Shattered Beyond Repair

My last incident (witnessing the hit-and-run) put me in quite a funk last week, and my reflection time prompted another metaphor. I have been picturing my life as if it were a vase—a simple, glass vase. It had many cracks, as well as some abnormalities from being glued together in different places, but then it just shattered into a multitude of tiny fragments. Completely pulverized into a heap. I felt too broken—too complicated—shattered beyond repair. I felt like no one could help me, and that no one would want me. My brokenness left me feeling defeated, convicted of the lie that I am too broken to be loved.

When I look back throughout my (almost 26) years of life, it seems to be filled with one trauma after another. This may be exaggerated due to my strong feelings that cause me to be impacted quite deeply, paired with my exceptional memory skills, but my journey through life has been difficult nonetheless.

No, this is not where I enter into some sob story or timeline of tragedy. I am not sharing because I want you to feel bad for me or know that I struggle—that is a direct cause of why I hesitate being vulnerable in the first place—I share because I am not the only broken person. I share because I want you to know it is okay to be broken.

Vulnerability is hard. Even though I am no longer directly suffering from many of the events, and know that I have been strengthened so much through all of them, I feel obnoxious. I become afraid that I will bring the mood down in conversation if I bring up different snippets of my past—that I will freak people out—and I have this irrational perception that people would assume I am depressed all of the time. Having a melancholic temperament also adds to the difficulty. I did not even want to write or share this blog post, but why am I so afraid of appearing broken? I am broken.

I have a tendency to blame myself for my brokenness. If I had been stronger, I would not have been hurt. If I had been prettier, I would not have been bothered. If I had been smarter, it would not have happened. Identifying these lies for what they are, I now see that they do not actually make sense. Despite my best efforts, life situations are out of my control.

It is not my fault that I am broken. My dignity is not lost because I am broken. I am just broken.

I have spent so much time and energy gluing different shards together, painting over some imperfections, and trying to stay hidden out of the way to avoid further damage. My life will never be like it was before enduring sufferings—it was meant to be transformed. No matter how much I could pretend that I was not, I have been hurt many times, and there is nothing to be ashamed of in that. Avoiding situations in fear could possibly avoid some instances of being hurt, but it also shuts out opportunities to experience love and grow in virtue.

 With this past event, God has convinced me that I do not have control of what happens to me—and I cannot fix it. I became so distraught when I envisioned all of the tiny pieces of myself, knowing it would be impossible for me to place them all back in the right spots. I was humbled and relieved when God reminded me that I am not my creator. He is my Creator. He knows where every piece belongs, and He can move them. All I have to do is let Him have the pieces.

It was also made clear that I am not meant to be restored to my original condition, but that He would take my fragments and make me new. I do not know what He is creating, but it is strong—and it is beautiful. Because the glass is so broken up, the light enters through at so many different angles, making it sparkle, and giving it depth. I am not afraid of myself, and I do not think anyone else should be either.

Every day has a battle. I can be shattered over and over again, but I will never be destroyed. My dignity does not come from my control, but my existence as a daughter of God. I am not too broken to be loved, but so broken that I need to be loved.

It is okay if you are broken, but that is not how you are to remain. Stop trying to piece yourself back together, but also do not remain in a pile. Allow the Lord to receive you and form you. He will strengthen you.

Be gentle with yourself. If you broke your arm, you would (hopefully) not jump into a game of volleyball the next day. If your spirit is broken, it should be given time to rest and recover as well. Allow yourself to be healed. He will not reject you.

“The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit;

 a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”

Psalm 51: 17