2014 was rough for me. I’d even describe it as my toughest year yet.
If you’ve kept up with my story (the public version) then you’re aware of a few of the challenges I’ve faced: thyroid issues, an international move, another summer of couch surfing, reintegrating the family stateside in a brand new town, living on borrowed money while starting new businesses, and writing my first book amidst the needs and demands of a large, unsettled and estrogen-heavy family.
If, however, you are one of the tiny handful in my innermost circle, you know that the aforementioned struggles comprise a mere fraction of my year’s challenges, and that the behind-the-scenes 70% or so has been too raw and personal to share.
It’s not likely I’ll ever offer that chapter of my story publicly (at least not attached to my name) but I needn’t disclose details in order to share the essence of it, and you needn’t know the details in order to relate on some level.
You see, the theme of my year was heartbreak, a subject which most of us have at least a 101-level understanding of. (I can assure you I’ve now advanced to graduate studies.)
Of course, my heart’s been badly bruised before, but I’d usually managed to shield it from direct blows by building strong walls.
This year was different. This year I had no such “protection.”
As a young girl, I learned to circumvent much of life’s pain by avoiding vulnerability at all cost. This involved a good many years of fortress construction — something I quickly found myself quite skilled at.
Spared of any deeply damaging or traumatic childhood experiences, though nonetheless wired to avoid pain of any kind (as we humans are), mine were reactions to seemingly benign and unavoidable circumstances: my sister was born when I was 18 months old and deferred a good deal of my mom’s attention from me to her (naturally), my other sister developed a serious health condition that required near-constant diligence on the part of my parents, and our Christian faith, while grounding and grace-promoting, confused me to my apparently-wretched core.
Aching to be fully seen and heard but introverted and independent by nature, I quickly learned to meet my needs alone (best I could), which meant that I came to trust my own understanding and perspectives above the counsel and good intentions of others.
My building materials of choice — those I used to protect my secretly tender heart — were ever-available and seemingly strong:
Judgment, avoidance, certainty and perfectionism.
It felt safer to form strong opinions based on astute and constant observation than to live in unending uncertainty. I managed to avoid a great deal of embarrassment by offering only the most polished parts of myself to people. I binged on silence, filled journals with misspelled preadolescent heartache and occasionally shared my dreams with the rare soul who managed to win my trust (I can count these dear people on one hand).
These tinkertoy-grade constructs served me for a good long while — well into my adulthood, in fact. They allowed me to explore the world relatively unscathed and come to learn enough about life to navigate it with relative confidence. But as I matured, and particularly during our recent four year stint abroad, my walls began to show a good bit of wear. It seemed that the price of a broadening perspective was an assault against my once-solid sense of security.
Had my curiosity and wonder not been childlike again in their strength (due to my brightly-woven, awe-inspiring surroundings), I’m quite sure I would have simply played mason — repairing and reinforcing, thicker and stronger.
But I didn’t, because I couldn’t.
My heart no longer fit within those walls.
Perfection pursuit was the first to go. The little my daughters hadn’t yet dissolved was quickly destroyed by the re-prioritization born of a first-hand perspective on poverty.
Perceived certainty suddenly felt laughably arrogant; an illusion born of first-world privilege.
Avoidance meant I’d never learn Spanish, understand the beautiful friends I’d made without words or experience the spellbinding ways of the Maya, none of which I was willing to miss out on.
Judgment, which proved my thickest wall of “protection,” crumbled quickly when I realized that if anyone was worthy of judgment, it was me, for ever having complained about anything given the frequency with which I’d been fed since birth.
At first I thought I could simply deconstruct them in my spare time, when all felt safe and I was good and ready. But staring into the blind eyes of Mayan babies while their mothers begged me for help and breathing the smoke-filled disparity between us made quick and efficient work of it.
When a heart nearly bursts from swelling, thicker walls simply mean more rubble to remove once they fall.
This past year — our last in Mexico — was the first time I’ve faced my demons, unguarded. They were just as fierce as I’d imagined and even more relentless. Many times I wanted to build a new wall, and several times I tried. But whenever my heart would expand again (as unwalled hearts tend to do often), it was obvious that walls were no longer going to work for me.
I’d tasted just enough freedom that entrapment felt like death to my soul.
This time last year, inspired by three and a half years of heart swell, demolition and a few professedly brokenhearted people who stood like lampposts along my path, I wrote myself the following note, taped it above my computer and let it lead me.
