“How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?” part 1
Stories of 4 ways of mending your broken heart
How Can You Mend a Broken Heart? Part 1
Has your heart ever been broken by life disruptions, by big losses, by betrayals?
Well, mine has and I can imagine I’m not alone. If you share this heart experience, read on!
As I was looking back over my life; asking myself evocative questions, reliving life experiences, looking at old photographs, reading old journal entries, I noticed a theme that repeated itself in my life. My theme, right there amidst all the goodness, busyness and achievements, was a repeatedly broken heart. Broken from early deaths of loved ones, from divorce, from repression of me as a woman, from physical assaults, from betrayal, from estrangement with my brother, from addiction, from health issues. Sometimes my heart broke over a long period of time and repeated experiences, other times it broke with one sentence, like “I don’t love you anymore.” And then there was heartbreak over things outside of my personal world, stories of women in prison, victims of domestic abuse, stories of hate speech and discrimination. I could go on and on… As I was pondering this theme, a familiar song began playing in my ear, “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?” sung by Al Green and the Bee Gees, both classics. Here are the first three verses.
I can think of younger days when living for my life
Was everything a man could want to do
I could never see tomorrow
I was never told about the sorrow.
And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
Tell me, how can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go 'round?
How can you mend this broken man? Yeah
How can a loser ever win?
Somebody please help me mend my broken heart
And let me live again, la-la, la-la, la.
A peculiar sensation appeared then, that I needed to understand. I became aware that I don’t feel like my heart is broken now even though I’ve had numerous things break it in the past. I began to wonder what it was that helped me mend and heal my broken heart. And guess what, my life-pondering brought me a few suggestions. I’ve chosen a few poignant experiences I’ve had along the way to illustrate what helped me to heal my heart.
Four stories of healing
The first two stories are about a healing experience with my mother at her grave, and a dialogue I had with my very wounded inner child, both depicting deep wrenching losses. The third experience shows part of a healing heart process after my divorce, involving body work. And the fourth story is a decision I made to “adopt “several family members when I lost my own. All four of these healing experiences occurred in the decade of my life from age 39 to 49.
I share these experiences to embrace my own process but also to have compassion on the younger me who needed to heal from those searing losses. And I feel that the more honestly I can tell my story, the more likely it is to resonate with other people’s stories.
Asking to outlive my mother
My mother died young. She was just 55 and died suddenly of a brain aneurism. Five years earlier she also had an aneurism, but the doctor said that if she slowed down she could live to be 90. She didn’t. I had a running dialogue with her in my journal after she died and to this day I still write to her and receive messages back. But this visit I had with her was especially compelling.
Just a few months before I turned the same age that she was when she had her first aneurism, I went to visit her grave. I was afraid that I would die or start to rapidly deteriorate when she did. I went to ask her to give me my life back. She said, “I’ve been waiting for you to come. I asked God for one wish long ago—that you would live double the life I did. God granted the wish, but you had to come to claim it. So here it is. Live well. Live out your passion.” I said, “Thanks Mom. This is the best gift you could ever give me.” It was a poignant moment, a lasting memory, and a step towards interior freedom for me.
A healing Experience with my rageful inner child
It all started with a dream: It was terrifying and real. I rode a horse to a spiritual church meeting. After a good meeting several women sat talking in the pews. Suddenly, a wave-like spirit came over us at various times, trying to hurt us. One woman almost swallowed her tongue. I was almost suffocated. Other women experienced other scary things. I cried to God—"please save me—take this evil away.” God did and I survived but was afraid to go home alone. I woke up with a hurting chest and I was very frightened. Why this dream? Why now?
My interpretation and subsequent dialogue: This dangerous spirit feels feminine. It is evasive and sinister. It is the small fragile little girl in me who is cold, hard, scared, and has concluded she is unlovable. She is very insecure and terrified of being vulnerable. So now that I’m doing some inner work around my own vulnerability, she feels vulnerable and wants to suffocate (stifle, silence) my progress, my new trust, my new courage, my new sense of love.
Dialogue: (If this dialogue triggers pain or memories that need to be heard by a professional, please stop reading or be very gentle with yourself. This is holy ground, difficult work).
Me: Come over here and let’s talk.
Her: Are you kidding. You just want to con me—and you don’t even know me.
Me: Oh yes, I do know you. You are part of me. A part I admit to not knowing well. But I’d like
to know you better.
