In response to a very bitter post I spat out recently, quite a few people asked me if I’d heard of ‘kintsugi‘ – the Japanese art of repairing broken things with gold. The idea is that, by gilding the cracks, you can see what something has survived and it becomes more beautiful. It’s a very cool concept, and yes I have heard of it. Stuart even used it in an illustration many years ago about heartbreak, which I’m using for this piece today too. But no matter how gorgeous the idea, I am not in the headspace right now to repair myself with gold. To observe the shattered pile of dust which used to be my self-worth and note with detachment that, some day, it’ll make a lovely pot.
I get why people say this, and it’s a nice sentiment. Yes, sometimes those things which destroy us end up being repaired in ways that make us stronger and more beautiful. But honestly? Do you know what? I’d actually really love to just… not keep getting shattered in the first place. I’d like for men to stop treating me like shit, then expecting me to smile politely as I gold-plate the fragments of the person I once was.
Yeah, I might be able to repair myself. But should I have to?
I’d like, instead, to be treated like I’m delicate. To be shown that the pot has value before it’s been broken. Because I am delicate. Men I’ve dated sure seem to think so! So many of them have made loaded comments about how ’emotional’ I am, or how ‘sensitive’ or ‘fragile’… even as they’re hammering into me like I’m made of iron, then acting surprised when I shatter into pieces.
Other people have had it much worse, so I’m not trying to claim that my pain here is uniquely hard. But it fucking sucks nonetheless. Over the last couple of decades I’ve been yelled at, lied to, gaslit, raped, frightened, shamed and betrayed. I’ve been told the most appalling things by men who – when I take those appalling things seriously – immediately switch tack and tell me I’m ‘making too big a deal’ of whatever it is. I’ve had my appearance picked apart and critiqued in ways that are excruciating. Been humiliated in public, and in front of friends and family. Had dudes send contemptuous little messages to their friends’ group chat, inviting their mates to psychoanalyse (and then condemn) some complex aspect of how I feel. I have swallowed any number of horrible comments on the understanding that the man who’s dispensed them just isn’t as good at communication as I am. I’ve held my tongue for men who tell me that it’s ‘intimidating’ when I argue back. I’ve spent hours and hours in therapy unpacking my own baggage to try and avoid it spilling out and hurting those I love, even as the men in my life unthinkingly fling theirs at me.
Cracks upon cracks upon cracks in the fractured pot that people now want me to repair and make more beautiful.
What I want
I want a man who treats me gently. Who holds my self esteem in delicate hands. Who recognises that you can’t just say ‘sorry’ and it will instantly erase appalling words or terrifying bouts of drunk shouting, you have to not behave that way in the first place! I want a partner who is self-aware enough that he’ll go to therapy of his own accord, long before he’s used his trauma as a stick with which to beat me. Someone who has examined what he wants out of life and made a considered decision to be with me, rather than wasting years of my precious life crushing me into dust that he’ll then use to salt the path on his own pathetic journey.
I want a partner who treats me like a person.
I want someone who treats me the way I treat them!
I mean this so sincerely. I make mistakes, and I’m often annoying, but I would give anything to be on the receiving end of the treatment I hand out to my partners. I am kind, thoughtful, caring, funny, and horny-as-fuck if that matters.
I am already made of gold, people! I do not need to turn myself into beautiful kintsugi! I need to stop getting broken in the first place!
I’m exhausted, miserable, bitter, and borderline done. The thought of meeting a new person makes me want to pull my fucking eyes out. The idea of logging in to a dating app and being met with the same laziness, apathy and total lack of curiosity I’ve found in the past makes my bones feel weak within my flesh. The very possibility that another man might walk into my flat one day all smiles and lust and joy, then the next yell at me in terrifying ways because my existence somehow triggers his insecurity… it makes me want to vomit up my life.
I have spent decades focusing on love, and shaping myself into the sort of person that I believe is worthy of it. Yet the men with whom I’ve found brief snatches of it have all treated me in ways I would never dream of treating someone else. Said things that I could never have said aloud because I know they’re cruel. Dismissed me the second another woman showed some interest. Frightened me. Humiliated me. Punished me as if I’m a child rather than a partner in an equal relationship.
These men never break up with me – that would be too kind and far too easy. When I try to leave they either plead with me that they’ll change and do better, or make me believe I’m unreasonable for walking away.
So I try to do what I think is kindest. I raise problems with them gently: “Would you please not shout at me? I find it very traumatic.” “Could you not change our date plans at the last minute because your other girlfriend has decided she’s free now?” “How about, if possible, you try not to tell me all the things you despise about my body, and instead try to say a few nice things occasionally?” “Please could you listen to me and not just dismiss me? I actually do know quite a lot about this topic.” “Could we have a chat about this when we’re sober rather than you drunkenly yelling at me in the street in front of these strangers?”
