Broken. ~ Amy Cushing

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I turn to close the door.

As its knob clicks shut, I rest my head against its back. I feel its support and release my imprisoned breath.

The tears begin to fall. Liquid sorrow drips down my face and onto the floor. Like lemmings, tears leap from my cheekbones, one after another, in constant succession.

With each tear flows regret, frustration, disappointment, and anger. The unworthy feelings fall as my shoulders curl around my breast. My body weakens from the purge.

I turn my back toward the wall and slide my way down to the tile floor. I’m greeted by its cool composition. The chill encourages me to pull in my knees. I rest my head atop my bent legs and force a full breath. My body shakes as it resists the comfort. I take another.

Some days feel heavy. The doubts, the disagreements, the insecurities rise and throw their burdensome cape over my shoulders. Some days I crumble with their weight.

I break.

The tears make their way out of my cracked heart. They carry the anguish, the second guesses, the failures and drop them to the floor where they are absorbed by the inanimate, no longer burdening my soul. The heartache fades. The stings dissipate.

A muted knock resonates from the door, made from a tiny hand. An innocent, sweet “Mommy” calls from the other side. I reply in kind.

I rise. I breathe. I wipe away what is left of my disappointments and reach for the door. A flood of warm, soothing air rushes in as the door swings open on its creaky hinges.

A little, beautiful being hugs my leg. Goodness. Love. Hope. What was broken begins to heal—piece by piece.


Amy Cushing (2)Amy Cushing is a stay-at-home mom, yoga teacher, and writer who is bravely navigating the waters of parenting with her ever-patient husband and two small tots who run the asylum. She is a writer and editor for Be You Media Group and a contributing writer for elephant journal. She also gives her two cents on her website. Connect with Amy via Facebook or Twitter.


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