Healing Stories: Fragile Things – Uplifers

I have always felt that I should be strong for others. I thought I could handle everything. That I can stay safe and sound while others are easily offended… Every night when I was alone, I silently rebelled and smiled at the world again every morning. And I would forget that I have the right to be as fragile as everyone else.

Yes, I always felt that I had to be strong for the sake of others. Nothing can bend my back, just as nothing can pierce my armor. But when I was alone, I fell apart like a flour cookie.

I have often been too fragile for this world. I got upset about this. I felt that something was wrong with me. I used to think that there was something missing in me, something weak or strange, because I spent days obsessing over things that other people didn’t care about, because I tore myself over insignificant events, because on I was too affected by small things. I would be secretly ashamed for being like this…

But now I know very well that being fragile is not the same as being weak. Being fragile means being open to the influence of the world. To all the senses of the world; to love, sadness, happiness and tears. Fragility is actually a superpower bestowed on a person despite all the pain it causes. It means to feel everything, let in the light and drink life at once.
“Everything has a crack,” says Leonard Cohen. “That’s how the light gets in.” I think that if I become completely invincible, then in time I will also lose my light. I become a wall. Stone statue. To the gargoyle. An unfeeling creature that lives on the surface, breathing instead of living.

Although I want to go deeper. I love being full of cracks. I want to learn how to take care of my stretch marks. If I’m going to go deep, I know it’s because of my vulnerability.

Yes, yes, I want to go deeper and write down what I saw there. Instead of swimming in shallow water, I want to get lost in this terrible and magnificent blue. After all, writing, like all forms of production, is a fragile business. And, as with all fragile deeds, there is something to lose here. To go there and when I return, write down all the wonderful things that I saw there: I just want this in this life.

I also love fragile things. I have always loved them. Music, flowers, rain, stars, cats… I know that fragile things have their own beauty. And the day I acknowledged that I was one of them, I took a step towards loving myself more.

Writing for me means creating something beautiful from my tears. Every morning, at that magical hour when the sun and moon waltz, I sit down at my desk. I begin to write quite openly, completely honestly, completely fragile. On the desk there is no place for armor, masks, petrified hearts.

It seems to me that what I write at such moments is the continuation of a strange dream. I love it so much: the weather is neither dark nor light, my coffee is hot, Joan Baez sings “Goodbye Angelina” in her fragile voice in the background, for example. And for one fleeting, magical moment, it seems to me that I am the saddest and happiest writer in this world.

Of course, I am well aware that in this world, fragility comes at a terrible price. But instead of focusing on it, I still accept it as a gift. Because I believe with all my heart that the path to a meaningful life must be fragile.

I once felt obliged to be strong for others. I thought I could handle everything. That I can stay safe and sound while others are easily offended… Every night when I was alone, I silently rebelled and smiled at the world again every morning. And I would forget that I have the right to be as fragile as everyone else.

Yes, I always felt that I had to be strong for the sake of others. Nothing can bend my back, just as nothing can pierce my armor. But when I was alone, I fell apart like a flour cookie.

Now, at the cost of suffering, I open wide the windows of my heart. Because as long as I live, I want to feel everything to the fullest.

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