Her: Why would you want to know me? I just tried to suffocate you.
Me: I just discovered you and for some unexplainable reason I really want to know you. I guess I
like your spunk.
Her: Spunk, ha! It’s sheer hardness and self-preservation.
Me: Tell me more.
Her: There’s no one you can trust. They’re all out for themselves. No one loves you. You hate
even yourself. So be cold, hard, impenetrable.
Me: And lonely?
Her: (Surprised) How did you know?
Me: I can see it in your eyes.
Her: (Hiding her eyes) I thought I was invincible.
Me: It’s OK even if you’re not. I like your style—bold and straight forward.
Her: This is the first time someone’s ever liked me. You know dad couldn’t. He was too
wrapped up in himself. And mom really tried, but she was too afraid of life and dad to really make love stick. Where have you been all this time?
Me: I just discovered parts of me, and mom and dad, and you. I agree with you about mom and
dad but I saw and felt other parts of them too—different parts.
Her: Well, I froze at about 8 years old or so and have never felt safe or loved since. I got the
formula for love and followed it: be good, get good grades, stay out of trouble, go to church, be a leader, be responsible, don’t swear, don’t be sexual. And I helped you do all of that— until you fell apart and started scaring the s___ out of me.
Me: When was that?
Her: Started with the divorce but got into high gear when you started getting this spiritual
direction stuff. You are really threatening me now, so I must scare you into stopping.
Getting back to the formula.
Me: Why am I threatening you?
Her: We can’t crack. Can’t be loved or our shell will crumble and we’ll have to be vulnerable--
out of control—be little again, be trusting, be dependent, be hurt, be disappointed,
abandoned.
Me: Would you believe me if I told you that my journey has led me to believe that yes, we’ve
been all those things, but that God does indeed love us so deeply that God would never abandon us—for any reason, under any circumstances?
Her: Sounds like a set up to me.
Me: I thought so too, but after 4 ½ years of receiving spiritual direction, I don’t think so any
more. And I really want you to be able to FEEL this love. I know it scares you. It scared
me too because I couldn’t believe it. But all I ask is that you take my hand and try it.
Her: I’ve never taken anyone’s hand in my life.
Me: But I’m part of you—you’re part of me. And you can always let go.
Her: Can’t I just saunter behind you?
Me: No, I need you next to me, holding my hand. I’m scared too. We’re both still pretty little,
you know. We need each other perhaps…
Her: Can I think about it? And what will the results be?
Me: You can think about it but it won’t help. The journey begins now and it is one of the
heart—that will scare you as it did me—but I’m going to ask you to trust me. A big thing to ask. I can’t tell you the results. I just trust after 4 ½ years that they will be good and you’ll feel better in the long run.
Her: You have me in quite a quandary. I’ve never trusted before. I’m used to calculating and
scheming. But you say you’re part of me and you appear honest and sincere. But how do I know I can trust you? I just tried to suffocate you.
Me: All you have is my word. That is all I have to give. It is all I am. You either trust me or you
don’t and this is my invitation—to go on the journey with me. (I reach out my hand)
Her: (Pause) None of this makes any sense to me but there is something about you I like. I don’t
say that about anyone. I’m not sure why I’m even thinking it.
Me: Will you go with me?
Her: (reluctantly) I’ll begin the journey and see what happens I guess. I admit I’m squeamish,
but I am a little lonely after all this time.
Me: So am I. Let’s go. (I take her hand and we take a slow step forward).
Body work to mend my broken heart
After my divorce I felt so vulnerable that I inadvertently started to shut my heart down so it could not be hurt again. When I noticed this stance, it felt like an impediment to full functioning and not healthy for me. I didn’t fully realize how true this was until I was doing body work with a professional healing touch practitioner. During one particularly poignant session I felt (in my psyche) as if I had a tall fence around my heart. We worked gently to take the fence down section by section.
But there were more barriers. Over the next several sessions we removed a corral, a zippered lining, a plastic shell, then an embryonic sac. A few months later I had a vision that my old heart was being replaced by a new one—a gentler, kinder, fleshier heart. All those layers were removed to make way for a new heart from a divine source. A scripture verse describes it as a heart of flesh replacing a heart of stone. I even made a quilted contemporary art piece depicting a heart that was breaking out of prison walls to be free once again. And I was finally ready to let my open heart receive love and friendship again.
