Like a crack in my favorite mug
a confession of imperfection and an invitation to return to what is true
A few weeks ago, I felt a crack in my integrity.
Not some grand schism like the time I let fatigue and burnout almost risk my Master’s career through the blatant misuse of AI (something I still feel the echoes of regret about to this day— a story for another time), but not a small enough crack to cover with clear nail polish and move on from without reflection.
No, this crack felt like the handle cracking off my favorite mug. The kind that I see and feel, but that has been mended with the strong epoxy of a short break from writing and taking the time to pull it all back into focus.
The crack in my oneness felt like a moment of choking on meaningful words and spitting them out in a way that felt crude and misshapen. Even after taking the shortcut to repair, there was an offness to it that a few grammar changes couldn’t quite shake.
What I was trying to do was bridge a part of myself that is so deeply valuable to the whole of me through writing, but the energy it was accompanied by was one all too familiar.
The grabbing, tugging, pull of wanting to be heard and seen in a very “any press is good press” kind of way. I wanted both “wow so profound” and also the gasp of a pearl clutch, like it used to be in 2020, when my life felt jarring and reactive. The thrill of wandering who might step up to the podium to condemn me so I could stand atop my platform proclaiming my justifiedness.
But what I got instead, 6 years later, with the jarringness long past, was the goings-on of just another Tuesday. No audible gasps, no creeping DMS ready to pounce; just my standard set of likes from my most committed reader companions. And in that ordinary-ness, I realized something that used to feel soooo dividing has neatly and so perfectly fit itself into my being that no one is surprised by it, not one bit.
No one wonders what I mean when I say god anymore, and if they do, it’s out of genuine curiosity rather than a hope to catch me in my “lostness”. People go about their day, and many love and celebrate the place spirituality has found in my life because I do too.
In many ways, this misplaced expression felt like the battle cry of a protector part, a valiant rage of no longer being needed. This protector part that was so attached to “following the rules,” “being a good Christian”, and “not disappointing people” as the way to receive and hold onto love.
Because if I could, in my complete integrity and in total nonshelantness, no longer worry about following the rules or being a good Christian, or whether I was going to disappoint someone, then the protector part’s role in keeping me loved and safe would become obsolete.
My protector wanted to go out swingin’.
So I wrote something beautiful, then produced it with the energy of a dying man’s battle cry, and the beauty turned into spiraling, wondering, hoping that maybe the thread hadn’t fully gone bare.
but it had.
The demons were just shadows.
The snake was a twig.
There was nothing left to fear. I could be fully seen and safe in this story.
What I wanted to say here and now, with my protector part feeling safe and secure tucked away on a velvet couch, eating kettle corn, and watching Encanto on repeat, is that to feel whole, full, and to heal, Spirit is part of that whole.
Not that you need religion, although many find a great connection to Spirit in religious spaces.
Rather, however it finds you, the throughline is the potent power of faith, hope, joy, and trust in something greater ahead.
Allowing yourself to see something bigger than yourself.
To bask in the vastness that there is so much more than you.
Not because you are not good enough, in fact, the opposite, because you are soooo enough and sooo important to the cosmic dance, that it is crucial that you don’t worry yourself one bit about why you are important, you can just trust that you are.
From my prodigal article:
I want to swim in the rushing river of hope that exists in knowing that every moment of every timeline of every human life is a ripple across this vast and expansive universe.
That we all play an important role,
yet are so small a drop in the ocean that we should not concern ourselves with it.
What peace can emerge, and what profound hope there is in knowing that by simply existing. By simply embodying our most beloved self, we are part of both the creation and regeneration of everything that exists.
This is a part of the epoxy, the repair. Bringing back into focus what and why this all truly matters.
The fully seen and deeply meaningful, even to just myself, invitation to welcome Spirit back into my life, practice, and community with open hands and a curious wondering mind.