Mended with Gold
Trigger Warning: Trauma, Depression, Suicide
I was recently introduced to the Japanese art of Kintsugi — a 400-year-old technique that uses gold to mend broken pottery pieces. The result is something gorgeously flawed; something perfectly imperfect. The pottery will never look the same as it previously did. Some pieces may be replaced with a new color or pattern. The gold that binds the broken pieces adds intrigue and beauty. Together, the gold and the previously broken pieces, tell a story. Together, they honor the light and dark by creating this new, holistic entity. This art form represents my life journey.
I woke up on a beautiful Thursday in May, after barely getting any sleep. I got out of bed and tried to act like it was just another day. I sobbed in the shower, so as not to worry my husband and kids. I washed away the tears, finished getting ready and mustered up enough energy to put on a smile, get myself and the kids ready, then head to school drop-off. After watching my youngest walk into school, I went back inside my car, shut the door, and released. I cried. I screamed. I punched the steering wheel. Then, I started driving to the office, because I had an “important” meeting that day. As a Black woman in corporate America, and like many Black women in professional settings, I have been trained to believe my needs are secondary to those of the business.
Five minutes into my drive, I realized I could no longer keep my secret. I called my cousin in tears and confessed,
“ I wrote my goodbye letter in my head last night. The only way to escape this pain is to not be here anymore.”
From the outside, no one would suspect I have this darkness inside me. I have a loving and extremely supportive husband, my children bring me so much joy and laughter, and I have a village of friends who inspire me and love me deeply. I also built a successful marketing career, working on multi-billion dollar brands, while also driving impact. What did I have to be sad about?
Most people don’t know what I I have survived:
Physical abuse.
Emotional abuse.
Sexual abuse.
Racism.
Sexism.
Trauma, after trauma, after trauma.
People often commend me for being resilient, but it’s the result of a tattered history. A history that still weighs on me, sometimes sending me into complete darkness. My eyes become blind to joy. My heart loses all sense of emotion, except despair and hopelessness. Depression has a way of making you feel so utterly alone and damaged that you think suicide is the only way to find peace.
On that regular Thursday morning in May, after bringing my son to school, I wanted peace. I wanted to be free from my pain. I’d already done everything else — therapy, medication, journaling, and meditation. Leaving this planet, leaving my life behind, felt like the only option left.
It’s been some time since that Thursday morning. I’m still here because I've spent every moment since then literally fighting for my life.
I was fortunate to take a leave of absence from work. I have been working since I was 13 years old. Even during my two maternity leaves, I was caring for my kids, not myself. This was my first opportunity to take time off solely to focus on my mental health. I continued weekly sessions with my therapist, digging into memories I had pushed away for decades. In addition to severe depression and anxiety, I was diagnosed with PTSD. I started new depression/anxiety medication and spent countless hours with nature. The ocean, the trees, and wood-burning fire were also my medicine.
During the first few weeks of my leave, I simply allowed myself to be in the darkness. I allowed myself to be completely broken — something I have never done before. Since childhood, I have been the caretaker for everyone else. I could not be broken when so many others relied on me to glue them back together. But this time, I reached a point where I could no longer hold my cracks, or myself, together. And yet, there was a sense of freedom in allowing myself to be broken.
I slowly started to find reasons to live — the gold filling to help hold my cracks. I told myself things like:
Look at the joy in my kids' faces when they laugh. I can’t take that away from my babies.
I can’t burden my amazing husband with telling our kids I’m gone. I won’t force him to become a single dad.
Who will take over managing my mom’s healthcare?
How will my niece and nephews deal with my loss?
Though they were all external reasons, they kept me here long enough to continue doing the work. I committed to exploring my darkest parts. I nurtured them, rejected them, then embraced them again. The depth of this exploration left me with an appreciation for my darkness. I came to accept that it has been, and will always be, part of my life. I realized that if I can’t accept the darkness, then I can’t accept the light either. Both are equally important to who I am. Through this acceptance, the light slowly gained strength. Its gold rays started peaking through my brokenness.
So many of us walk around hiding our broken parts, hiding our darkness. Personally, I felt obligated to do so. Black women don’t have the privilege of being vulnerable because society translates our vulnerability into weakness, laziness, or proof of other stereotypes created about us. The system of white supremacy that required my ancestors to get back on the field after their children were stripped away from them and sold off is the same system I’ve experienced my entire life as a Black American and daughter of immigrants. This system conditioned me into believing I should push through and get the work done, even in a time when I didn’t want to live anymore.
My story is not new or unique. It is the story of many.
I don’t share my story for recognition or sympathy. I share it because it’s part of my healing. I also share it for anyone, particularly those in the BIPOC community, who is hiding their broken parts. I invite us all to be inspired by the art of Kintsugi.
Allow yourself to be broken. Excavate and gather those broken parts. Let love and joy become the gold that bonds the pieces back together. It's hard to find sometimes, but that love and joy surrounds us.
It’s in the laughter you hear when you pass a playground.
It’s in the gentle breeze that kisses your cheek.
It’s in the way your dog wags her tail when you come home.
It’s in the sliver of sunshine that warms your skin when you’re walking under trees.
Eventually, that love and joy will come from within. Then you’ll have enough gold to mend yourself back together. Like Kintsugi art, you won’t feel or look the same, but you will be new. You will be beautiful. You will be whole.
Today, I know and love myself more than I ever have in my life. I am intimately familiar with my broken
parts (my darkness) and my gold (my light). Some pieces may break again. I’m OK with that. Each break is a lesson, an opportunity to create a renewed version of myself.
I am Kintsugi art.