“I met the most broken version of me, but also the strongest.”
I saw this quote on Facebook and it really got me thinking.
Not many people truly meet the most broken version of themselves.
You might have days of sadness but being truly broken is hard to even explain.
Most of us go about our daily lives complaining about things that have gone wrong and we don’t really appreciate what has gone right.
We might complain about the cold weather or the rain.
Or complain about our hair that is too frizzy or the wrong color.
Or perhaps the most common complaint is about how much weight we have gained and how hard it is to lose it.
But when you actually meet the most broken version of yourself it is truly terrifying.
You see your reflection in the mirror and you aren’t really sure who is staring back at you.
It no longer matters that you are carrying a few extra pounds or that your hair isn’t perfect.
You look in the mirror and feel completely defeated.
I was there in December 2020.
And I remained that broken version of myself for a very long time.
Unfortunately, this time of year brings me back to that place.
On December 11, 2020, Steve was intubated.
I can close my eyes and see myself crumbling onto my kitchen floor as the nurse called and told me that Steve was being put on a ventilator. I sat on my floor and listened to the nurses and doctors frantically putting Steve on a ventilator.
I felt completely helpless and afraid.
This was during Covid so I was still teaching virtually and we hadn’t seen Steve since December 2nd.
In between calls from the hospital, I would jump online and teach letters and sight words to kindergartners as I slowly faded into despair.
From December 11th through January 7th, Jared, Shelby and I would call the hospital and ask if they could put the phone up to Steve’s ear.
We would talk to him not knowing what he could or could not hear.
Each night, we would sing a prayer for healing in hopes that God would hear our prayers.
I even recorded the kids opening their Hanukkah presents so that we could show him their excitement when he returned home.
Except he never returned home.
And I met the most broken version of myself.
She was not pretty.
But, thank goodness, she was brave.
It took a lot of time to pull myself out of the darkness.
I clung onto family, friends, grief groups and therapists in hopes that I wouldn’t feel lost forever.
I slowly put my pieces back together and built a version of myself that had to be strong, brave and resilient.
It was truly the hardest thing I have ever had to do.
Some people are truly blessed and they will never meet the most broken versions of themselves.
If you are reading this, and you are one of those people, you are so very lucky.
Even though I have gone through this experience, I often need to remind myself not to get stuck in the minutiae of everyday life.
But writing helps me put some perspective back into my heart so thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts.
Try not to forget that a few extra pounds, unruly hair or a dreary day are not life altering.
And if you do have to meet the most broken version of yourself, remember you can rebuild.
It might take a little time, but be strong and brave.
You don’t have to stay broken forever.
onedayatatime 