Pathetic. I am pathetic. I hate myself so much. There’ll be people reading this who think ‘why do you tolerate this kind of treatment?’, well… partly I think because I’ve been taught that forgiveness and understanding are both important qualities. But – perhaps more darkly and possibly with a little more truth – because I yearn to be in a partnership. Have someone who is by my side and on my team. This feels like the price I have to pay for that toxic desire – it’s certainly what it has cost me until now.
Is there, somewhere, a man who isn’t going to behave in this way? WHERE IS HE?!
Is there a guy who’s willing to treat me like I’m precious and worthwhile? SEND HIM MY WAY!
I’m looking! I’ve been looking very fucking hard for over twenty years! I am here motherfuckers! And I’m GOOD. I am PRECIOUS! I am made of fucking GOLD.
Many of the significant men you read about on these pages (and some insignificant ones too) have hurt me in ways I can barely comprehend. Done things that I would never even dream of doing to them. And in the moment I think ‘ah well he is making a mistake because he’s human’ so, because I care about him, I lean in to forgiveness. Forgiveness is part of what makes a good person, isn’t it?
I should repair the massive crack he’s put in our relationship!
You’ve heard of kintsugi, yeah?
Why not turn this into something beautiful!?
But I’m the only one getting to work with gold leaf and glue! Every time! I’m there going ‘hey, we can repair this with gold if you’re up for it’ and they just keep kicking away to add more and more cracks. Even though they know it hurts me. Even as they see me crying. Even as they are literally berating me for crying: you’re so emotional. You’re so fragile. You’re so sensitive. Why are you making a big deal out of this?
These men never break up with me. I can’t remember the last time I was actually dumped – I long to be dumped! Break up with me! Good God please just break up with me rather than breaking me entirely!
Men I have loved have often responded to that love by being cruel, dismissive, contemptuous, reckless with my feelings, outright terrifying at times, apathetic, rude, controlling, aggressive, deceptive and deeply unkind. You want me to make this shit beautiful? These days I’m barely even able to pick up the pieces!
I don’t want to become kintsugi, my friends: I am already made of gold!
And one more crack might be enough to turn this gilded pot to fucking dust.
Postscript: If you’ve made a comment along these lines, please understand that I know you mean well. This is not about you, it’s me. I promise I will get better, but sometimes making the gold means spitting out the bile before I get to work.
How much of this rage is useful, and how much is just the anger that I’m steeping in because I feel so sick and stupid at being treated like shit once again? How much of it is down to my most recent ex, and how much is down to others? I talk about ‘men’ but fundamentally what I mean is ‘the men I have chosen so far’. And – because I don’t want to hurl all the men I’ve been with onto the same indiscriminate bonfire – I should tell you that there are a few notable exceptions. Guys who were fun and nice but turned out not to be right for me.
So… how can I make better choices about who’s ‘right for me’ in future? How can I spot the red flags? I talk a lot about trying to be the best person I can be, but have I put enough work into armouring that person, rather than just making sure she is ‘liked’? I want to harness some of this rage as a kind of self-preservation, to stop me getting destroyed again in the future, but I don’t want to cling to all of it – it’s ugly and self-pitying and it doesn’t feel very ‘me’. So, as per the bitter post that kicked this train of thought off, I’m having a go at writing those feelings out. See if I can exorcise them by yelling them onto the internet. In fact, by the time I hit ‘publish’ on this post, I am already faintly embarrassed by how self-pitying it feels, which I think is broadly a good thing but means I have to publish it quickly before I decide to not publish at all. Believe it or not, I am grateful to those of you who comment (even if I don’t always agree with what you say) because considering the feelings that are triggered by your comments helps me put my thoughts into words. Thank you. x
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” In fact, by the time I hit ‘publish’ on this post, I am already faintly embarrassed by how self-pitying it feels, which I think is broadly a good thing”
Whenever i realize i’m reading a post of this type (not just you, anyone), I immediately stop. Go away and do something else. Then when I’m ready I compose myself, check my self and try (oh so very try) to make sure my brain is in the right place, that i am balanced, and ready to take it in without developing an attitude before i get to the end of the first paragraph.
Because what you are doing here (from my perspective) is graciously allowing us to see you vulnerable. And that is worth honoring with my own best behavior.
thank you.
(and the guy in the tags with the special shout-out is an old dried dogturd)
Thank you fuzzy <3
this is making me want to write my own retrospective on the ways i have endured, recovered, taken damage, been affected by others. writing your life from your own perspective feels like such a strong thing to do. enough trying to see everyone else’s point of view – maybe i need to see mine. you have every right to yours. enough being fair, enough being considerate. you have been wronged and you’re entitled to your anger/pain/sorrow.
