Mastering the Art of Being Broken

by Lee Erickson

Mastering the Art of Being Broken begins where many childhood wounds begin: on the playground, under the watchful eyes of other children, in the moment humiliation first teaches you that being different can make you a target. What starts as a skinned knee becomes something larger — a lesson in shame, survival, invisibility, and the quiet work of getting back up when no one comes to help.

This poem reaches back into a distinctly Midwestern childhood filled with hand-me-downs, connected mittens, gravel, and laughter that wounds more deeply than the fall itself. Yet beneath the ache is something enduring: the first fragile understanding that what makes us different may one day become what saves us. Mastering the Art of Being Broken is not a celebration of suffering, but a meditation on resilience — on the long journey from shame to selfhood, and the extraordinary courage required simply to remain soft in a world that often rewards hardness.

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Mastering the Art of Being Broken

Before you master the art

of anything, you

must fail.

Clumsy or pushed,

grind your knee

into the playground gravel

with such force

you’ll need tweezers

to pull out the stones,

Bactine,

gauze to absorb the

blood and shame.

Make sure there are others

around to witness.

Your green knitted mittens

hit the ground, now filthy,

attached hand to hand by yarn

so they can’t be lost.

Red stain seeps.

Ache deepens.

Shame deeper.

Your deep breath

shifts to a sigh.

Kids around you,

laughing and pointing,

hand-me-down

dungarees, worn by

at least one older brother,

ripped and tattered,

already anticipating

your mother’s

disappointment at

her attempt to fix.

Your father—uninformed.

You stand up,

brush off as much debris

as little hands can

muster.

The kids are

still laughing,

still calling you names,

but nothing you hadn’t

heard before

from your brothers.

You’re different.

One day soon,

you’ll revel in your

uniqueness—

feel it transform from shame

to pride.

Just not yet.

You’re at the beginning.

There will be

more hard things.

Go on now.

There’s nothing left to do.

Breathe, little one.

You’re at the beginning.

Your being is

well on its way

toward

mastering the art

of being broken.

Still learning.

Still breathing.

Still here.