A Love Letter to My Beautiful, Broken Kitchen

I'm taking an online writing course taught by Martha Beck. This week's assignment asked us to dig into a space in our home that we don't like very much. We all have these spaces, and some have more emotions locked up in them than others. My kitchen is a treasure trove of emotions that definitely need my attention, so I wrote it a love letter. 

A Love Letter to My Beautiful, Broken Kitchen

Dear Kitchen, 

I am sorry. 

You deserve so much more. I want you to know that I love you and I see you. 

You have been so patient, holding yourself together while I’ve tended to my broken heart, soul and body. I’m sorry for avoiding you in an effort to avoid my own pain.

When my dad died, you waited. When my dog died, you waited. When my own body betrayed me, you waited. When my spirit was crushed so hard it melted into the earth, you waited.

When they broke my heart over and over again, you stood strong for me.  You, in all your glorious broken-ness, gave me space to heal. You are still giving me space to heal.

Thank you for waiting for me. And for continuing to wait for me as I find my way through the darkest winter I have ever known.

Thank you for not being resentful as I worked on other kitchens. Please know I think about you often and I long for the day that I can give you the same attention. I have so many hopes and dreams for you. If you can just wait a little longer, I promise to give you my entire heart. I haven’t been able to yet, and this tears at my creative soul a little bit each day. 

I am sorry for ever judging you. Your broken bits are beautiful. I know you are okay just as you are, but I want more for you. I want you to shine. I want you to be your brightest, most amazing self. But, for this, you need my love. 

Dearest Kitchen, please know how beautiful you are. How loved you are. How appreciated you are. I promise you, you won’t be broken much longer. 

I need you to know that you are not death. You are not cancer. You are not pain. You are not panic attacks. You are not grief. You are not depression, anxiety or PTSD. You are not guilt. You are not trauma. You are not betrayal, loss or anger. You are not my wounded heart.

You are my opportunity to heal. My bright moon in the night sky.  And you will guide me home.

You are broken, yes, but you don’t need fixing. You need love.

Thank you for showing me that it’s ok to be broken for as long as I need. We will heal together, you and me. Through love, our two beautiful, broken souls will find their way home.

 

If you have a space in your home that you can't see eye to eye with, this might be a good exercise for you. Write it a letter. Ask it what it needs from you. And ask what you can provide it. There may be some tears. There were for me.  But I now see my kitchen with fresh eyes and an open heart.