I was willing, and break open, I did. So many times, in fact, that I soon stopped counting. Just about the time I’d endured one wave of pain, another would hit, and not Caribbean-style, but west coast, Oaxacan-grade waves. It was exhausting. I’ve never worked harder.
I told the truth — to myself and to those I love — even when it hurt like hell.
I dug deep within the recesses of nearly-forgotten memories and asked them what they needed from me in order to rest in peace once and for all.
I sent love to those who’d wronged me, finally feeling that their choices were never about me.
I recognized self-abandonment at the core of my insecurities.
I sobbed and prayed and journaled and listened and found beauty where others wouldn’t or simply couldn’t.
Looking back, still sutured and sore but no longer splayed open, the single most painful year of my life was also the single most transformative.
A strong heart is a very different thing than strong walls surrounding your heart. The only way to gain heart strength is by allowing it to expand and contract like any other muscle. Keeping it walled and leaning on your walls for strength is like depending on an arm cast for protection long after it’s needed for support in healing. Once it’s served its purpose, it must be removed and the arm rehabbed or the muscles will begin to atrophy.
The ways we come to feel safe as children are not necessarily in our best interests as adults.
We greatly underestimate our hearts’ potential, and they don’t require near the protection we believe they do. All they really needed is to be seen and heard and loved and acknowledged and held (especially by the souls they belong to) while they’re allowed and encouraged to heal.
Broken hearts are the most beautiful ones as they aren’t limited by what we decide they should contain. Joanna Macy said, “The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.” I taped that one above my computer as a guide for this year.
Many of us have come to believe that we can’t trust our hearts to lead us. While it’s true that walled hearts are quite obstructed and must rely on windows and doors through which to see possibilities, freed hearts see potential in every direction.
Pain often runs much deeper than we know. It takes time to uncover a mess of entangled roots. Thankfully, between the work of wall deconstruction and root unearthing, our hearts get plenty of practice in expansion and contraction.
We often tell ourselves we’ve already dealt with something, then wonder why we’re still triggered or resentful. It may be that the first time around, we actually just buried it deeper; that we dug up only a portion of it, or that it healed out of alignment. Like a bone, a fresh break may be needed for proper healing.
Once our walls are down, it can take a while to discern whether we’re hearing our own hearts or the voices of others who live within our hearts. Time in silence, however uncomfortable, helps reacquaint us with our long-hushed, inner hostage.
However intentional and thorough we are in their deconstruction, walls want to regrow like weeds. For every situation in which we’ve leaned on one in the past, we can expect to be presented with an opportunity (or 50) in which to make a different choice.
Yesterday, while standing in line to pick up photo prints behind an 80-something-year-old woman who seemed quite uncomfortable in her own skin, my old walls appeared out of nowhere. Apparently bored of silently disapproving of each person in line, she decided to clarify her misery. Jovially, though to the amusement of no one, she ranted about “those Mexicans” whom she was tired of supporting with her tax dollars, how glad she was not to be waiting in line behind one of them and did we all realize how many of them came here to have photos taken for fake passports?
Like loyal soldiers, the very same judgment, disgust, anger and fear SHE depended on ran to my aid, threw up a makeshift fortress around my heart and stockpiled ammo, ready to wage war.
Boy, did I have a smart bomb (or six) to launch at that lady.
But when you’re not used to carrying them, walls feel heavy and awkward and foreign and constricting. They feel unnatural. I breathed deeply, encouraged them back down and welcomed heartache in their place. With tears in my eyes and gratitude swelling in my throat, I let go of all I wanted to hurl at her and allowed space for a new story. It grew the whole way home:
This poor woman probably grew up her whole life gripped with fear. At 80-something years old she was still being guided by her wounded inner child. Her generation encouraged fear-based thinking. She was probably taught by those she trusted to judge things she didn’t understand. She may even fear an eternity in hell for her perceived inadequacies. What a weight her walls must be. What a burden she must bear.
And then it hit me:
It was because of my broken heart that I had room for this woman.
She fit in through deepening cracks of compassion.
I don’t know where my mostly-healed-though-forever-broken heart will lead me, but I don’t need to know. Without walls, I can actually HEAR and FEEL it again, and somehow, that feels even safer than certainty.
Brokenhearted and better for it,
Photo credit goes to Jote Khalsa, who is all kinds of awesome.
I could read this again and again and again and take away another painfully beautiful nugget of truth and wisdom. You have given so much here. What a priceless gift.
