The Best of Times | Being Broken

We don’t know at 22 how good we have it- we’re simply itching to get out in the real world, and yet also so scared of it. I think sometimes we settled for less than we deserve out of that fear, and yet, we don’t even know that despite everything hard that is about the come- these are the best of times.

I say this with some reflection. I reconnected with someone who was once so dear to me this weekend- someone I knew when I was 22. We had a falling out that took me sometime to understand, I was blindsided by it. But we picked right back up this weekend with one phone call- after an Instagram comment which led to a private Facebook message and an exchange of numbers- closing with a promise to catch up in person.

And yet this weekend also brought a series of communications that were incredibly hurtful, from someone who just can’t seem to stop hurting me. Even something as silly as calling me overweight. (Note: I’m not happy with my weight right now anyway- but it’s due to lack of sleep, I’m almost positive, as I type this at 11:30 pm.) There’s just no point in it.

My friend and I laughed about how easy we had it at 22- why were we in such a hurry to get to this place? This place which has left us divorced, alone, and broken. But what I have to remind myself through the tears, as I receive those hateful texts, is that being broken doesn’t mean I’m not strong. Broken means I have learned. Broken means I have picked myself up- me, myself, I damn well did it- and am moving upwards and onwards. Is it a straight path? No. But I have to wonder, was it ever really straight to begin with?

And if nothing else, I have learned more kindness from this. I have learned that truly, you never know what is going on in someone else’s world.

There was a time in which I would never have made friends with Carrie who lives in the Dempsey, just because I would not have. I would have been too busy. I would have been too snobby to see her.

Being broken means I can see others through a clearer lens, and I can appreciate those I encounter. It means my rough edges have been worn down, that many fights aren’t worth it- and the ones that are are made clear.

Being broken means that I can reach down to you, too, and say- “Friend, I was once there, let me lift you in to the light”.

The tears are temporary, though it does not feel as much as the time, I know. Prayer, meditation, talking to a friend- and even finding a new one- they all help. There is someone to help you find the way.

Love to all of y’all,

Molly