What breaks also holds.

We blow the bubble, whatever it may be, knowing it will burst. Continuing to blow it with care is not naïve: it is the most honest way to inhabit the time we have.

We seek to feel safe: in a body that does not fail us, in a partner who does not leave, in a job that does not disappear. We build routines, safeguards, and certainties as if they were walls. The more solidity we believe we need, the more energy we spend avoiding the friction of the unexpected, which sooner or later arrives.

But does that solidity protect us as much as it promises? A loss, a diagnosis, or a breakup is enough to make the entire structure tremble: the more rigid the structure, the more catastrophic the rupture when it finally comes. Those who shield themselves against fragility do not eliminate it; they merely postpone it and make it more violent when it breaks in without permission.

Psychoanalytic experience shows the opposite of what we might expect: those who arrive recognizing their fracture are better able to withstand crises than those who arrive convinced of their solidity. Not because pain is desirable, but because a crack that has already been acknowledged no longer requires energy to be denied. There, in that recognition, a space begins to open where something different can be built.

Lectura

Ruti, M. (2009). A world of fragile things: Psychoanalysis and the art of living (pp. 1–2). State University of New York Press.