I am grateful for the way in which you have showed us your soul, your scars, and your healing so we can look at our own with more courage than we had before.
You are a treasure and I sure hope we get to meet in person one day.
Thank you Rachel. Your words mean so much, as you were one of those lampposts for me. <3
Thank you Beth! That was beautiful..something I needed to hear and I struggle with too. Cyber hugs my friend! xo
Thank you Debi. Oddly enough, I feel your online embrace. 🙂
My heart is expanding with love for you and your written words. I’m touched, speechless and just feel wow!
Thank you Kelly. Feeling the love and sending it right back.
Beautiful. Thank you for this.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
I love this, Robert, and so appreciate you sharing it.
Thank you so much for this. I am glad I read it to the end. Feeling a little cracking in my walls.
You’re welcome, Leenie. Feels strange to say it, but may they grow ever wider. 😉
Love, love, love this. I have been dealing with a broken heart too. It finally cracked wide open last May. I’m working on my transformed self and life.
Thank you, Deborah. I’m both sorry and glad for you. Sending love. <3
Thank you Heide <3
Some really good insights. Thank you for your vulnerability, Beth. Compassion is a gift.
Thank you Dad, and even more so for modeling compassion over and over throughout my life.
Oh Beth, what a wonderful and honest and real and compassionate post. I am in a very similar situation this year, and every word you say resonates so deeply with me. Self compassion can only come from within, from our own brokenness, from our own willingness to see and hear and understand where that pain comes from. When we can see where our own pain comes from and get to know it, and not just judge it and fear it, we can suddenly SEE- see all the things we’ve missed by being shielded by fear. SEE all the protection that has been built both within us and within everyone else, just walls and shields and missiles and bombs, all to try to protect our pained inner selves. Your ability to breathe and see the woman’s story is true compassion. All this perspective sounds so much like Internal Family Systems, a type of therapy. Your wisdom and generosity in sharing it are appreciated in my flu-filled, snowy Colorado home today. Thank you.
Thank you so much Becky. I love the idea of getting to know our own pain. What a crazy, counterintuitive concept! I’ve not heard of Internal Family Systems but look forward to looking into it. Much love and warmth your way.
This is amazing. I so wish I have your courage.. Let this be my light n inspiration to let my heart out, bleed and break down the walls, as through fear shines raw beauty!!!
Thank you Ina, and I would challenge that at the core, you ARE courageous. May your heart find its way out, boldly and bravely. <3
You made me cry… Thank you so much for sharing..for being so brave and so loving.
Well then, Rosa, we were crying together. Thank you. <3
This is more beautiful and helpful in my own journey than I could ever explain. Thank you from the bottom of my own broken and ever-expanding heart.
Thank you Kara. Here’s to continued expansion and plenty of soul salve right where we need it!
I wish you continued expansion and gentle healing.
Thank you Kara <3
Beautiful, definitely tugged at my own heart a bit, especially toward the end there.
Thank you for saying so, Nathan. <3
Thanks for publishing, for me this came at a good time. Blessings
Blessings back, Erica.
My how you swell my heart Beth. Truer words have never been uttered. I have been working on my own walls and horrific fear this last few years and feel I have come to a precipice and maybe, just maybe, your words will help me to jump seemingly unaided into the abyss of the future without so much armor (fear) and judgement (fear). I am comforted to know that you are in the world. Love you dearly.
Wow Rogene. Your words just swelled MY heart. I lived on the edge of a precipice myself for a looooong time. Honestly, it took a loving, compassion-filled nudge from an already-broken friend (whom I knew would be there with me through it) to finally free fall. May you find a hand to hold, a softly-lit lantern or whatever your soul may need to feel its way through. Sending love. <3
thank you. I read quite a few of your Mexico blogs, and felt for you when you moved back to the States, such a different vibration..and then you wrote this piece. I have deleted most blogs from my mailing list, so it is rare..yours stayed, for good reason. you write so well.now this piece.oh boy. 2014 was my heartbreak year too. My partner died in June, (of a heart attack, only after the oxygen was switched off) he was “under” for 19 days. I think I also died, but I think he also chose to come live in my heart. I kised his forehead one day and an electric spark shocked my lips.learning so much about the heart now, including its elctromagnetic field..when we live from that, we are in the centre of a torus energy field, which is what the universe is made of.I wish you strength for your heart muscle to grow as beautiful and strong as your spirit.love and love some more. kate in South Africa
Wow Kate. I can only imagine the degree of heartbreak you’ve been living. Thank you for sharing such a vulnerable and beautiful piece of your story. The shock to your lips – just WOW. I’m honored to be one of the few you read and wish you joy and love as you continue to heal.