My decision to “adopt” several family members
By the time I was 39 both of my parents had died and my brother and I were estranged. I had no biological children and my extended family was not closely connected. I felt like an orphan. Holidays were the worst, when everyone seemed to be with their family (whether they enjoyed it or not). I needed roots and connections to feel like I belonged in this world. Over the next few years, I decided to “adopt “ additional roots, and create my own chosen family. They were naturally in my life but I made it intentional with them or just in my own heart. As a result, I adopted mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children, aunts/uncles.
To this day, some of the originals are still in my life. Many have passed on. When I need new ones I consciously add more. I even have a chosen “family” of four to help me plan for my death and memorial service. And on holidays, I need to be with someone I love close to the holiday but not necessarily on the holiday. Usually, one of my people is available. But if not, I take the actual holiday as a retreat day and do what is most life-giving for me. It makes all the difference for my peace of mind when I could otherwise be depressed and lonely.
The danger in telling broken-heart stories
Some readers might wonder how I chose—or dare--to tell these personal and family stories. I don’t take this lightly. The rule in my family, as in most families, was not to share family secrets or family pain. Author and theologian, Frederich Buechner, writes (decades later) about his father’s suicide when Frederich was only ten years old. No one spoke of him after it happened, and the family moved to another state. That’s how he found out that the law his family lived by was “Don’t talk, trust, feel.” He adds “And woe to the one who broke it.” His view is that these rules are the unwritten law of families that for one reason or another, have gone out of whack.
I realize the danger in breaking those rules, and I do it carefully so as not to inflict more pain. Yet I’ve come to realize that unless the shame, guilt and truth is aired, eventually it may thwart the family spirit. But the personal and generational healing that can result, and often does, after intentional mending work, is worth the effort. So, I’ve chosen to tell these stories from my perspective, without shame or blame, and to include the vital mending process.
The results of the story telling
Now when I listen to the broken heart song, I sincerely feel the experience of having a heart broken by life, by lost love, by all the hurts that happened to me and others and I do grieve that. Yet I also feel the sensation of freedom that emerges when I heal from those hurts and mend my heart (although there is always something more to heal!). I often use the phrase “Joy emerges from pain well attended.” As a result of the healing, I am more open to the beauty, grace, creativity, and love in the world. I am grateful for all of it.
Janet O. Hagberg, 2023. Feel free to pass this along.
Has your heart ever been broken by life disruptions, by big losses, by betrayals?
Well, mine has and I can imagine I’m not alone. If you share this heart experience, read on!
As I was looking back over my life; asking myself evocative questions, reliving life experiences, looking at old photographs, reading old journal entries, I noticed a theme that repeated itself in my life. My theme, right there amidst all the goodness, busyness and achievements, was a repeatedly broken heart. Broken from early deaths of loved ones, from divorce, from repression of me as a woman, from physical assaults, from betrayal, from estrangement with my brother, from addiction, from health issues. Sometimes my heart broke over a long period of time and repeated experiences, other times it broke with one sentence, like “I don’t love you anymore.” And then there was heartbreak over things outside of my personal world, stories of women in prison, victims of domestic abuse, stories of hate speech and discrimination. I could go on and on… As I was pondering this theme, a familiar song began playing in my ear, “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?” sung by Al Green and the Bee Gees, both classics. Here are the first three verses.
I can think of younger days when living for my life
Was everything a man could want to do
I could never see tomorrow
I was never told about the sorrow.
And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
Tell me, how can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go 'round?
How can you mend this broken man? Yeah
How can a loser ever win?
Somebody please help me mend my broken heart
And let me live again, la-la, la-la, la.
A peculiar sensation appeared then, that I needed to understand. I became aware that I don’t feel like my heart is broken now even though I’ve had numerous things break it in the past. I began to wonder what it was that helped me mend and heal my broken heart. And guess what, my life-pondering brought me a few suggestions. I’ve chosen a few poignant experiences I’ve had along the way to illustrate what helped me to heal my heart.
Four stories of healing
The first two stories are about a healing experience with my mother at her grave, and a dialogue I had with my very wounded inner child, both depicting deep wrenching losses. The third experience shows part of a healing heart process after my divorce, involving body work. And the fourth story is a decision I made to “adopt “several family members when I lost my own. All four of these healing experiences occurred in the decade of my life from age 39 to 49.
I share these experiences to embrace my own process but also to have compassion on the younger me who needed to heal from those searing losses. And I feel that the more honestly I can tell my story, the more likely it is to resonate with other people’s stories.
