There was a quiet kind of beauty in allowing my heart to be in pieces. It wasn’t the mending, so much, that allowed my experience in the world to begin to soften. It was the gentle shift from being the pieces to being the whole Self.
It was too much at first to step out of the pieces. And so I practiced holding and letting go until the tenderness of tapping into my own true essence far outweighed anything else. There was a sweetness in noticing that it did in fact matter what I was experiencing on the inside.