Kintsugi, also known as kintsukuroi, is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the cracks with lacquer mixed with gold, silver, or platinum. It is a technique that emphasizes the breaks and repairs as part of the object’s history, rather than attempting to hide them. As a philosophy, kintsugi celebrates the beauty of imperfection and resilience, finding value in the unique history of each repaired piece.

When I first came into recovery, I struggled with the idea of being “broken.”

I’ve come to believe there are two types of broken: fundamentally irreparable vs shattered but mendable.

That image above was my last work of art in my addiction. I was so spun out that I spent months obsessively rearranging the shattered mirror pieces, never finding the exactly correct angle to convey the message. Now I can see exactly how I’d like it to be.

I grew up thinking I was fundamentally broken, a flawed human being, sometimes not even human. My mom told me so. The last three years of my addiction I’d been desperately trying to quit. Everytime I went back, it was more proof in my mind how broken I really was. My toxic lover at the time was good at finding new ways to break me down. He noticed my aversion to the word broken and practically started spamming me with the idea. Ironically, that abuse gave me the strength to stand up and say “NO! I AM NOT BROKEN! …but I’m also not okay.”

When I arrived at my first twelve step meeting, I felt utterly shattered. They call it “the gift of desperation.” I accepted that I was broken, but not the way my mom or ex would say. I was broken spiritually, mentally and emotionally, AND there was still hope for me.

Some say being broken is a gift because it allows the light to shine through. I agree. I’m not sure anything but admitting defeat, that desperate craving for help, and the acceptance that I can’t do this alone, would’ve allowed me to recognize the depths of how self centered I’ve been.

Today, I’m still a work in progress. However, the larger peices of who I am have been mended. The only difference in my mind between recovery and kintsugi is that we are human, not pottery or stone figures. There is always room for improvement. We also are alive, which means heartbreaking events are inevitable. But they are also an opportunity to learn and become even stronger and more beautiful versions of ourselves. I refuse to be a bitter, jagged person that won’t heal because I’m more comfy with misery than joy. Today, I’m leaning to shine.