Cara ragazza spezzata,<\/p>\n
I know you because I am you. Although we\u2019ve never met face-to-face, I know you. I know what makes you laugh, cry, worry, fear, and overthink. I know you as well as I know my mother, my sister, and my best friend.<\/p>\n
See, Broken Girl, you and I share a bond. Perhaps it\u2019s not a bond many women particularly want to share, but we do. I know we\u2019d much rather be bonding over crazy schedules, weddings and baby showers to attend, and who is having a baby next. However, our bond is through the brokenness us Broken Girls share. Not an elite club by any means but its membership requirements do ensure we each know why we are, well, a member.<\/p>\n
We bond because we know. We just know. We know the deepest of cuts, the purest of wounds. Our aches and moans are sobbed into the very pillow we go to bury ourself in just to escape even a brief moment of this brokenness. We bond through the overthinking we are doing, um\u2026 yet again. We bond through the rejection by \u2018friends\u2019 and amidst being isolated by family members because well, \u201cYou\u2019re just too much.\u201d Too much.<\/p>\n
The words that send the gut punch of anxiety straight into a Broken Girl\u2019s stomach. We bond through each painful, unplanned goodbye we\u2019ve ever had to force ourself to say. We bond from the running off and pushing away of yet another attempt at love.<\/p>\n
So many doors have slammed in our face while we naively stand there, feverishly knocking, \u201cHey! You closed the wrong door! I am behind it.\u201d And foolishly, we wait. And we wait some more. We wait until, alas, the reality of the situation hits us. We wait for the door to ever so slightly budge its way back toward our security, stability, and self-worth.<\/p>\n
And then we look down. We look down and see what remains of our shattered heart, scattered on the ground as if an act of war had just transpired in that very spot. The shock sets in. The panic. The \u2018how could I have been so stupid and foolish again?\u201d sets in. Each takes its oh-so-familiar spot in our self-esteem, daring us to allow its settlement there, yet again.<\/p>\n
E poi, cominciamo. Cominciamo a ricostruire. A questo punto, siamo maestri falegnami, che rimettono insieme con delicatezza ogni pezzo del nostro cuore in frantumi. La comodit\u00e0 di questo compito di routine \u00e8 cos\u00ec automatica che a malapena ci rendiamo conto che stiamo riparando di nuovo noi stessi. Ma \u00e8 cos\u00ec.<\/p>\n