Asking to outlive my mother
My mother died young. She was just 55 and died suddenly of a brain aneurism. Five years earlier she also had an aneurism, but the doctor said that if she slowed down she could live to be 90. She didn’t. I had a running dialogue with her in my journal after she died and to this day I still write to her and receive messages back. But this visit I had with her was especially compelling.
Just a few months before I turned the same age that she was when she had her first aneurism, I went to visit her grave. I was afraid that I would die or start to rapidly deteriorate when she did. I went to ask her to give me my life back. She said, “I’ve been waiting for you to come. I asked God for one wish long ago—that you would live double the life I did. God granted the wish, but you had to come to claim it. So here it is. Live well. Live out your passion.” I said, “Thanks Mom. This is the best gift you could ever give me.” It was a poignant moment, a lasting memory, and a step towards interior freedom for me.
A healing Experience with my rageful inner child
It all started with a dream: It was terrifying and real. I rode a horse to a spiritual church meeting. After a good meeting several women sat talking in the pews. Suddenly, a wave-like spirit came over us at various times, trying to hurt us. One woman almost swallowed her tongue. I was almost suffocated. Other women experienced other scary things. I cried to God—"please save me—take this evil away.” God did and I survived but was afraid to go home alone. I woke up with a hurting chest and I was very frightened. Why this dream? Why now?
My interpretation and subsequent dialogue: This dangerous spirit feels feminine. It is evasive and sinister. It is the small fragile little girl in me who is cold, hard, scared, and has concluded she is unlovable. She is very insecure and terrified of being vulnerable. So now that I’m doing some inner work around my own vulnerability, she feels vulnerable and wants to suffocate (stifle, silence) my progress, my new trust, my new courage, my new sense of love.
Dialogue: (If this dialogue triggers pain or memories that need to be heard by a professional, please stop reading or be very gentle with yourself. This is holy ground, difficult work).
Me: Come over here and let’s talk.
Her: Are you kidding. You just want to con me—and you don’t even know me.
Me: Oh yes, I do know you. You are part of me. A part I admit to not knowing well. But I’d like
to know you better.
Her: Why would you want to know me? I just tried to suffocate you.
Me: I just discovered you and for some unexplainable reason I really want to know you. I guess I
like your spunk.
Her: Spunk, ha! It’s sheer hardness and self-preservation.
Me: Tell me more.
Her: There’s no one you can trust. They’re all out for themselves. No one loves you. You hate
even yourself. So be cold, hard, impenetrable.
Me: And lonely?
Her: (Surprised) How did you know?
Me: I can see it in your eyes.
Her: (Hiding her eyes) I thought I was invincible.
Me: It’s OK even if you’re not. I like your style—bold and straight forward.
Her: This is the first time someone’s ever liked me. You know dad couldn’t. He was too
wrapped up in himself. And mom really tried, but she was too afraid of life and dad to really make love stick. Where have you been all this time?
Me: I just discovered parts of me, and mom and dad, and you. I agree with you about mom and
dad but I saw and felt other parts of them too—different parts.
Her: Well, I froze at about 8 years old or so and have never felt safe or loved since. I got the
formula for love and followed it: be good, get good grades, stay out of trouble, go to church, be a leader, be responsible, don’t swear, don’t be sexual. And I helped you do all of that— until you fell apart and started scaring the s___ out of me.
Me: When was that?
Her: Started with the divorce but got into high gear when you started getting this spiritual
direction stuff. You are really threatening me now, so I must scare you into stopping.
Getting back to the formula.
Me: Why am I threatening you?
Her: We can’t crack. Can’t be loved or our shell will crumble and we’ll have to be vulnerable--
out of control—be little again, be trusting, be dependent, be hurt, be disappointed,
abandoned.
Me: Would you believe me if I told you that my journey has led me to believe that yes, we’ve
been all those things, but that God does indeed love us so deeply that God would never abandon us—for any reason, under any circumstances?
Her: Sounds like a set up to me.
Me: I thought so too, but after 4 ½ years of receiving spiritual direction, I don’t think so any
more. And I really want you to be able to FEEL this love. I know it scares you. It scared
me too because I couldn’t believe it. But all I ask is that you take my hand and try it.
Her: I’ve never taken anyone’s hand in my life.
Me: But I’m part of you—you’re part of me. And you can always let go.
Her: Can’t I just saunter behind you?
