Healing Isn’t About Perfection: What Kintsugi Taught Me About Emotional Repair
By Rizza J. Abuan, AMFT — Mental Health Therapist
Published January 15, 2026
Welcome to Monarchs Therapy — and welcome back to those who already know us.
My name is Rizza, and I’m part of the Monarchs team. I was asked to write a blog post, which is new to me… so here we go.
January always arrives faster than I expect.
One moment it’s the rush of the holidays… and the next, I’m trying to catch my breath.
I like the quiet that comes with the beginning of the year. The slowing down. The soft reset. You can usually find me with a book (or two), a warm drink, and holiday treats that somehow last well into January.
Meanwhile, social media is overflowing with messages about resolutions, reinvention, and becoming a “new you.” And honestly? I just want to watch DIY projects, cooking videos, and dogs doing dog things.
Still, even when I try to avoid it, the new year invites reflection. I find myself looking back at what worked, what didn’t, and what I sometimes had to make work. Because that’s part of it, right? Taking steps toward an idea of what we want, even when the result doesn’t look like what we imagined.
Where we start isn’t always where we end up.
I’m looking at you, closet clean-up — complete with random clothing choices and somehow… junk mail. How did that get there?
That realization followed me into a kintsugi workshop.
Kintsugi is a Japanese art form that means “golden repair.” It’s the practice of putting broken pottery back together with gold, honoring the cracks instead of hiding them. I signed up because I wanted something creative to do with my hands — and because I had a small bird figurine that didn’t survive dogs, bouncy balls, and a planter.
What I expected: a fun creative outing.
What I got: a lesson I didn’t know I needed.
We were asked to choose a piece of pottery and break it. I hesitated. I tapped gently with the hammer, too cautious. Then it hit me:
You can’t start something new if you’re afraid to break.
So I broke the bowl.
We laid out the pieces and tried to remember what it once looked like. It seemed easy… until it wasn’t. When I started gluing the pieces back together with gold epoxy, everything stopped making sense after the third piece. The shape didn’t line up. The memory of the bowl felt fuzzy. The pieces that once seemed obvious now felt confusing.
It was messy. Sticky. Frustrating.
Around me, other participants’ bowls were coming together beautifully — elegant cracks outlined in gold. Mine looked like chaos. I even watched one person walk away and abandon their project entirely.
I considered doing the same.
Instead, I stepped away for a moment. I reminded myself that repairing something doesn’t mean restoring it to exactly what it was. Sometimes pieces are missing. Sometimes we choose what stays empty. I chose to leave my missing pieces out. I told myself I could always fill them later.
I stopped.
The bowl sat wrapped on my desk for two days. I felt relief when I walked away from it. I worried I had wasted time and money. I remembered judging it harshly.
Then I unwrapped it.
It wasn’t sticky anymore. It shimmered with gold — not just in the cracks, but everywhere. I gently cleaned off the excess, careful not to undo what was holding it together. I wasn’t sure it would survive my touch. I wasn’t sure I would like it.
And then I stopped again.
Here it is.
It isn’t perfect.
It isn’t what it used to be.
It isn’t what I imagined it would become.
But it’s different. It’s mine.
It reminds me that healing doesn’t always look clean. Repair doesn’t always feel graceful. And sometimes, we only appreciate what we’ve made after we’ve given ourselves space to meet it again.
My bowl is still messy on the inside.
And that’s okay with me.
A Gentle Reflection from Therapy
In therapy, I see this every day.
People often come in wanting to be “fixed.”
But healing doesn’t work that way.
We don’t erase the cracks. We learn how to live with them, honor them, and sometimes even find beauty in the places that once hurt the most.
Therapy isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about becoming more fully yourself.
If you’re in a season of repair, I hope you know this: you don’t have to rush it. You don’t have to make it look perfect. And you don’t have to do it alone.
Sometimes, healing begins when we gently place one piece down… and trust that it’s enough for today. 🦋
