Kintsugi Heart

Here’s what I know about parenting, and it probably applies to life in general. It breaks your heart wide open. Everyday. Because of something I said or didn’t say, something my kid said or didn’t say. It is raw and vulnerable and beautiful and horrible. It’s so many more adjectives that I can’t currently think of, but it is the one job I have had that I am never certain of how well I am performing. There is no review, no bonus, no pay at all actually, except for years after the hard work is done. Even then it breaks you. Maybe a gown up kid isn’t talking to you. Maybe they’re an addict or in a failing marriage. Maybe they just can’t quite find their footing or have individuated so far away from you that there is no working address for it. Not even a zip code. Maybe they’re just fine but have their own life and you miss them.

The heart breaks.

And then it heals. For every heartbreak, there is an exuberant hug, a “Mommeeeee!” just when you need it, a kiss on the cheek, or as my youngest likes to do - a pat on the head. The wound that, however jagged. The Japanese actually have an art form for this called kintsugi. When pottery breaks, the pieces are not discarded but resealed with powdered gold. It becomes more beautiful when the cracks are enhanced in this way. It follows the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, which embraces flaws and imperfection. The more we use something (our hearts in this case) the less perfect it becomes. And if we apply wabi-sabi philosophy, the more beautiful we become because of our imperfect hearts.

Parenting is a spiritual practice, one that forces us to surrender all control we thought we had over and then over again. It is the most intense form of “self emptying” and unknowing that I can think of. All the books I’ve read and learning I’ve applied to parenting (it’s supposed to be interdependent, securely attached, authoritative not authoritarian, structured not controlling, love but not friendship, prize effort over grades, 12 hugs a day to even think about thriving) have not prepared me for the reality of enmeshed difficulty that parenting actually is. My heart hurts when my kid does and feels joy when he does, too. Logically I know his failures aren’t mine, but it requires a pep talk each time to remind me. They are part of us. Once we give birth our cells remain entangled in each other’s bodies for decades. When we adopt we inherent all the glory and wounding there, too - even if only as a thumbprint or wisp of air.

However your heart has been broken and resealed, please know that it is more beautiful because of the wounds threaded with gold. Bless your wabi-sabi hearts.