Me: No, I need you next to me, holding my hand. I’m scared too. We’re both still pretty little,
you know. We need each other perhaps…
Her: Can I think about it? And what will the results be?
Me: You can think about it but it won’t help. The journey begins now and it is one of the
heart—that will scare you as it did me—but I’m going to ask you to trust me. A big thing to ask. I can’t tell you the results. I just trust after 4 ½ years that they will be good and you’ll feel better in the long run.
Her: You have me in quite a quandary. I’ve never trusted before. I’m used to calculating and
scheming. But you say you’re part of me and you appear honest and sincere. But how do I know I can trust you? I just tried to suffocate you.
Me: All you have is my word. That is all I have to give. It is all I am. You either trust me or you
don’t and this is my invitation—to go on the journey with me. (I reach out my hand)
Her: (Pause) None of this makes any sense to me but there is something about you I like. I don’t
say that about anyone. I’m not sure why I’m even thinking it.
Me: Will you go with me?
Her: (reluctantly) I’ll begin the journey and see what happens I guess. I admit I’m squeamish,
but I am a little lonely after all this time.
Me: So am I. Let’s go. (I take her hand and we take a slow step forward).
Body work to mend my broken heart
After my divorce I felt so vulnerable that I inadvertently started to shut my heart down so it could not be hurt again. When I noticed this stance, it felt like an impediment to full functioning and not healthy for me. I didn’t fully realize how true this was until I was doing body work with a professional healing touch practitioner. During one particularly poignant session I felt (in my psyche) as if I had a tall fence around my heart. We worked gently to take the fence down section by section.
But there were more barriers. Over the next several sessions we removed a corral, a zippered lining, a plastic shell, then an embryonic sac. A few months later I had a vision that my old heart was being replaced by a new one—a gentler, kinder, fleshier heart. All those layers were removed to make way for a new heart from a divine source. A scripture verse describes it as a heart of flesh replacing a heart of stone. I even made a quilted contemporary art piece depicting a heart that was breaking out of prison walls to be free once again. And I was finally ready to let my open heart receive love and friendship again.
My decision to “adopt” several family members
By the time I was 39 both of my parents had died and my brother and I were estranged. I had no biological children and my extended family was not closely connected. I felt like an orphan. Holidays were the worst, when everyone seemed to be with their family (whether they enjoyed it or not). I needed roots and connections to feel like I belonged in this world. Over the next few years, I decided to “adopt “ additional roots, and create my own chosen family. They were naturally in my life but I made it intentional with them or just in my own heart. As a result, I adopted mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children, aunts/uncles.
To this day, some of the originals are still in my life. Many have passed on. When I need new ones I consciously add more. I even have a chosen “family” of four to help me plan for my death and memorial service. And on holidays, I need to be with someone I love close to the holiday but not necessarily on the holiday. Usually, one of my people is available. But if not, I take the actual holiday as a retreat day and do what is most life-giving for me. It makes all the difference for my peace of mind when I could otherwise be depressed and lonely.
The danger in telling broken-heart stories
Some readers might wonder how I chose—or dare--to tell these personal and family stories. I don’t take this lightly. The rule in my family, as in most families, was not to share family secrets or family pain. Author and theologian, Frederich Buechner, writes (decades later) about his father’s suicide when Frederich was only ten years old. No one spoke of him after it happened, and the family moved to another state. That’s how he found out that the law his family lived by was “Don’t talk, trust, feel.” He adds “And woe to the one who broke it.” His view is that these rules are the unwritten law of families that for one reason or another, have gone out of whack.
I realize the danger in breaking those rules, and I do it carefully so as not to inflict more pain. Yet I’ve come to realize that unless the shame, guilt and truth is aired, eventually it may thwart the family spirit. But the personal and generational healing that can result, and often does, after intentional mending work, is worth the effort. So, I’ve chosen to tell these stories from my perspective, without shame or blame, and to include the vital mending process.
The results of the story telling
Now when I listen to the broken heart song, I sincerely feel the experience of having a heart broken by life, by lost love, by all the hurts that happened to me and others and I do grieve that. Yet I also feel the sensation of freedom that emerges when I heal from those hurts and mend my heart (although there is always something more to heal!). I often use the phrase “Joy emerges from pain well attended.” As a result of the healing, I am more open to the beauty, grace, creativity, and love in the world. I am grateful for all of it.
Janet O. Hagberg, 2023. Feel free to pass this along.