Beauty In The Brokenness
I stand on the calmness of a shoreline, the trustworthiness of the waves somersaulting on sand, one after the other. My feet have only known steady earth beneath them.
Suddenly, without any warning, the water begins receding. Slowly slipping away at first, eerily fading into the horizon. I’m left confused as the coastline is violently ripped farther than I’ve ever seen, dragged into the belly of the sea. I’m stranded now and I’ve never felt more alone.
Addiction destroys everything in its path.
My breath becomes broken, my chest ruptures from panic, as a tsunami forms ever so quietly. I watch as this ominous wall of water only gains more power as it perseveres. My eyes well, tears slide down the curves of my cheeks as I begin to understand, deep within my bones, that there is nothing I can do to stop it.
I close my eyes, I don’t want to see what’s to come next. Closer and closer, I can hear the menacing roar of sound, my body paralyzed by the piercing of vibrations. Sharpest inhale, swiftest knock down. I’m drowning, water flooding my lungs, searing pain seeping through me like tar. I scream when my mouth meets the surface for a millisecond, and then I hear his screams too.
My husband is drowning beside me. I desperately reach out to him, my hands frantically clawing through a monstrous force far greater than us, aching to find my way to him. We are being dragged farther and farther from one another, an ocean of chaos between us, torrents tearing at our limbs. He disappears, his screams silencing as he’s being pulled under, and I know I cannot rescue him.
You lose the person you love within the wild waves of addiction. You lose every part of yourself trying to save him.
Nature has a way of happening exactly how it’s meant to, as does life itself. Disruption, destruction, death, and rebirth. We moved to Japan a breath before the whole world halted on its axis. Stillness can be deafening when we are not at peace with ourselves. My husband faced his first steps of sobriety, beneath the hopefulness of Japan’s cherry blossoms. His humble beginnings were shaky, as if he was relearning how to walk again. One step at a time.
Alcohol played the softest of notes from the very start of our story’s soundtrack. We celebrated our love and our life sipping from glasses held by our hands on memorable occasions, cheeks flushed and carefree for over a decade.
Until 2020… When my husband reflected by the waters of Kyoto’s Kamo River, finally accepting the progressing power alcohol held over him. Clarity does not always come easy. Alcohol no longer painted any moment with lightness, no longer felt like a friend that accompanied the good times. He knew, defeated and disheartened, that his purest potential could never be met if alcohol continued to dim the brightness from his life.
A hero’s journey is not a smoothly paved path that’s gentle to the soul nor tender to the test of one’s character. We climbed an unsteady trek together, experiencing peaks and then valleys, stability and then relapse. I was by his side, but remained blinded in the shadows, bewildered by the relentless vulnerability of surrendering to sobriety. I saw him on the frontlines of his own war, battling the darkness and the lightness he carried within himself. I could only stand on the sidelines with a bleeding heart, watching which side would eventually win.
Sometimes when life falls apart, it actually falls into place.
Kintsugi 金継ぎ is an ancient Japanese art form, derived from Zen Buddhism, that directly translates to “golden repair.” Kintsugi is the practice of repairing broken pottery, using precious metals such as gold to rejoin each fragment back together, honoring the rare beauty of its brokenness. Philosophically, Kintsugi is about reframing our perspective on flaws by cherishing every crack not as an imperfection to hide, but as a story to illuminate. We live in a disposable world; used-up, thrown out, greener grass, and shiny, new things. We will undoubtedly find ourselves and our relationships fractured while weathering the shifting tides of our lives, never returning to the original version we began as. We may presume the facade of being destroyed beyond remedy, but very seldom are we permanently irreparable. Cracks are merely crossroads, offering a reminder of choice to mend our breakage nobly. Kintsugi signifies the reward of putting forth the patient work of restoration, which will fundamentally fuel our well of strength and renew our spark of existence. Kintsugi is the golden alchemy of shattered pottery, the golden alchemy of our one-and-only lives.
A well-lived life is a life earned, and he has earned the peace he breathes with now. Pain broke his heart, then cracked him open. Pain showed him the way, then healed his wounds. Pain woke him up to finally forging a new path for himself. My husband now stands taller than he ever has before. He carries his newfound power with a quiet ease, holds his head high with a wise stoicism. He’s lighter and healthier and freer than I’ve ever known him to be. He no longer fears the depths of his soul, no longer encounters any emptiness settling within the silence. My husband is the resilience of the human spirit embodied, built brick-by-brick with what real heroes are made of. I never take for granted the gift I have been bestowed of witnessing the miracles of his recovery every single day.
He handed me a white, square-shaped box on a day graced with an October sky. I remember how the autumn air moved and how I paused with wonderment. I carefully lifted the lid of his present, sheets of tissue paper smoothed over the contours of a round-shaped object. My hands reached for the edges of a black-toned bowl, and for a moment I cradled its weight and gazed at its artistry. My eyes followed the striations of gold cutting through each curve of ceramic like an ever-flowing river through landscape, shifting course over its lifetime.
“Kintsugi?” My eyes lit up as I asked him.
“Kintsugi.” He affirmed with a sentimental smile.
We didn’t have to say another word to each other. We already knew the bowl was a symbol of us. I rested the side of my head on the warmth of his chest as our son murmured joyous babbles beside us. I inhaled everything this quiet moment held, my insides expanding with my breath, overcome with a wave of the innermost gratitude. We had healed and I felt, right then and there, how our lightness had prevailed. We rode the untamed waves life had thrown at us with an enduring devotion to growing for ourselves and for each other, and I stood proud.
I am grateful for all of it. We found out what we are made of. We are a beautiful, imperfect mess of breakable bones, scarred flesh, flawed minds, warm-blooded veins, and mended hearts, but now…
Now. We are lined with gold.
Love,
Tera
Please contact SAMHSA’s (Substance Abuse & Mental Health Services Administration) National Helpline 1-800-662-HELP if you or your loved one may be struggling with Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD), mental health disorders, or substance use disorders. SAMHSA provides a resource of referrals to treatment facilities, support groups, and community-based programs.
