Almost a year ago I opened my hands up to the possibility of something new.  I held my hands out and kept them open to whatever was supposed to happen.  I let myself be vulnerable.  I allowed my heart to be open.  I tried new things.


I became open to having another baby, and adoption.


I went back to school, full throttle, but it slipped out of my hands. It wasn’t the right fit.  In fact I failed at it.


So than I thought maybe the lesson through it all was a lesson in failure.  In fact I spent a greater part of the last year, seeing all my failures as a woman, wife, mother, and friend and used that as a lesson in my speaking, in my writing, in my daily life.  I saw it as another opportunity for me to be more transparent, more present.   The only problem is when you’re gossamer thin; you are much easier to tear.


Five years ago I was stronger.  Two years ago I was stronger. Last year I was stronger. Because I had more faith.


On Sunday Daniel accidently broke a vase on the front porch. As I went to pick up the pieces I picked up a large piece and it shattered right in my hands.  Teeny tiny little shards of shattered glass in my hands.  The glass was already too thin; it wasn’t strong enough to hold on its own.


I am shattered.


It didn’t happen overnight. Slowly as each day turned into months and heart ache turned to tragedy, and prayers turned into feeling helpless, a small crack entered my hope.


It slowly spread.


All of the things I know became the things I questioned.  My self-worth. My friendships. My marriage.  My role as a daughter, as a sister. I removed myself from groups.  I stopped returning calls.  I stopped wanting to go to social events, because I didn’t even want to be around me.  I started to become self-conscious again about how I looked all the time.  I started getting scared at night again. I stopped sleeping.  I wasn’t funny anymore.  I wasn’t comfortable.  I was so so sad. And I cried all the time.  Because I had failed.  I failed as a wife. As a friend. I’d failed as a daughter.  And I’d failed the most as a sister.


Was I less of a Mom? No.  That is the only area that has been held in place.  By the grace of God though. By the grace of God.


Other words for it…anxiety.  Depression.


My word: Shattered. In a million pieces.


My hands were open and this is what I got.  I got to a place where I had opened myself so completely that it didn’t take much to break me.


And once we’re shattered it’s so much easier to let all the bad stuff in…Comparisons. Despair.  more sadness.  Because what’s one more piece to fall?


This isn’t meant to be a sad blog.  Or a post in order to ask for help or for advice, because Lord knows I get enough unsolicited opinions. It is a reminder that everything can be shattered.  We can all be shattered and still live.


We can be vulnerable, and still survive.


I spent months pretending that I could hold it together and then lost it on a Sunday.  I cried my heart into my comforter as the love of my life finally heard where I was. Of course He knew something was very wrong, because I’m not that good of an actor, but he didn’t really know, because I didn’t trust him with my brokenness. But when I allowed the pieces to fall away I was allowing him to love me. And that’s what I need the most right now. Love.


Honestly, I still have not completely found my hope.


With each step I take, each time I set a boundary, each time I allow myself to not let every failure of the last year invade my thoughts another piece of the puzzle is replaced.  It won’t look the same as two years ago.  I won’t be the same, but I will be here.


Honestly, I don’t know what God wants, but I do know in those moments there was Grace. Grace to stand up for a friend in a very social way when I knew that in doing that I would become the center of attention and judged, the thing that terrifies me most right now.  Grace to be present to my kids when I’m completely emptied.  Grace to know I did everything I could.  Grace to admit that I don’t know a lot– but I know what love is, and how powerful love can be. And if I do everything with the intent of Love for another I cannot be too far from God.


I’m not brave. I’m scared.


I’m not strong.  I’m very weak.


I’m shattered.  But I’m loved.


I’m still here.