I have had a year of heartbreak myself and although I haven’t learned as much as you have in this year, I am working on it and you give me hope that I will learn more about myself and be a better person for it. You gave me words to express, so eloquently, how I grew up. “Aching to be fully seen and heard but introverted and independent by nature, I quickly learned to meet my needs alone (best I could)…”. My building materials were different but the pain the same. Thank you so much for this post and for your blog. All the best to you and your family.
Thank you Susie. It amazes me how long it can take, once we identify our walls, to be willing to take them down. Took me YEARS. Guess I’m a little stubborn. 🙂 I wish you much strength and joy and peace as you continue to grow and heal.
Susie, I could identify with how Beth described growing up too, including having a new sibling born when I was only 18 mo old!
As always, Beth, another beautiful, deeply moving entry. Thanks!
Thank YOU Christa. It means a lot. <3
Beth you’re amazing! Thank you.
Thank YOU Andrea. You are amazing too. <3
While reading this I felt (deeply) that I somehow missed an opportunity sometime in our long association with the Austin Waldorf School, to get to know you…you, a gem in my community…. I think we could have been good friends. You write very well. Thank you for it all.
Thank you Susan. I, too, have wondered how we never quite crossed paths. Probably because I was dripping with babies the whole time. 🙂 I so appreciate your kind words and am grateful for the opportunity to be connecting now, in ways we can.
As always it is a highlight of the week to hear your words.
Your writing invites me (us?) to want to support you through your trauma/experience of 2014. Maintain as much privacy as you want…we love you because/despite of it all. Whatever you share with us we warmly embrace.
To a better year with fewer walls!!
Thank you Michelle. It’s been difficult NOT writing much this year, but a wonderful lesson in trusting my intuition and embracing a season of silence. I so appreciate your support, the support of this whole community and send love to you all right back. <3
Thank you for sharing your path.
You are very welcome. Thank you for allowing me to. :))
Beth, you are a beautiful soul and your insights and openness are truly moving. Your writing is wonderful and has grown in so many ways. Proud to know you! Thank you….
Thank you sweet Rena! Your encouragement means so much. Sending love to you and yours. <3
Beth, beautifully put, as always, and it struck a chord with me as my heart too was broken on so many levels in 2014, without a doubt on many levels the worst year of my life by far. But for me, the true gold will come when you are able to share the depths of your experience vulnerably, for then those walls will truly have come done. After all, what do you have to hide? What are you scared of? When I was writing my book 2-3 years ago (a book still not launched!) I was guided by a wonderful soul who kept whispering in my ear, “Nothing hidden…nothing hidden”! It caused me to face my fears, my own demons, and do it anyway and it was wonderfully liberating, the best experience of my life. The power in that book comes from this very vulnerability. Why deny the world the gift of your heart’s experience at the deepest level when you have such a beautiful gift for expressing it?
Thank you Maitland. While part of me would like to be so transparent as you suggest, my story is very much interwoven with other people’s and it would simply not be appropriate or helpful to make it public. I have shared with enough close friends and family to feel supported in healing, which is enough in this case. I do see incredible potential and value in writing from deep and raw places within and will continue to do so as I feel inspired. Best of luck with your book! and thank you so much for your kind words.
Thank you Beth. This landed in my lap with perfect timing.
I’m so glad, and thank you for saying so. 🙂
so inspiring. thank you for opening yourself and being so honest with your world.
Thank YOU Mary, and you’re welcome. 🙂
Thank you Beth for sharing with such eloquence and true love, All of our ‘ brokenness and beauty’. You are such a gift
What a kind thing to say. Thank you Peggy. Truly.
This post echoes a great many things that I am working on in my own life. Thank you for being vulnerable enough to share, your honesty has helped me.
I am so glad, Adam. Makes the vulnerability worth it to know I’ve helped someone else.
