is impossible) while I felt sad and sorry for myself. But, as things tend to do when they are ‘in season’ in your life, I started sensing the need for self-love. Articles would find their way to me and people would speak little words that that opened a chasms of need inside me. Gradually I began turning the love and compassion once reserved for other onto myself and a process of healing began.
I took myself off for counselling and allowed myself to feel and understand the rejection that had been choking me for 45 years. I gained some understand of the lengths us humans will go to to avoid the uncomfortableness of emotional pain. I guess, in essence, I made friends with it. Accepted it. Processed it. And put it into perspective. It’s still there. It’s part of who I am, but it no longer stops me understanding my own value.
Have you ever heard of Kintsukuroi? It’s the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with precious metals and has become synonymous with an understanding that sometimes things are more beautiful for having been broken. I am pretty sure kintsukurio is exactly what happened to me. I feel like my brokeness was made whole with the purest gold and my heart has become precious and beautiful. And that feels nice. Really nice. It gives me license to treat myself in a nurturing and caring way. To ‘mother’ myself and be totally in control of my own happiness. I know I have value – simply because I am me. All in all, I think it makes me a better person and life a lot more fun for everyone around me. (Thank you God for Kintsukurio – I think it might be my newest favourite word!)
So, today I have let words fall onto my page again. It felt good too. The words have worked their magic and helped me understand myself.