Holding on to what hurts

It's like everyone is given a crystal figurine when they're born. A symbol or shape that only has meaning to them. It is uniquely theirs. As infants, when we are protected, it is sheltered for us as we are cradled, rocked, and cared for. As we grow we're told to be mindful and take great care of our special gift. If anything might happen to it, though, at least we have people who can try to help manage the burden of keeping it safe. Helping if it gets scratched, teaching us how to care for it, and keeping it clean and protected. As we get older it is put in our possession and we become completely responsible for its protection. We're told we only get one and we'd better be careful. With courage and confidence, we take what we have learned and carefully venture out into the world to practice all that we have been taught. Filled with wonder and hope, we trust that we have the tools to keep ourselves safe, while knowing that we will always have love and support behind us when needed. But that's how it should be...unfortunately for me, my crystal was scratched, dropped, damaged and left unprotected-yet I was given all of the same messages of caution to protect my one and only gift. So fearfully, I picked up every broken piece and shard I could find in hopes of just keeping them all together. It might not have been whole anymore but at least I had all of the pieces. I was too young to even know that they could be broken, let alone what to do with the pieces. I just clung to them, no matter how sharp, because I knew it was my responsibility, it was my fault I was broken. I should have been more careful. I tried to mend it so many times but I would just cut myself. As time went by I would drop some of the pieces that I couldn't hold onto any longer. There were other things to focus on; to hold. Temporary relief. Distractions. But they would only cause me to lose track of what I had left. Once I realized there were very few pieces remaining, I tried to go back and find them. Some little ones were recovered but mostly the pieces were too damaged or too hard to find, so I just left them. Every now and then I would examine what was left. Embarrassingly, all I had were unrecognizable shards stained with blood, sweat, and tears that I used to hold so tightly to them. Now I am desperately clinging to what shattered pieces I have left because it's all that I have. Fragments of what used to be, miniature reminders of what should have been whole, what should have been complete and beautiful. I was responsible for protecting my gift and this is all I have left. I can never let go of the only pieces that remain -even though it hurts and I am badly scarred from them, I simply cannot let go...

 "The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen." -Elizabeth Kubler Ross