There should be a word for a broken world

I remember being 11 years old and feeling the sky was falling down. I imagined the night sky lying in shards around me. I’d scrawl drawings of a house I’d build of the pieces of sky in the back of my planner; walls adorned with the stars, a lantern made of the dapples of the moon. I remember feeling buried in that darkness, and I remember that desperate hope.

I remember that girl, that girl with the shattered heart and the broken world.

And I wish I could offer some advice, in the hopes of finding healing and helping others in their scattered lives. I could say something generic like ‘live authentically’. But I’m not sure she quite knew how. I could say ‘just be yourself’. But again I don’t think she knew who that was. Or maybe ‘restriction will solve no problems’, but I don’t think she realised that’s what she was doing.

If I could, I’d scoop her up and tell her she would be ok; I don’t think there’s much I could say that would relieve the pain of those untold secrets.

Perhaps I’d encourage her to have strength. I’d tell her it’s ok to be exhausted but even then she’d have to carry on. I’d tell her to cry, to allow herself to feel. Maybe assure her she’ll find her people, in unexpected places.

I think I’d tell her to dream, to hold onto those dreams, to let those dreams keep her going. I’d tell her to take photos, lots of photos, of joyful moments, of peaceful moments, for there’ll be times she’ll forget she’s capable of such emotions. I’d tell her it’s ok to feel broken, and that she’ll feel broken for a while; but that brokenness is not a competition.

I’d tell her she’ll find beauty in the cracks of her soul, and not to cover herself with numbness or restriction.

I remember being 11 years old. I remember feeling my world fall apart. And I remember wishing to be able to put it back together.