
Late morning sun flooded through the windows bringing some much needed light into the cold grey room, lighting up my ceiling and walls and floor. I’d been in a moment of fixation so my eye scrutinized the room more than normal, feeling lost in my head, unsure what I was even doing in that moment, and then my gaze really stuck on a particular part of the room where the light reflected brightest. My heart caught as I saw new cracks on the ceiling from the continued settling of the house through the freezing, brutal winter. A surge of absolute desperation, anger, frustration, and helplessness flowed through me and I screamed to no one that I didn’t want to live here any longer. That feeling encompassed what seemed the ever growing truth that there was no point in continuing to try and make something work that clearly didn’t. No matter what we tried to do there were always new cracks and they were getting bigger and bigger, harder to maintain, harder to fix. We’ve been in this home for 5 years and it is only about 13 years old so we’d expected some of the issues we’ve had and we’ve done some improvements but it seemed the life I envisioned for us here wasn’t happening. Seeing those new cracks felt like the last bit of hope I had after a terrible season were ripped away, a reminder that there were still issues underlying the pretty façade we’ve built. I’d made it through a tough time only to have it thrown right back in my face. I was ready to throw it all away in that instant. There was no motivation or hope in that moment to put anything else/any other energy into what we had around us.
I really started to think about it because I’ve habitually held onto things that have no hope because I’ve desperately wanted it all to work out, to feel some sense of security in it working out—in short, codependence on what is familiar. What good was that doing? Every time something else pops up, it’s exhausting. It doesn’t feel like an opportunity to pivot, it feels like another drain on my energy. So if all of this energy to make things look and feel a certain way was falling apart, if it didn’t turn out how I thought it would, why keep going? There could be another way: Instead of the struggle to keep things from breaking and tearing myself apart in the process, what would I be willing to let fall apart? Stop thinking the energy spent keeping things together is worth more than letting it die in its time. If something is determined to break, there is nothing we can do to stop it and we can either spend our entire lives trying to stop that freight train or we can jump off to preserve what we have now. For me, it’s preserving that time with family and establishing my own career, my own legacy doing what I want to do—no one will ensure I get the life I want to for myself but myself. Building a house on sand is dangerous and covering up all the cracks with more mud will eventually create a mound of crap instead of a sturdy foundation. We need to discern between the moment we need to keep patching and the moment we need to do a complete tear down.
That moment of desperation, of wanting to destroy everything, was the culmination of losing the people and things that gave me any sense of security—from my parent’s health issues, to adjusting an on call schedule at my 9-5, to my husband’s unexpected health issues, to the loss of long time family friends—now my very home seemed to be turning against me. The universe is determined and offers painful, albeit true/necessary lessons in life including the fact that if we are staying stuck, the universe will find a way to make us move including removing what felt like security. Sometimes we need to move faster, we need to move through uncomfortable crap, and sometimes we need to let go of what we thought we wanted in order to find what we need. Not that we have to throw it away or destroy it but we can’t fight the inevitable. As fate would have it, I heard a line in a show that said “In the ruins, it’s more alive and beautiful because of what it’s been through.” We can’t tailor our lives to make other people happy, we don’t need to throw it all away when it gets tough. Sometimes it’s about finding the pieces that shine within the rubble. The house isn’t falling apart but there is something missing and those cracks are showing me what needs to be put back together. The house needs light and life and joy. It doesn’t need to be demolished and we may need to admit that this isn’t the place for us, but it isn’t time to throw away anything we’ve built. Sure, at some point we may move on from this place and start somewhere new—that’s life. Sometimes we see the potential in those cracks, the new life rising from the ashes—and sometimes we have to remember that a crack doesn’t necessarily mean the end, it’s where the life comes in. The cracks show we’ve lived—or remind us that we have more living to do, because life can be born of those cracks.








