Broken.

This blog post is going to get a little personal. I’ve been struggling with it the past few days...do I dare expose myself to this extent, and at what cost? Writing is supposed to be a cathartic and expressive process that allows the author to get what they are feeling down on paper and to leverage life experience for the sake of creativity. Much like a songwriter uses music and lyrics to express themselves and to cleanse themselves of pain, a writer uses words. It is for this reason that I made the decision to share this with you – my few, yet honored readers.



I recently had a conversation with a kind-hearted gentleman – a man of the Church, one who instantly puts strangers at ease with his delicate candor and jovial nature. I’m not exactly a stranger to this man as I’m friendly with his children, but even so – he doesn’t really know me from Eve. Yet somehow I found myself engaged in a conversation with him on a random Friday night about broken people: people who have a hard time figuring out where their place in the world is because they have been hurt and abused by life. I found myself admitting to this man that I didn’t think I would ever find the one to marry. He said to me (and I’m paraphrasing here) “Elizabeth, in a way everyone is broken. When you meet the right one, you will know and God will make it happen.”


Everyone is broken.


Now - I freely admit that I am broken. My heart shattered into a trillion pieces time and again, only to fuse itself back together, but weakened over the course of much heartache and disappointment. I could sit here and tick off the number of people who have wronged me over the years yet somehow that seems counterproductive. And I know there are other people out there who are just as broken, and even more broken than I am. I never once suffered at the hands of an abuser, nor has my life been anything less than blessed and fortunate. I know that my past experiences have – in a way – made me stronger and wiser and I really shouldn’t feel too sorry for myself. But it still isn’t easy. It’s downright difficult sometimes to get out of bed with a smile, to be optimistic and hope that one day I will meet that person who will not only love me for me, but who will appreciate and respect me as well. And someone who can make me stop looking over my shoulder to see who else is coming up from behind because my needs are not being met. So far, that person has eluded me. I thought I found him once, but that wasn’t meant to be and now he is gone forever.


True confession: I have feelings for someone. I won’t say who that someone is and he may never realize who he is for I’m too scared to tell him, nor do I think those feelings would ever be reciprocated. That’s what happens when you are broken: you don’t trust your own heart as it has betrayed you so often. You don’t trust your instincts. You become jaded and pessimistic. My only hope is that one day, I will meet someone that will enable me to overcome those fears, and heal my heart to wholeness again. I may be jaded, but I’m still a hopeless romantic.


Love and devotion all the way, you know?