You are so wonderfully articulate Beth- I always enjoy reading what you have to say (and connect even more with what you haven’t said). I am in awe of your ability to share the journey- but I’m sure that doing so has been most therapeutic. Walls are common but it’s wonderful to hear from others who are working on letting them fall…thanks for the continued inspiration. If you haven’t read it yet, I suggest Debbie Ford’s book entitled “courage”. It has held many ‘a-ha’ moments for me. peace and love to you
Thanks for your kind words, Tracy. Therapeutic indeed! I have not read her work but I look forward to checking it out! Peace and love right back at you. <3
Wow, I am so glad to have come upon your beautiful blog and these words that you share. I am also an eternal optimist and passionate lover of life – even through the challenges and struggles.
Wishing you a new year full of joy.
Thank you so much Tonya, and thank you for shining your light! The world needs more people plugged into passion and possibility. <3
Thank you for this. It really hit home for me in a way that was sorrowful and inspiring at once.
I am so glad, Mary. Thank you for telling me so. <3
Amen, Sister, AMEN.
You were one of the first lampposts along my journey within, sweet friend. So eternally grateful for you and all of yours. <3
Thank you for continuing to write Beth. I value your perspective on family and self and even cross-culture living. 2010 was one of many losses for me personally. We lost a beloved cousin to suicide, a much wanted baby boy at 17 weeks of pregnancy, and said goodbye to my grandmother as she lay in a coma. Yet I learned so much about life, and love, and beauty and gratitude that it’s hard to put into words. Wishing you peace of heart as well.
Thank you Laura, for sharing and for wishing me well. 2010 had to have been excruciating for you. So glad for the gifts you’ve since received.
After reading this post I have immediately subscribed to your blog. I have a broken heart too and am trying to heal the right way, without building walls as you say, and covering up the pain with distraction, hate, anger etc. But the process seems long and arduous and at times I get so down and out and tired. Anyway, your post is encouraging…please keep writing more like this to encourage souls like me. Thank you. I also noticed someone mention Leonard Cohen above, who is in my opinion the patron saint of the broken heart. If I may suggest, his song “Come Healing” is very lovely..”the heart inside is teaching to the broken heart above”.
Thank you Karen. Long and arduous, indeed. It’s so hard not to mask the pain any way we possibly can. Many blessings to you as you brave true healing.
What a beautiful piece of writing and a beautiful observation. One that is so helpful to me as I heal my broken heart from this year. Life is exquisitely painful at times. Thank you for reminding me, again, to accept the gifts that come with that pain.
Thank you Twyla. Exquisitely painful is exactly right. So glad you’re open enough to see the gifts being given along the way.
This post is especially poignant to me right now. This is embarrassing/shameful to admit, but I started reading this a few days ago and I stopped after you said that we didn’t need to know your story to understand it. That angered me. I was like, “why would she say that? why would she dangle the carrot of heartbreak only to not tell us what broke her heart? I deserve to know what happened!” Yes, I thought the word “deserve”. But, today I read the whole post. And you’re right. I don’t need to know what happened. What happened doesn’t even matter and I do relate. I get it. I feel it. 2015 is my year of heartbreak. I unexpectedly lost my dad 98 days ago and it sort of ripped me open. Things I haven’t thought about in years and things I didn’t even know were in my have come out. I don’t have the energy to HIDE anymore. I have declared 2015 my year of love. Mostly self-love. And I am determined to break down the walls around my heart (I have to identify them first) and expose my broken heart to the world. It’s hard. So hard. I feel raw all the time. I worry that focusing on me and being authentic to myself will ruin my relationships. Will I people not like “me” anymore? When I’m my true self? I’m scared all the time. I feel like I’m losing my mind. But I know this is right. I know it’s what I need. I’m walking into the fear. Your 10 lessons raised 10 questions for me. Questions I’ve known but haven’t understood. Thank you for making them make sense! Thank you for sharing your story. From my broken heart to yours, thank you.
Wow, Kerrie. Thank you so much for your openness and honesty. Given all you’re going through, it makes a lot of sense that my “carrot dangling” would trigger strong reactions you. What’s amazing is that you came back and read it anyway, and that you’ve already declared this your year of love, considering how recent your loss. I am deeply sorry about your dad.
Authenticity is terrifying. Putting the “real” you out there means risking hurt all over again. The feelings and fears you describe sound very similar to those I’ve experienced along my own journey and there’s no doubt…it’s not the easier road.
But it is the true road…the road that leads to HOME.
If you’re not already a fan, Brene Brown’s work may really resonate with you. I also encourage you to find someone you can lean into along the way. A good listener. A previously broken-hearted friend or life coach, perhaps.
