I have this broken heart, you see, with a capacity for love that is indescribable. It surprises me from time to time that a thing that is so broken and hurting can still love so much. Every fissure that manifests, between, and among the broken chambers, is a new portal. Instead of becoming scarred and hardened, they remain open, slightly oozing, slightly sore. Love pours from the cracks, even when I wish it would bottle itself up and sulk in the corner instead.
I’m not sure when my heart broke the first time. I know I was a little girl. I know it had to do with the fact that my daddy wasn’t a part of my life then. I’m not sure when I became aware of being sad about that. But I know I was a little girl. The oozing parts of my heart, even then, were pouring forth with love. They were searching for the serum that would stop the bleeding.
Somewhere in my little girl head I had construed a world in which a broken heart actually healed when someone returned the affection of the love that poured out. The holy grail of serum, according to my little girl self, would be displayed in the center of the table on my wedding day. Getting married would, according to that little girl, right all the wrongs, and fix that broken heart.
But she was wrong. No matter how bad I wanted it, no matter how much I thought marriage was the magic fix, no matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t enough. My heart is broken. It broke so long ago and when it did, my head made the decision that I could love enough for everyone. But I can’t.
So I have called the game. I need to seal up the cracks and hold some of the love in for me. I need to learn to love that little girl. And it doesn’t mean I don’t love the man I will soon not be married to anymore. Far from it. I’m just tired of hurting him because it’s not enough for me.
There’s a little girl in my head now who’s wearing a dress with a skirt that flies when she twirls. She’s laughing while she dances. She catches my eye and sends me a message from the past. A message laced with a smile that understands and forgives. And with every tear that falls from my big girl eyes, the cracks in my little girl heart slowly begin to heal.
“I’m just tired of hurting him because it’s not enough for me.” –that speaks to me and I wish I could tell you why. Or anyone. I found inspiration to share more and differently as well. eventually.
this is so open, honest, and breathtaking that i could feel the emotion, the love, seeping from the screen.
thank you for writing this.
it was great meeting you @ BlogHer & i look forward to reading more or your words!
Oh man.
This is beautiful, Amy. Really. Had I known *this* is how much you’re hurting, I likely would’ve hugged you a little longer, a little harder last weekend. It was so good to reconnect.
Wow girl. Amazing words. Powerful insights that so often fill my head as well. It is time we nurture and love those little girls. Many blessings to you. S
Oh, Amy. Hugs for both you and that little girl.
tears in my eyes.
Oh my gosh: “She catches my eye and sends me a message from the past…”
This is so beautiful. There’s magic in this, being at the beginning of something. I know it’s got to have pain attached to it, but it’s still a beginning. That’s profound.
Oh! Wow….
This is a raw and beautiful post. Thanks for sharing. (Came over from Nilsa’s SoMi Speaks.)
My cracks are finally learning to seal just the tiniest bit. My little girl has pigtails that fly in the wind as she pedals her bike through the woods. She just hasn’t figured out that this is exhilarating yet.
oh, wow – this is powerful and lovely and heart wrenching all at the same time.
I hope you find peace and love in your little girl’s heart.
Just found your blog today…am glad I clicked over!
I’m sitting here slowly and occasionally picking up a random card from blogher. We sat together during one of the sessions. I liked you.
Thank you for the raw honesty of this post. I get it. I just really get it. Thank you.
Beautiful and raw. Keep that healing going.
I have been following you for a while on Twitter. I was instantly drawn to who you are.
Thank you for sharing this, incredible.
Sending love from Seattle. You have started an amazing journey that you will be glad you were brave enough to take; I just know it. Been thinking a lot about what we talked about by the pool. Hang in there, you.
I am doing some overdue catching up on my Google Reader & typically I read but don’t comment on “older” posts. This though? This demands a comment. This beautiful, aching, poignant post deserves to be commented on, even if it’s belated. In my own way, with my own experiences, I know the same feelings. I’m three years (August 24) into my own quest to fix the hurts at their core. I hope you find the same sense of healing & the love that’s been missing for far too long.