Writing from Brokenness

To write from a place of brokenness is no easy thing. It’s to come to the edge of what I know, the edge of comfort, and to peer over that edge and wonder if I can risk brokenness. Can I risk the vulnerability? Do I dare? Can I be what some might consider “weak”? In many cases, I can’t. I turn away. I retreat to safety because I have written from that place previously, and the things I’ve written have sometimes hurt people close to me.

Other times, the only thing to do is to be broken. I open myself to something that may have occurred years ago but still has the power to resonate, and I steel myself for the remembering. It isn’t so that I can become angry or grief-stricken; it’s to work through whatever emotion is there. It’s occasionally to put others first, to share a story that could help someone else no matter the cost to me and my comfort.

It’s still hard. The words don’t always come easily when I’m in that place, and I struggle to claim them. Sometimes they pour forth – perhaps in the way Lorca imagines when he speaks of the duende or in the way Rumi says to dance when one is broken open.

Regardless of the ease or difficulty of the words, sharing them can be problematic. It’s one thing to write from a place of brokenness and not share the words; it’s another to write them and know that I’ll publish them. That reality is altogether frightening. It’s to add another element of risk, one that I’m never quite sure I’ll take until I’m taking it and understanding that the hesitancy to share the words has more to do with salvaging some sense of pride and ego than with a fear that the words aren’t any good. It’s a fear based on what others will think of me if I share those words, if I tell the truth, if I’m completely open and honest about my thoughts and feelings. It’s a fear rooted in the thought that I might be rejected by the person or the people with whom I’m sharing my words.

I don’t believe the answer is not to risk sharing the words; far from it. I think the answer is to risk more, to push to that edge and past it because that’s where true beauty lies. It’s in that place of vulnerability and jagged edges, a place of seeming weakness, that I find strength. The light pours in, and the words pour out, and they’re strong not because of me but because of my willingness to be vulnerable, to be broken.

Image: Robin (CC BY 2.0)