Human Kintsugi Master

I've always believed that nothing is truly broken. Not my heart, nor a shattered plate. Every part—whether whole or fractured—holds value, regardless of its immediate utility.

We're often taught to discard what's broken and start anew. But this mindset lacks vision. It’s entitled. It speaks to a lack of resiliency. And for what? Because it’s easier? If we can’t even put effort into fixing the small things, what happens when those small things evolve into something larger, more fragile? Something like us?

The Japanese created kintsugi, the art of mending broken pottery by filling the cracks with gold. The result isn’t just repaired; it’s made stronger, more beautiful, and undeniably unique. It holds a story—a story of resilience, not of being discarded because it seemed too difficult or not worth the effort.

I can't always see the cracks I’ve mended within myself, but I can feel them. They are a reminder that I am safe within my own skin, within my own nervous system.

They remind me that I am complex—a complete paradox. But above all, they remind me that I, the human kintsugi master of my own world, did this.

Each crack is a story: of every tear shed in the shower as I tried to wash away the grit and dirt, preparing myself to fill the empty spaces. Of every guttural cry as the gold cooled, calming my restless nervous system.

I made room for every broken piece of me. I gave them a home in my heart, because deep down, I know that’s all they ever wanted—a place to belong.

And in the process, I kept the promise I made to the little girl I once was: that I would fight to become the person she needed when she was young.