When is falling apart a good thing?

• When that stiff upper lip prevents me from speaking the truth. “Yes, I’m afraid. Yes, I need help.”
• When my insistence on “my way or the highway,” leads me down the wrong path again.
• When I can’t remember the last time I experienced joy for no reason.
• When I no longer engage in daily activities that relax my mind completely–a walk in the rain? buttermilk pancakes topped with mounds of whipped cream? playing fetch with my dog until we’re both panting?

Falling apart? My version usually involves runny mascara, pajamas, a thorough tantrum, a bad hair day and the worst cold I’ve had in years. I often mutter the very words I counsel others to intone and they come out sounding whiny and pathetic: help me, comfort me, hold me.

It’s okay. I’ve been there. I’m human. I make mistakes and I recover. I fumble around a lot. And yet things are never as bad as they seem in my head. Falling apart helps me to get to the other side, the place of forgiveness, self-love, ease, relaxation and hope. Strangely, sadness and despair, if I allow them in, lead me straight to joy every time.

Falling apart is like Bon Ami cleanser on the greasy grime that has accumulated on the soft surface of my beautiful gleaming heart. It’s not pretty, but it gets the job done.