For Men Who Love Broken Women
What can you do for tears you didn’t cause?
She is crying again. For the second, tenth, hundredth time. You want to break noses, crackling, bloody, and spit on jagged bone that you halved with your anger and hands alone. You want to be the God that never answered her prayers. You want to go back in time to save her when she was porcelain and the hammers started coming at her, clinking and hitting and breaking and splitting, until she fell apart.
Do you know why that’s not helpful now? Because she’s already been putting herself back together. She’s been taking the pieces and holding them up in the air — “Does this go here? Does this piece fit?” She’s been doing okay. But when she looks in the mirror or is home alone with her thoughts, sometimes all she can see is a patched-together mess. The glue and the fragments. The splintering cracks, crawling through her. She wonders if you see them, too.
You want to be the God that never answered her prayers.
Maybe you can tell her that you see a stained-glass masterpiece, a tapestry, a kaleidoscopic image, a mural? Maybe you can pick up a piece, when it falls from the frame and she feels like she’ll never get it back right again? Maybe when the mistakes glare and she’s embarrassed, you can stay with her and share your own?
With enough time, perhaps you’ll notice certain shards, which were once temporarily mended with a paste of determination and grit, have miraculously returned to a plane, smooth and solid, as they once were before all the harm. Or not.
She doesn’t need you to save her. Or beat someone up. Or go back in time. She just needs you to be here. Now. Smiling, as you do the greatest thing you can do for a broken person — love all her pieces until she feels whole, whether she is or not.