Something to carry
On broken pieces, quiet healing, and choosing something for myself
I’ve been doing some work in therapy recently.
It doesn’t feel dramatic, but it’s quietly shifting something.
I think I’m beginning to understand that something beautiful can come from the broken pieces. In fact, something more beautiful than if the item had never been broken at all.
I don’t think I could have said that a year ago.
And I’m not even sure I fully believe it yet.
But something about it had settled in me enough that I wanted a way to remember it.
Not something to think about.
Something to carry.
I began mulling over the thought of kintsugi as a metaphor to understand my healing from trauma during a grief retreat that I’ve written about before (Grief retreat blog). The idea stayed with me; when something breaks, it can be repaired in a way that doesn’t hide the damage, but honours it. That the cracks become part of the story.
I decided to try it for myself.
I took a ceramic bowl, broke it into pieces, and used one of those kits with glue and gold to put it back together again. And in some ways, the process was really helpful. There was something quite powerful in doing it slowly, piece by piece, seeing it come back together.
But if I’m honest, what I ended up with was… not beautiful.
It was clumsy. It was awkward and slightly ridiculous!
I remember looking at it with a sense of disappointment. It didn’t come close to the picture in my mind.
The concept of kintsugi is so beautiful.
The reality, at least in my hands, wasn’t.
And that thought stayed with me, too.
So when I found myself wanting something to make this kintsugi metaphor for my healing feel tangible, I knew I didn’t want another object that would sit on a shelf.
I thought briefly about buying a proper piece of kintsugi pottery. Something genuinely beautiful, done by an artisan.
But I realised it would probably just sit on a shelf.
I didn’t want something that I would leave at home.
I wanted something to carry with me.
So I started looking for a piece of jewellery.
And I found a necklace made from broken pieces of amazonite, held together with copper.
I immediately knew I loved it. The colour was calm and soft. The copper felt warm. And there was something about the way it had been put together, not hiding the breaks, just holding them, that felt right.
I had found something I liked, so I bought it.
That might not sound like much, but it felt like a big deal to me. I’m usually so reluctant to spend money on anything unnecessary for myself. This was extravagant self-care.
Life hasn’t suddenly become neat or resolved.
Things are still hard. There’s still a lot of repetition, a lot of holding things together day by day. There are still moments when life feels more like my wonky, functional bowl than anything beautiful.
But now I have something small with me that reminds me of what can be true.
As I come to the end of this piece, I want to share a song that’s been really meaningful to me in all of this.
It’s called Shattered by Blanca.
It speaks about being put back together again. For me, it means believing that God is with me on this journey of restoration.
I know that won’t be everyone’s way of seeing things, and that’s okay. But if you’re interested, or if this resonates with you, you may find this song helpful: Listen to Shattered here
I’m not a finished piece yet.
But I am in the process.
And for now, this is enough.
I’m wearing my beautiful kintsugi necklace.
As a beautiful reminder of what is possible.