My friends all joke that I am the most random person they know. I have a friend, Jack, who says my ADHD isn’t really that…He claims I have ADAD…Attention Deficit Accessory Disorder. I can be in a heartfelt conversation about the death of a loved one and stop the conversation with “OH MY GAWWWD!!! Did you see those shoes?” So randomness envelops everything that I am. That being said, I don’t know why it seemed to be such a wild answer when I was asked what my favorite body part was of mine and I responded with “my shoulders.” I received the most quizzical look. I was further questioned on why my shoulders were my favorite.
My shoulders…they are broad and strong. They are covered with freckles which I were told were kisses from angels that protect me. I have scars on my right shoulder that remind me of surgery from a lie I told in High School that resulted in a terrible accident. They remind me to stay honest. My shoulders have carried the weight of the world yet they remain soft and somehow feminine.
My shoulders have barred the pain of so many others. I have willingly taken the crosses of others so they didn’t need to carry them. My shoulders are clothed by the tears of others who have trusted me to hold their shame and sorrows. When asked who then holds carries my weight for me? I can look at the scars that remind me to be honest and say “I do.” My shoulders bear my own burden as I have learned, I am the only person I can truly depend on. I am the one who won’t hurt me or walk away. My shoulders may rock but they will never break.
I have been told I am a broken person. I am a broken person who fixes everyone around them but doesn’t take the time to fix herself. I am broken. I look at myself like the art of Japanese pottery Kintsugi. The Japanese don’t throw out the broken pieces they heal them with lines of gold. I am scarred…physically, mentally, emotionally…spiritually. I am learning how to paint over my scars with gold and see the beauty in my brokenness.
We are all broken. Somewhere in us…on us…around us there is a brokenness that needs to be healed. I use humor, music, water…all of them heal me. They help block out the painful things. Learning to accept them however…learning to accept that they happened. Learning to talk about them. Learning to not be ashamed of them. Learning that they a PART of who we are and not who we are or what defines us…THAT is our paint brush. Start painting those beautiful gold strokes. We may be broken but that doesn’t mean we are not beautiful.