The Broken Vase

Several years ago, I found myself having my first experiences with generalized anxiety and anxiety attacks. As someone with PTSD, I was very familiar with the flooding that came over me when I encountered a trigger of a specific past trauma. I knew that if I came across anything that hinted of fire or burns, I would have a full-fledged panic attack, and need to remove myself from that situation immediately. But never before had I experienced anxiety at the thought of being left alone with my own children, a full 13 years into parenting. Never before had I panicked at the thought of having to adjust to a change in plans at the last minute. I had been busy for the past 20 years, but I'd never hyperventilated because of my to-do list before. All of a sudden, the demands of functioning at any level, let alone the level I was demanding of myself, became much too much.

It started probably 10 years before (if I'm being honest, it really started about 25 years prior, but that's for another post), when my husband and I decided to move across the state with our two-year-old daughter, to be closer to his family. In order to be able to meet the financial costs required for a move that big, we had to bring in some additional income. It was ironic, really, because the main reason we were moving was because we couldn't afford our current situation. The only solution we could think of was to move, be closer to family, and lean on them while we got ourselves back on our feet, and on more solid ground. But in order to do that, we needed more money.

So I got a third job. Mind you, I was already working two jobs, one as a substitute teacher and another at a clothing store. But once we decided to move, I took on a third one, working at a local daycare where my friend also worked. It was made possible because the daycare agreed to watch my daughter for free during my shifts. This meant that I was now working 7 days a week, for about three months straight leading up to our move.

It was around this time that I started drinking coffee on the regular. I had occasionally turned to it before, but that was the exception. Once I started working nonstop, it became a necessity. It got me through my days, allowed me to meet our goal, and returned to me a sense of the control I felt I had lost. With that came the hopeful reassurance that maybe we would be okay, which was a feeling that had eluded me for the two years we had been struggling. Soon I associated "just figure it out and keep going" with feelings of safety and stability. In order to hold on to that feeling, I had to keep pushing. Keep figuring it out, keep hustling, keep doing what I had to do in order to feel like we were keeping our heads above water.

Enter perfectionism and workaholism, fueled by daily amounts of coffee that would concern a Columbian coffee manufacturer. All this mixed with PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and eventually landed me in therapy, which was exactly where I needed to be. One day my therapist and I were discussing the idea of being "broken", and if I thought I was broken, and if I was, what that meant to me. I went back home that day and wrote the following. If you have ever wondered if you are broken, too, I hope this helps you feel a little less alone in it.

If we purchase something that is broken, we return it. If something we already have breaks, we fix it or throw it out. And according to some social media profiles, some of us appear to have achieved perfect lives. Everywhere we look, there is the assumption that if something is flawed, it is unworthy. So what does that say about us? If we are not perfect, are we unworthy?

Sitting on a quiet doorstep, on a quiet street, there was a vase. It was made by hand, and with love, many years ago. Someone carefully painted it a beautiful robins-egg blue, and it shone and sparkled beautifully in the sun. It sat in a place of honor on that doorstep, proudly proclaiming itself to the admiration of all. One day a woman was walking down the steps, and she lost her balance. In an attempt to regain her footing, her hand carelessly shot out and knocked the vase over. The impact caused a large crack to form down the side of the vase. The woman tried to fix the crack, but she couldn't. The woman put the vase back on the doorstep, but since the crack was clearly visible, she placed it so that the crack was facing the wall, and only the still-perfect side showed to the world. The vase continued to delight the passersby, and the woman was relieved that no one seemed to notice the crack. As far as everyone else knew, the vase was still perfect. But she still worried that one day someone would notice the hidden flaw. So she checked it every day, looking at it from every angle possible from the street, to assure herself that no one would be able to guess the truth. She knew that if her neighbors were aware of that crack, they would no longer admire her vase. Over time she became obsessed with keeping up the illusion of perfection. It appeared to be working, as people began commenting that the vase seemed to be even more beautiful. One day, as she was completing her daily check, she noticed someone was watching her. An elderly gentleman was walking her way, and had observed her behavior. He walked right up to the vase, and stood staring at it contemplatively. After a moment, he gently turned the vase around so the crack was facing him. The woman immediately tried to turn it back, explaining that she had wanted it positioned so the crack was hidden. But the man just smiled, and told her that he knew it was cracked before he turned it around. "How did you know?" she asked. She had been so careful, she knew he couldn't possibly have seen it from where he had been. "Because," he explained kindly, "the vase glowed as if lit from within. A light like that only comes from something that has a crack. Something that has been broken, and now has a way to let the light in. Perfect things can't let in the light. Only broken things can do that."

May we all see our brokenness as merely gaps where our humanity can come through, so that we can allow our inner lights to shine on each other and show each other the way.