Kintsukuroi

For years the word kintsukuroi kept popping up in posts, conversations, and images. So I dug a little deeper into the meaning and history.

Kintsukuroi is the Japanese art of repairing damaged pottery with gold or silver lacquer and the result being more beautiful for having been broken. This word definitely resonates with me and my life.

My challenging and unpredictable journey of mental health challenges started at a very young age, as early as 2 or 3 years old. I suffered from severe depression and anxiety for much of my childhood and teenage years. Childhood trauma was a likely cause of the depression and anxiety, along with genetic tendencies. The pottery of my life was broken and battered from a very young age, and I was constantly working to keep it together.

I also struggled with bullying and feeling left out for many years, and life was a bit of a roller coaster ride. Day to day, my sleep was erratic. I regularly pulled all-nighters for tests and papers, but I finished at the top of my class in grade school and high school even while dealing with persistent, undiagnosed mental health struggles and extreme self-doubt.

My dad and my aunt came to pick me up. Before leaving, I let them know I had to leave messages for everyone first, and I wrote quotes and drawings all over my dorm room walls. It was February and very cold, and I was in shorts and a tank top running around campus to say goodbye to everyone.

When we arrived at the mental health crisis center, I was quickly 302d (mandated for an involuntary mental health assessment stay). All of a sudden, I was imprisoned in an inpatient psychiatric ward and, for the first time, heard the diagnosis of bipolar or “manic depression.” I felt misunderstood. I just needed to get some more sleep, and then I had to get back to my mission of changing the world!

Memories of my weeks-long stay are hazy. I do remember the anger, injections in the rear of heavily sedating meds, being strapped down and lying in my own excrement, feeling like a tortured animal, ping pong, games, trying to escape a few times, awful food, and group sessions with many who were practically catatonic. I remember trying to help all the other patients who were mostly being monitored for attempted suicides, whereas I could see every reason to live and thrive and find joy in everything. I annoyed some with my rapid talking and endless positivity, but there were others I helped to escape the darkness of their thoughts. My exuberance and energy overflowed and allowed bright pinpoints of light in their darkness.

The trauma of that hospitalization, and the harsh hit of the bipolar diagnosis, smashed the pottery of my life yet again.

When I finally came down from the mania, I fell into about six months of extreme depression. Finally, I decided to return to school. I was still struggling with medication issues and side effects, depression, and hypomania. But somehow I still graduated with high honors and a BS and BA and studied abroad in Spain. Amidst the accomplishments and amazing adventures, however, life continued to throw me around on an extreme bipolar roller coaster ride with only the appearance of me having some control. But I had none. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. I was trying to rebuild the pottery of my life, but it was continually pummeled by mental health challenges and life curveballs.

After six manic hospitalizations, countless depressions and hypomanias, and over 35 medications with all of their side effects, I’ve been stable since February 2014. I was able to wean off prescription medication later in 2014 under the close supervision of my psychiatrist. I still experience symptoms that are challenging but manageable, and I haven’t needed hospitalization in over six years.

My significant other and I have a blended family of six children and a puppy, and we were able to buy a house in 2018. I’m currently working full-time from my home office for a management consultant company. I’ve been facilitating and on the board of a local Depression Bipolar Support Alliance (DBSA) group for peer support for over sixteen years, and that allows me space to discuss my struggles as well as help others with their challenges.

There are days when I’m feeling better, and that my bowl feels repaired, solid, and never to be broken again. When I first thought about this metaphor, I was approaching it as a beautiful, whole pottery bowl that’s been repaired and can be displayed in its shining glory. But that’s not life. Healing from trauma is not linear, and the challenges that life throws our way — as well as the joyful, incredible moments — are all going to affect our beautifully repaired, newly perfect pottery.

Life won’t let us just sit on a shelf untouched. Sometimes a piece, or quite a few pieces, may get knocked off and need time, energy, self-care, and support to repair them. Sometimes the whole bowl may get knocked off and shattered again. I want to believe mental health challenges won’t severely impact my life again. I want to think I’ve healed from all my trauma, but I have to remember it’s all a process and a lifelong journey.

Sleep hygiene is critical. My significant other is very helpful with keeping an eye on my sleep, and when my thoughts and speech seem to be racing. My family and friends have been so supportive, and I’ve learned to be honest with my close support network.

Guided meditation, mindfulness, and yoga help me to calm my mind and stay focused in the here-and-now instead of the storm of anxiety, darkness, and worry. Deep breathing and grounding techniques also help me be in the moment. I see a therapist as needed and can increase sessions when I’m having a challenging time.

Getting out for a walk or a gentle jog helps me to focus on the world around me and clear my head. In-person and online peer support groups allow me to connect with others and not feel so alone. I’ve learned so much from my peers. Some of my closest friends are from my support groups.

I see a musculoskeletal specialist for my chronic pain, and I’m continually surprised by how many of the knots and tight spots in my body have housed traumatic memories and experiences for many, many years. We’ve worked together as those experiences have been released, and I’ve taken time to process them and heal.

I know these coping strategies can sound like a lot of work, but all these steps of self-care have really helped me to live well with my bipolar and chronic pain.

I think of kintsukuroi as a beautiful, repeatable, healing process. I wouldn’t want to relive some of my most awful traumas, depressions, and struggles and wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy, but I also wouldn’t change any of it. I’m happy — most days — to be who I am and to be able to love and serve others because of the struggles I’ve faced and overcome.