Cracked

At the time I was introduced to Kintsugi—a Japanese art form, in which broken pottery is repaired using lacquer mixed with powdered precious metals: silver, gold, and platinum—I could truly relate to broken pottery; I felt ugly and useless, irreparably damaged. I was, for what seemed to be the hundredth time, in an outpatient treatment program for adults struggling with mental illness after yet another stay in a psychiatric hospital. I felt depressed; I felt hopeless; I felt hideous from the inside out. I honestly believed myself to be truly, irrevocably broken, and I saw no end in sight to the emotional turmoil or mental torture. I could not see any light in my life, because I was being buried wholly by the innumerable shards of my own destroyed self—the bits and pieces of my dysfunctional existence that I was clinging to for dear life, despite the pain they were causing myself and those around me. I remained stuck in this deep, dark rut of familiar pain until I was given information about Kintsugi by a counselor in this treatment program. Upon discovering this practice, I came to the realization that being cracked could be a positive in my life; because I am cracked, I have the opportunity to become the person I am meant to be, full of unique traits and beautiful imperfections, and, through those cracks, light has the potential and opportunity to infiltrate my darkness.

The vessel falls from the table,

like an angel falling from grace.

It makes impact with the cold stone floor,

shattering;

becoming thousands of tiny shards.

The pieces,

once whole,

are now broken apart:

sharp and jagged,

broken and raw.

Those who attempt to collect them,

those whose only concern

is ridding the floor

of this filthy mess,

are cut by them—

These fragments cause pain.

These fragments draw blood.

These fragments are left behind.

Until the potter,

wishing to restore the vessel,

returns.

Gingerly collecting the shards,

ignoring the pain and blood,

He molds the vessel into its original form;

its scattered shards

gently pieced

into a whole once more.

The vessel is cracked,

but not unbeautiful.

The vessel is cracked,

but not useless.

The vessel is cracked,

but not broken.

The vessel is:

unique.

beautiful.

strong.

All because it is cracked.

The ceramic vessel whose story is told over the course of this poetic narrative is a metaphor meant to illustrate myself as I wrestle with feelings of hopelessness, feelings of depression, and feelings of overall ineptitude as a player in the game of life. At many times throughout my life, I have felt as though I am falling from grace—making impact with the stone cold reality of life and shattering into thousands of shards: sharp and jagged, broken and raw. I have felt as though, in my shattered state, all I do to others is cause them pain. I have felt as though, in my shattered state, I am nothing but a walking inconvenience, a breathing mess, a living disaster. I have felt as though, in my shattered state, my numerous needs cause others such trouble that I am not wanted, that the majority of the people in my life just want to sweep away the mess that I am and forget about me. I have felt as though, in my shattered state, the pain and trouble this brokenness causes those who get close to me encourages them to leave me behind, abandoned and forgotten. I have felt as though, in my shattered state, I am human garbage—living and breathing rubbish whose every word and action is rejected, discarded, and forgotten. I have felt completely and utterly useless: my life an accident, my very being a mistake, my existence simply a blemish on God’s perfect plan.

Because of the way I related to the pottery used in this practice and the astonishing beauty of Kintsugi pottery, this art form inspired a resurgence of hope within me. If broken pottery—material many would consider garbage, whose sole fate was to be rejected, discarded, and, ultimately, forgotten—is worthy and capable of being repaired, then maybe, just maybe, I am worthy and capable of being repaired as well. And, if broken pottery deserves to be treated with something so valuable as silver, gold, and platinum, then maybe I deserve to be given the invaluable love and care of others; maybe (just maybe) I deserve to be treasured, cherished, and healed with abundant love and care until I am restored to the beautiful and purposeful, fearfully and wonderfully made individual I have been created to be.

The potter who returns to gently piece the vessel together again is a metaphor meant to illustrate God. My faith has been extraordinarily important to my recovery, and my relationship with my Higher Power has been absolutely vital to my healing. The challenges I face on a daily basis between those physical illnesses and mental illnesses and traumatic memories that I carry within me are a much greater load than I can bear alone; my Higher Power is my comforter, my ally, my strength and hope. God is the one who wishes to restore me in all of my messy glory, rather than simply remove my my messy self from His creation. God is the one who gingerly gathers my scattered pieces with adoration and warm-hearted concern. God is the one who ignores the pain I cause and my sharp and jagged edges, my negative patterns of thought and behavior and my numerous imperfections, in order to mold my shattered self into a whole once more. God is the one who, through those individuals He has placed in my life as vessels of His flawless compassion and unconditional love, has loved me back to life.

Since discovering Kintsugi, I have endeavored to adopt a new mindset in regards to my suffering: an attitude of tenacity, an outlook of hope, and a frame of mind rooted in gratitude. I must be tenacious, because, though I have many wonderful people in my life who love me dearly, no one can live my life in my stead; I must have the courage to live my life to the fullest in spite of every painful difficulty I face. I must be hopeful, because, though circumstances often look bleak, there is always light to be found if only I make the decision to seek it; feeling hopeless does not help me to pull myself out of the dark rut I am in, but, rather,makes it exponentially more difficult to do so. I must be grateful, because, though my life thus far has been anything but easy, my list of blessings is miles longer than my list of difficulties; having genuine appreciation for even the smallest of treasures and refusing to take for granted any of my life’s assets grants me the vital perspective I so desperately need when I am mired in self-absorption and negativity. These elements of my mindset are crucial to my healing and my overall daily functioning, because they free me from timidity and cowardice, hopelessness and despair, thanklessness and self-pity. With this mindset, I am much more apt to see God working in my life, to see that He is loving me back to life and creating within my destroyed self a whole person—mind, body, and spirit—once again. The ability to see these daily miracles of love and compassion as they unfold allows me to live with all of my cracks, both large and small, with joy and comfort. Choosing to adopt a positive mindset allows me to forsake self-loathing and self-pity and to banish these negative patterns of thought from my life, granting me the freedom to create the life I’ve dreamt of living for so long.

I choose to embrace my cracked state, because my cracks have made me the woman I am today. They allow light to enter even the farthest reaches and most hidden corners of my soul, in order to illuminate my darkness, and, when I have the courage to share my story and my loving presence with others, their darkness as well. I am cracked but not unbeautiful, cracked but not useless, cracked but not broken; because I am cracked, I am unique, beautiful, and strong.