This month in Angelic Magazine I wrote a vulnerable piece about being a child of divorce. It was birthed out of a moment at my dad’s wedding, post-vows and post-reception. Just me, God, and my broken story.
I knew it would hurt some people to read it. I fought with myself over a desire to water down the hurt, and truly, I’m not sure which side won. I also fought with the words that kept wanting to whisper, “I’m sorry.” For being broken, for being hurt, for being unhappy that two people had chosen lives apart from one another.
And from those words, and conversations with others, I’ve wrestled with my why.
Why do I write here?
Why do I scrawl words in my journal?
Does my story matter?
And the thing I’ve been learning is this: if I apologize for my words, I may as well apologize for my story. And then I may as well apologize for me.
For being me.
The sometimes broken, always being redeemed, me.
The one who is hurt by her parents’ divorce.
The one who is hurt because he walked away.
The one who still takes pills because she refuses to let depression win.
I strive for perfection in my words but what matters more is sharing my voice. I do not want to apologize for my voice anymore. I do not want to wait until the broken pieces are glued back together so that no one else cuts themselves on the edges.
Because here is the thing: we cannot heal on our own. I can only cling to hope when I acknowledge my brokenness and my need to be rescued out of it. And hope is the thing that binds us all together, the rope that leads us to Jesus and His redemption.
Healing is messy. We’re going to get hurt. We are going to get offended. We’re going to get it wrong.
But I can’t heal unless I invite others into the mess. You can’t heal unless you invite others into your mess. And the way I make sense of the mess is to scrawl words across a page, when I realize my words are not meant to be hidden, to be watered down, to be tucked behind an apology. Because my story is your story and unless we start sharing our stories, we’ll remain in our corners:
broken and bleeding alone.
So this is my promise to stop apologizing. I promise to keep writing words on pages. And I promise to keep inviting you to the table,
to break bread and break open
to carry our burdens and broken pieces