What Doesn't Bend, Breaks

This winter, my bones literally broke beneath me. I was running so fast and driving myself so hard that my body itself crumbled. As I sat waiting in the doctor's office, I realized that my rigid and relentless drive for perfection had finally become unsustainable. I didn't want to bend - on anything. Nothing was good enough, prepared enough, thin enough, or lovable enough. I was not enough. And I couldn't bend until I was.

Instead, I broke. I crumbled. The stress broke me.

Officially, my hip and pelvis broke from running - two stress fractures. But in reality, the stress causing the fractures ran much deeper than an athletic overuse injury. It was deep stress that had infiltrated every cell of my body - stress finally moved deep in my bones. Stress from the pressure of never feeling good enough - never being perfect enough - never being able to rest and accept myself and my efforts as the imperfect revelations they are in this imperfect world.

I am not perfect. And I hate myself because of it. I work relentlessly to ensure that no one will see my hideous imperfections - I CANNOT bend. I am too frightened to let go of my effort and let people see the disorganized, un-put-together mess that may be in me. Bending means submitting to my ultimate imperfection and accepting that I will never be able to do it all.

But if I do not bend, I will surely break again. My bones will shatter. And I cannot sustain another crumbling, another broken heart, another broken hip. I can't risk it - but bending or breaking are both terrifying. What doesn't bend, breaks. Ah.