Tag Archives: fractured

fractured revisited

GGma 3 - Version 2

I was thinking about my last post and it’s hard to articulate the deep loss I felt that day.  It was like the tears were this sort of vomit that came from the deepest parts of me.

Fractured.

We are locked in our own prison, dead and dying on the inside while on the outside you would never know.

Fractured.

We have learned to hide it so well.  We have glued our happy mannequin mask on tight.  Living day to day…but inside there is a constant battle raging.

Fractured.

In my brokenness I was held captive by my thoughts that filled the empty void:  Hopelessness.  Worthlessness.  Shame.  Judgement

Fractured.

One day the light broke in through the darkness and mercy and grace poured on me.  Like a puzzle, God put me back together.

*****

The picture above is a sewing table from my Great Grandmother.  The top of it was wood and was peeling from a lot of water damage.  I had a table from my other Great Grandmother that had this beautiful tile on it, but it was also broken.  I put them together and made a beautiful top for my sewing table.

It is in the fractures and wounds of my life that I have found the most beauty, growth and HOPE.

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fractured

GGma 3 - Version 2

Almost four weeks ago I broke my hand.  It has been hard to write to say the least and I wish I could say I am using the time to relax, because that was my intention.  But as always it has been busy.  My plan, I hope, is to use the last week and a half to do just that.

One thing that struck me, and is why I am telling you this, was when I left the urgent care after learning my hand was indeed broken, quite well the doctor remarked, and with the threat of surgery looming over my head, I walked out the doors and lost it.  I broke down.  I was left with overwhelming emptiness, shame, and anger.

A couple days later, I thought about it and realized that was the same feeling I felt when I left the abortion clinic.  In an instant I was brought back to that place.  I saw myself walk out those doors, and down the steps.  In that moment I felt nothing and everything.

I grieved deeply.

As I sit here and type one handed (of which I am getting really good at and thank-you spell check!), I am looking forward to the days of one-handed typing to be behind me.  But like my abortion, lessons that are harder learned will be with me forever and maybe that is a good thing for it was George Santayana who said, “those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”