May this year of love bring you comfort, healing, and overwhelming affirmations of your worth and lovability. <3
You’re back!!!!!!!! Oh my goodness, have I needed your writings and insights and treasured nuggets of truth that are so rare to find in this superficial and fake-promoting culture and society. You words just ripped my heart open and ironically broke my heart, not just a little, but a great deal, a lot.
I sure hope 2015 will see more blog posts from you! The world needs your voice. Loud and clear. 😉
Gosh, Jessica. Flattery such as yours is hard to take in without grinning and feeling goofy. Thank you for the opportunity to practice accepting generous gifts!!
I will certainly blog all I can this year – between finishing my book and building my coaching practice. I miss talking to you all more frequently, but must add a cash flow component to my life in order to sustain my story!
Thanks for the gushy love. <3
I think my heart might have stopped when I read about your childhood and the beginnings of your walls. For so long I have felt I was missing the little “something” that made the innermost heart of my 14-yr-old daughter beat. You described her. My kid. And I know it is not my job to fix or mend; the entangled roots are deep for one so young. But understanding allows for a whole new way to love and support her.
Thank you for your words…bravery and strength may not have been what motivated you to write/share them, but they are what shines through.
Dear Annette, Thank you so much for sharing this with me. I understand the feeling, of missing your child’s little “something,” and it truly warms my heart to know that my story helped you “get” your girl. Such a common, yet rarely addressed challenge we face as parents. One little nugget you might find helpful (assuming she and I really are somewhat alike)…she cares much more deeply about everything than she lets on, and true empathy and understanding feel like soul food. How blessed she is to have you, ever striving to reach her heart. <3
Just wanted to send you a hug–nothing fancy, but it might mean a little bit more to know that you are not alone. You are handling things in a beautiful & meaningful fashion. You give those of us who have also had a difficult time another way to tackle the issues of the heart head on. Take care.
Thank you Kat. That IS meaningful to me. Amazing how even the thought of a hug can help. <3
Wow. This is a mirror of the journey I have undertaken this year, a journey I am still fighting through. I chose to undertake it, full well understanding that if I didn’t, the journey would take me along anyways, or that I would be destroyed from atrophy. I am learning to love myself, which means I have more love for everyone else. I am watching my current marriage splinter and crack in front of my eyes, wondering if the wreckage is simply another mess to clean up or making space for us to grow deeper (I am preparing for something better!). I too had the idyllic childhood on paper, but it lacked in depth and full authenticity and acceptance (my mother broke a cycle of violence, I am choosing to finish breaking that cycle). Thank you for sharing your vulnerabilities!!
A book that helped tremendously was “Daring Greatly” by Brene Brown (she also wrote another, the name of which I’ve currently forgotten, also fabulous). It really helped to hammer out a framework of what I NEED, instead of just being upset all the time because I wasn’t getting it (and not being able to ask for it since I didn’t know what it was that I needed!). Brene talks a lot about “leaning into discomfort”, how you can’t run from feelings forever. It is courageous to take up this journey, to choose the unknown and discomfort for the possibility and hope of authenticity. <3
beautiful! i see myself…and my daughters…and so many others here. all of us…broken.
Beth, thank you so much for this — I too am in the middle of the hardest moment of my life. Not really sure when it started or even when exactly I´ll start to muddle out of it, but I am more conscious of my process of opening up than ever, and by jesum I am determined to shine. One of the things that has been amazing for me has been to be a part of Soulodge — an online circle of women. There´s a free live spreecast tomorrow about fear. Maybe you´d like to check it out! Love to you and yours. Nicole an American woman in Brasil (and yes, seeing, might I dare say experiencing poverty first hand breaks us right open and we will NEVER be the same)
Ah yes, this is all so true and beautiful put. Reminded me of the line from A Course in Miracles: “In my defenselessness my safety lies.” Sending you warmth and strength of the soft and enduring, not hard and defensive, sort.
I have no idea how I came upon your blog except perhaps an angel lurking in some cerebral corridor of mine directed me here. Your writing is amazing, like a cushy soft blanket drawn up to the ears, enveloping the reader and carrying them into your experience. I have been in a many years long struggle with myself – my heart battling my head – and you really conveyed the rawness of these deep and painful emotions. However, strong hearts are better than strong walls. Since I was in the process of rebuilding mine, this is a good reminder. I thank you and I give you serious props for that beautiful, poetic writing of yours.
Great comment, Diane! I agree
Thank you. The story in the end made me feel that’s what I want to be. An open heart.