“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” Rumi
“You broke my heart” broke mine. Again. For weeks I took their grief, pain and anger on. Made it my own. Melded it with my own grief. My own shattered heart. Bruised soul.
Until a friend quietly commented. “You didn’t break their heart – they broke their heart.”
I stopped in my tracks. Literally.
Intuitively I knew this. Yet it took another to remind me. Why? Because with those we love – completely, unconditionally – the hurt matters. I wanted to help. Shoulder their pain. Make it better. I can’t because…
We break our own hearts.
I’ve been poking, prodding, pinching, at times playing hide and seek with this statement. I keep circling back to this:
The intentions we set (or don’t); the choices we make (or don’t); the vulnerability we share (or don’t); the work – internal/external – we do (or don’t); the truths we tell (or don’t); the love we give (or withhold); the laughter we share (or don’t); the grief we honor (or don’t); the sadness we feel (or don’t); the anger we work to understand and let go (or don’t); the compassion, empathy we hold ourselves and others in (or don’t). All of these are our choices to make.
If the body is the instrument of the soul, the heart is the conduit that allows us to see, know, feel – crack wide open – to the ebbs and flows of Life. It’s joy, sorrow, grief, sadness and anger. Even its heartbreak.
It’s up to us whether we to choose to respect, love those that honor us with the gift of their heart. Even when we experience the breaking of their heart. I hold them in my heart, soul with the same love I always have.
How we live life is a choice. Ours.
How we interact with ourselves, others. Matters.
I’m (re) learning how to hold my heart in love and care. As sacred.
It’s a bitch some days.
Because the hurt matters. It breaks me – wide open – for life, love, grief, sadness, joy.