“You are not a damsel in distress. No one is coming to save you.”
The first time I waited for someone to come and save me I was left in pieces. And I single handedly picked them up one by one every piece cutting me so deep that blood ran down my arms and onto the pavement and my heart filled with anger.
The very next time, older, larger and wiser I fell broken again except this time I collected the pieces. Nice and neatly, storing them away. Making it easier for them to put me back together— to fix me. And they failed. I was chipped and hollowed, empty on the inside and ugly on the outside. God — why am I so hard to fix?
The next time I fell, I braced myself. I extended my arms and gave myself a quick warning, “Brace yourself”. And I fell again.
I held onto myself, clinging on for dear life. Less pieces this time. I picked up the few pieces that were once again scattered across the floor. I took them home with me.I dusted them off and prayed over them. I looked at every single one and softened their sharp and dangerous edges. I let some sit for days and others for weeks — months. Then slowly I added them back to myself, gently and intentionally. Having grace with myself every single time.