By Laurel Decker Hogge
“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” — Rumi
Try to remember a time you held something fragile in your hands. You were so careful not to damage it by holding too tightly, but your grip had to be firm enough to keep it secure. Now, imagine that in the next moment it slips from your fingertips and falls to the ground in slow motion. You know that whether you swipe at it or stand in frozen disbelief, the end result is the same. You are left gaping at the broken pieces and wishing you could take back the last three seconds.
Maybe this has happened to you before. If it was something very precious, it may have taken a while to recover from the realization that, even with all your care, you could not keep it safe. Did you find it difficult to accept that it would never be whole again?
I believe we all have this experience in a figurative way many times throughout our lives. At times, it is the experience of watching someone we love in their own breaking that sends our hearts into its own helpless free fall, or the unexpected tumble from romantic rejection that breaks our precious heart vessels. Powerful soul lessons can be learned in this vulnerable state if we see our hearts as broken open rather than broken apart.
The Japanese art known as kintsugi, or “golden joinery,” is a process of using gold epoxy to mend the cracks in broken pottery. Depending on the piece, and the severity of its damage, this time-consuming process requires patience, commitment, skill, and focus to complete. It’s a beautiful testament that a vessel does not lose its worth once broken—rather, the golden threads reconnecting the broken parts enhance the vessel’s value. The pottery’s purpose has expanded to include an aesthetic reverence for recovery.
As we become more aware that breaking is a major part of the soul expansion process, we find beauty in healing. Just like the skilled kintsugi artist, we select and master tools for mending. I find that therapy, yoga, meditation, and self-care are my most essential wellness tools. It’s up to each of us to discover which approach is most effective in our own healing. Just remember that depending on the size and volume of the cracks, the mending process can take a lot of time and focus. The good news is that practice makes us more skilled at this craft of personal healing.
An optimistic take on this breaking doesn’t make it any less painful. When we break—whether it’s the slit of a paper cut or a fractured bone—we feel pain, and pain demands attention. Even if you’re one of those tough people who can “walk it off,” or ignore the sensation until it’s gone, you still have to manage the pain.
I’m not one who can wave off any sensation—emotional or physical. I feel all the things, and I feel them deeply. If that resonates with you, it’s possible that you are one of the small number of humans described by Dr. Elaine Aron as highly sensitive in her book, The Highly Sensitive Person.
Throughout my life, I struggled with each breaking experience, as well as the fear of impending impacts, so much so that I eventually took prescription medication for relief from anxiety. It was in my fourth year of college that I had my first panic attack. Crouched in the shower to cry and catch my breath, I blew it off as an isolated incident. All in one week: final exams, an apartment check to determine if I could keep my deposit, and meeting the future in-laws for the first time. It was a weird experience, but it made sense.
With my first pregnancy, I prepared for motherhood by reading everything I could find that might help me be the best mom possible. I made plans to breastfeed, knowing that studies had proven its great health benefits. It was only moments after delivery that I was told my son wouldn’t be able to latch properly. The lactation specialist explained the challenge ahead of us, handed me a pamphlet, and recommended that I buy a list of equipment to help me do what I had assumed would be one of the easiest and most natural aspects of motherhood. As a new mom, I went into a downward spiral after an anxious, sleepless, and painful three weeks only to realize I could not be mentally well and a successful breastfeeding mother at the same time.
Though I felt driven to have a big family, my need for control made motherhood a great challenge for my mental well-being. As any parent will tell you, there are a lot of unpredictable variables with children. I felt like I would conquer one obstacle only to have another obstacle emerge, and I was gradually becoming more and more emotionally fragile. I lived in fear of each breaking experience, as well as the fear of impending impacts. With my second pregnancy, I knew what to expect, and I breastfed my second baby for over a year. But not long after weaning him, we took an unexpected midnight trip to the hospital where my three-year-old was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. I taught a child to be brave through all the shots and hospital visits, all while a perpetual concern for his life settled into my chest.
The physical and emotional toll was adding up, but at this time I wasn’t equipped with tools that might have helped me repair. I eventually took prescription medication for relief from anxiety. To meet the demands of one, then two, then three, then four children—one medicine served to prevent breakdowns while another was a quick fix when I still couldn’t keep it together.
It was over a decade later, when I was at my lowest point, that even medication couldn’t help me. When my husband and I made the choice to leave the fundamental religion we had lived since childhood—the force that brought us together at a freshman orientation party at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. Losing faith was a confusing loss. We knew we had made the right decision to distance ourselves from the teachings of the church, but we were unprepared for how that would impact us. We grew apart as we dealt with our grief in different and unhealthy ways.
With a heart in mourning, and a marriage in crisis, I began therapy and yoga even though I felt very little will to keep living. Progress toward emotional stability was slow at first. It was discouraging and painful most of the time, but I knew I was healing. I began to enjoy the work as I realized it was leading me back to a feeling of being whole again. And more importantly, a more resilient and purposeful version of myself was emerging. Over time, I learned the beautiful lesson that breaking is a major part of the process of soul expansion. This knowledge changed my perspective from “Oh no, I’m breaking apart,” to “I am grateful to break open and expand again.”
By taking part in the work of mending your own heart vessel, you can spend less time suffering and more time exploring the sensations and their purpose. Each time you work your way through a difficult experience, you will become more resilient and less brittle upon impact. I encourage you to take the time to heal with intention, with trust in the process, and patience to stay the course. You can heal and reunite your broken parts. Cherish the lessons learned when you look back on the experience — like running your fingers along the golden seams that run throughout your broken open vessel.
Laurel Decker Hogge is a yoga instructor, artist, and wellness guide in Brighton. Laurel is passionate about helping others connect with their own intuition to live with focus and purpose. You can find out more at laurelwellness.org.
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