The Beauty in Our Cracks: Lessons from Kintsukuroi
The Art of Brokenness
“When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something's suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful.” ― Barbara Bloom
The Japanese art of Kintsukuroi has always captivated me. When ceramics break, artists fill the cracks with gold, honoring the breakage as part of the object’s story instead of discarding it. The cracks don’t make it useless—they make it unique and beautiful.
Like ceramics, we too develop cracks: illness, miscarriage, betrayal, death. Life shatters us in ways we never expected. And when it does, it’s easy to believe the lie that we’ve lost our value—that we are damaged goods, better hidden away.
The Mask I Built
Before my cracks started to show, I had built what looked like a beautiful life. I had my dream job leading graduate business students around the world, a relationship I was excited about, and adventures that kept me feeling alive.
On the outside, I looked like I had it all together. On the inside, I was running from shame, judgment, and pain by perfecting the mask I wore. As long as I was witty, successful, and polished, I believed I could stay safe. Perfection was my escape route, and I wore it like armor.
But perfection is exhausting. It’s a full-time job trying to say the right thing, look the right way, and keep up with the impossible standards I set for myself. As Brené Brown writes in The Gifts of Imperfection:
“Perfectionism is a self-destructive and addictive belief system that fuels this primary thought: If I look perfect, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame, judgment, and blame.”
That was me. Hiding behind a smile while silently running from the fear of being “found out.”
When the Cracks Appeared
But no mask can hold forever.
My health began to unravel. I developed horrible brain fog. I couldn’t remember simple everyday words. Hiding my seizures at work by locking myself in a bathroom stall. Inability to focus on a computer screen due to blurred vision. I could no longer perform the way I used to, no matter how hard I tried. And so I doubled down—working harder, dressing sharper, joking more—anything to cover the cracks.
I became an expert at lying:
“Getting better every day.”
“I’m fine.”
“Doing better than ever.”
The truth? I was terrified. Terrified of losing my career. Terrified of being left behind. Terrified of not waking up some nights. Behind the mask, I was isolated, humiliated, and exhausted from holding everything together.
The Breaking Point
Eventually, the mask shattered. My friends witnessed episodes I couldn’t hide. I was carried out of restaurants because my legs collapsed. I had seizures in cars with colleagues. I hid away in my condo, convinced the game of life was moving on without me. I had fallen to pieces.
It was, without a doubt, my dark night of the soul.
When the Gold Appeared
But here’s the part no one told me—sometimes you have to fully break before you can be put back together the right way.
When I could no longer fake it, something surprising happened: realness entered the room. And with it came love. Quite a few people left my life, but a few treasured people came close. Instead of rejecting me in my brokenness, they carried me through it.
That’s when the healing began. Slowly, the gold began to fill the cracks:
Acceptance
Forgiveness
Empathy
Compassion
Resilience
Joy
Love
Piece by piece, my brokenness became my story—and my strength. Game. Changer.
The Lesson in the Cracks
Now, I don’t try to erase my cracks. I honor them. I use my mask when I need to, but I don’t hide anymore. My cracks are filled with gold, and they make me who I am. They connect me to others in their brokenness too.
Brené Brown says it perfectly:
“We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection.”
If you’re in the middle of breaking—or hiding your cracks—please hear me: your brokenness is not the end of your story. It may just be the place where your gold is waiting to shine through.
