Akhilandeshwari is a South Asian Goddess who is known as ‘She Who Is Never Not Broken’. Akhilan-“ means, “never-not-broken” and “deshvari” is a Sanskrit term for goddess.
As human beings, we are broken over and over during our lifetime. Broken from grief, from heartbreak, from loss and traumas, both physical and mental.
A question I am frequently asked is how I have endured and survived some of the times I have been broken- both literally and figuratively.
The truth is that it was at those times in my life when I was most broken that I have made deep acquaintance with my pain and suffering. Mostly in silence, frequently with hot tears running down my face, but always with an open soul and inquisitive mind.
I learned at a very young age that I was going to be the only one to save myself.
For many years, I ran and ran and then ran some more. I managed to keep my life busy and full. I kept the lessons and the learning and the inevitable time for reflection at bay until I was forced to face all the broken pieces of me.
As a dear friend calls it- the time was coming for excavation, a time that would be forced upon me for digging deep inside.
To remember. To reflect. To open doors leading to places I had been trying to avoid going for years. And I had a whole lot of places I had been avoiding.
Emotional pain was always something to be avoided at all costs, and if I had to hurt in that way, it was best to stuff it deep and forget it if I could.
Maybe i could find someone else in even more pain than me and try to help them. That sounded better than having to look at my own. Find someone even more broken than myself and try to love them back together again. I have had whole relationships that started from that very criteria.
Distractions. Deflections. Denial.
I am indeed like Akhilandeshvari, she of “never not broken”.
I like to think that I finally stopped running and invited my pain in for tea.
But it didn’t really work that way.
One day a few months following the death of my brother, I found myself crying and quite honestly couldn’t stop. I sat on my couch, totally alone, and for the first time in my life, I allowed it all to wash over me. All that sticky, hot, aching pain.
I invited it in and let it wash all over me. I sat with it, my home growing dark as the hours slipped by around me.
The losses, the abuses, the neglect, the regrets – everything I had kept behind those doors for years. I felt at times like I was psychically shattering. My heart ached and my lungs felt full. Every part of my body was like a sponge, taking in more and more pain as every one of those doors opened, one at a time.
Look at it. Deal with it. Look at your part in this.
Call it a Come to Jesus moment, or a transformation, or even a nervous breakdown if you will. All I know is that once I allowed it to happen and really spent the time picking through all the broken pieces, I began to see the prisms of light within me and within my broken pieces.
I believe that people are drawn to me because of my brokenness.
I think they must sense that if they share their own stories of suffering with me, I will listen and be with them in their pain.
I am not fearful of pain anymore, mine or anyone else’s.
Pain has provided me with the lessons I most needed to learn and has been the best tool for growth I could ever ask for.