“enough trying to see everyone else’s point of view – maybe i need to see mine” Yes, absolutely this. Weirdly I think one of the things that has helped me get to this perspective is libel – the very first post I wrote about this break-up, where I tried to be super delicate and not give any details, was very much about *my* feelings and *my* response to what he did. And when I wrote that, and got my lovely lawyer to read it, he pointed out that I’m unlikely to put myself at risk of a libel suit when I’m just discussing my own feelings, because those are not up for debate. So writing about the break up in this way means I avoid doing the thing I’m so keen to do, which is tell everyone the whole sordid story and allow them to gasp in horror, thus validating me, and instead just write about how it’s affected me and try to summon the courage to say ‘actually yeah, this *is* how I feel, and this *us* real and valid even if I don’t have an army of people all on my side because they know the grubby details.’ Weird. But yeah. I think everyone has the right to tell their own stories, from their own perspective, and that doing so is healthy and important. We may not agree with other people’s version of events, but we can at least recognise that our own feelings matter, and our hurts can’t just be easily brushed aside. I hope you get to write yours someday too.
This post resonated hard. I’m coming to terms with a past relationship where I was gaslit, hit hard enough that she broke my glasses, came home one day to find she’d smashed the place up. Then lovebombed with apologies that she’d do better. Then it would happen again. On one occasion I woke up to find her on top of me, having sex with me in my sleep when we’d never talked about it or had my consent. A relationship where everything was take, never give and take. She got back in touch with a trauma dump of things from her past that she’d never talked about before, but never acknowledged that that could be part of why she took so much out on me. It might explain the behaviour but it doesn’t excuse it, and it doesn’t repair the damage it did to me, which she always told me I was being over-sensitive about. I’m probably going in to way too much personal detail here I realise as I’m typing it, but I just wanted to say that this post made me feel less alone going through this.
I am so sorry that happened to you, it sounds appalling and traumatic. This: “It might explain the behaviour but it doesn’t excuse it” is bang on, and is something that I think we should hear more often. In the wake of people doing awful things, there is always an explanation/reason/justification – very very rarely does anyone just do a bad thing because they’re an appalling psychopath. People are people, and there are always complex reasons for what they do, even when the things they do seem incomprehensible to the average person. But these explanations are *not* excuses or justifications, and they certainly don’t take away from the pain that those people have caused. The hurt and the trauma and all of that. I am so sorry you had such an awful experience, and I hope you get treated with gentleness and love in future.
I know it’s different, but I feel similarly about the phrase ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ – a term which often comes up when discussing mental health. What I always want to scream at people is that actually pushing myself to do things that I know will make me actively suicidal *won’t* make me stronger, even if I can technically get through them (and the suicidal ideation).
Also, you’re right: you *are* already made of gold.
Thank you for being so kind <3 And thank you for sharing something so vulnerable too. I totally feel you on 'what doesn't kill you' as well - I have spent quite a lot of the last year in some astonishingly dark places too, and although I'm proud of myself (as you should be) for not taking an extra step into the darkness, I don't think that dwelling there for a long time has made me stronger at all. If anything it's made me much more afraid. Obsessed with the darkness. Most of the things in my life that haven't killed me have made me weaker - meeker, smaller, quicker to question and double-guess every little choice I make. I would love for some of this stuff to have made me stronger, but right now I feel ground down. And it makes me wonder even harder if this means I'm fully broken now. I'm sure in the past I have come out of bad situations wiser, at least, or with something a little fierce that I could carry with me. But this time I feel like every attempt I make to lean in to fiery anger ends up drowning in this self-pity, and the fire gets snuffed out. Sorry, probably too much here, but I wanted to say I get what you mean. Sending love, and hope that things get much brighter for you <3
Thank you.
I know I’m not the only one and your blog isn’t the only one I’ve read where the writer has been broken.
However, it always helps me to know I’m not the only one (even though it was just one person who broke me).
Tried dating apps, but have deleted them all.
Sure I can be lonely. Yes, I miss sex.
However, can I risk going through the pain again or is it better to have friends, read sex blogs and watch porn?
Very likely to be the latter from here on in.
I am so sorry you’ve had an awful experience too – I hope that whatever you choose, you have peace and comfort and joy. I think this question: “can I risk going through the pain again” is one I am asking myself a lot. I want the answer to be ‘yes’ and I’m sure it will be eventually but it’s gonna take so much longer than I initially thought in the immediate aftermath of the Latest Awful Thing. Sending love to you.
Sending you so much love, because you’re 100% worth it.
Thank you for being so open and vulnerable.
Thank you so much Mermaid <3
It’s ok to feel all the myriad of feelings that you have right now. You’re amazingly brave to share your feelings in public like this – many people will relate to how you feel though and wish they could give you a hug & show you their compassion.
A sad truth in life is we cannot make people treat us as well as we treat them not matter how much we wish they were different people who behaved better – they just aren’t and they are focused only on themselves.
You aren’t really cracked & broken & in need of gold paint & glue though – it’s just how you feel in this moment. In reality you are still a precious metal, shiny, golden & deserving of loving yourself & being loved.
Be kind to yourself.
Your writing is vivid and powerful and vulnerable and very real. I’m glad I got to read it.
You deserve to be treated delicately, with care and consideration and gentleness. You deserve someone who treats you with respect and care and love, who will put in the work to be a good person for you, a good partner for you.
You are made of gold, and that means you bend and fold and even tear under enough strain, enough disregard, mistreatment, abuse.
I’m proud of you for writing this, for being able to speak this aloud.