At the back of our cupboard sits a coffee mug. To the untrained eye it will appear as is, a nice large Italian looking coffee mug. My husband and I are the only ones who know about the cracked handle which is the reason for its placement. Not cracked enough to repair or throw away but cracked enough to be benched and used in emergencies only.
I too am broken like that. To the untrained eye I have a beautiful family, a very handsome husband along with three beautiful little long haired girls who trail me pretty much everywhere. I appear just as I am. Most will never know there should be two little boys. Boys which I carried nine months and was not even granted nine hours on earth. That is my crack. Hidden from most if not all. Yesterday I realized that I am that mug and that just like that mug, no one has tried to fix me.
That's not entirely true I guess. I have made amazing strides at repairing the damage I can see. Since Eli's birth I can now run faster and farther than ever before. I have toned muscles and am stronger than I have ever been. My fair skin is now golden. Fixing these things has given me purpose. During Eli's pregnancy I had a clear purpose, to protect him and bring him to term and prepare for that inevitable day. When he was born and died so did that purpose. I then purposely chose to heal my body.
It's what I can't see that's broken. I don't even know how badly right now. Which as any fixer can tell you is a pretty big problem. We're fixers you see. I am great at fixing broken toys with glue, sewing patches to clothing and mending holes. My husband has amazing technical and creative abilities and can fix almost anything that I can't. Almost. I am not fixed yet.
I am that coffee mug, hiding in plain sight, able to hold two good cups of coffee but capable of shattering at any moment.