They Allowed Me to Be Broken

 They Allowed Me to Be Broken

There was no space for my brokenness.
Other people's wounds mattered more.
Mine were labeled as my fault,
and therefore unworthy of help,
unworthy of healing.

I broke the leg of my soul. 

The soul-bone both shattered and tore through the soul-flesh.

I needed multiple surgeries and a long convalescence.

I gritted my teeth and walked on it,
because everyone else seemed to need
and deserve nurture more than I did.

It felt as though no one cared.
My identity erased my permission
to be wounded,
to be broken,
to be flawed.

So I lived with a shattered soul-leg,
dragging it through years of pretending.
The wound festered.
Infection spread.
What could have been set and healed
became something far more dangerous.

The stench and the pain became unbearable.
consumed my thoughts
and shaped my every step,
until relief mattered more
than staying where I had always been.

So I walked through the doors.

They asked me to sit down.

They looked at my broken, putrid soul-leg
and responded–not with disgust,
not with dismissal,
but with compassion.

They allowed me to be broken.

And I needed that.

They didn't see a preacher's kid
who should know better.
They didn't see the girl
who had to make everything look fine.
They didn't assume I was okay
because of where I came from.

They saw the wound.

They allowed me to be broken.

And I needed that.

They didn't pass me by
for someone who looked more obviously injured.
They didn't minimize it.
They didn't ignore it.
They didn't tell me it was my fault.
They didn't shame me.
They didn't tell me it was all in my head.
They didn't rub dirt on it
and call it healed.

They allowed me to be broken.

And I needed that.

Instead, they knelt beside me.

They cleaned the wound
that I had spent years hiding.
They showed me that pain acknowledged
can finally begin to heal.

They allowed me to be broken.

And I needed that.

They acknowledged my wounds
and taught me that I was worthy of healing.
They showed me that the Great Physician
had never turned away from me.
He had always been willing,
always been ready.

And I needed that.

They helped me understand
that my brokenness
did not disqualify me from being healed.

They allowed me to be broken. 

And because of that, I began to heal.