Growing in the fracture?

It takes practice, like everything else.

Nov 18, 2024

Over and over again, my heart breaks. And over and over, I try to cultivate growth in the fracture.

I carry in my mind an image of Thrive, the powerful work by artist Daniel Popper, which helps me manage the pain. (I first encountered this image on StoicMom’s indispensable Substack.)

The sculpture shows a woman with small lines in the stone of her face, and a much deeper fracture vertically from her hair down through her neck and into her chest and torso. It’s unclear whether this breakage is due to external or internal forces, but her eyes are closed and her face is peaceful as she holds open her broken chest to reveal a green and living world of plants inside her body.

Look at the lushness inside of us, the art says to me. Look at what can grow inside the rupture of a heart. The more we open, she tells me, the more capacity we have to grow, and also, to share our growth with others.

Why do I dwell in this image now?

My trans-identified daughter has been pulling away. This is a new turn of events, and temporary, I hope. I remind myself that she is busy with work and friends and a renewed dating life. I remind myself that this is what young adults do, even though my other grown children call me with small updates, or outfit pictures, or questions about how to cook something.

But this new distance is not in a vacuum. Last week, she floated the T issue with me again. She showed me a creative email she had written to a friend — she was proud of the email — and in this email, she casually mentioned her plans to take T. Of course, I saw this as her way of broaching the topic with me, and so I asked her about it; she claimed to have forgotten that she mentioned T in the email! I said, well, on some level, perhaps unconsciously, you wanted me to know about your plans because you trust me, and you trust my perspective, even if you don’t agree. And she said, yes, and I also trust myself.

I took my time responding. I asked her please to consider, not just side effects, but short-term and long-term health risks of taking cross-sex hormones; I reminded her that any hormone treatment comes with risks. And then she closed down the discussion and pretty much ghosted me. (For now, I hope.)

I trust she will start talking to me again when she is ready since, I know, she wants a relationship with me. I put a lot of weight in that trust. And I know that one of the reasons she’s considering testosterone is because she thinks it will make dating easier. In my view, this is not a good reason, and I hope I have another opportunity to discuss it with her. I’d like the chance to explain that her desired cross-sex hormone treatment would be only a band-aid, but a risky one — a physical intervention for psychological discomfort. This message will cause her cognitive dissonance, I realize, since the culture tells her something very different.

For me, the pain of this distance while she’s considering medicalization can feel crippling. But what choices do I have? I return to what I know is true, and I try to focus on my own growth. I believe, as Stoics teach, that the obstacle is the way. This is deeply challenging, and it takes practice. Just because I know this intellectually doesn’t mean I can always feel it or have access to its power.

Yet here I am, reminding myself, yet again, that this pain is an opportunity to grow — and I think of the peaceful woman in the image. What can I grow inside my broken heart?

A greater capacity for patience, understanding, love, and even faith. All are gifts, available to me if I’m open to them.

Finally, I note this additional picture of Thrive (below). Look how a child, innocent of the world’s pain, is running toward the crevice. Perhaps, as I re-orient myself to the challenge of my life. and practice viewing my heartbreak as opportunity, I will invite good things too.

Yes. A child approaches. She is running toward a broken heart. And my heart is open, inviting new life, I hope, and possibility.