Pressure cookers are interesting right? Cook something faster by putting more pressure on it. If you forget about it, the cooker more or less explodes. Turn the cooker down at the exact right moment, and the food is cooked as desired, in less time, with (potentially) less hassle.
Ignore your feelings, and you, much like the forgotten pressure cooker, will explode. It’s just a matter of time. The intention is to put those feelings that hurt, away; out of sight, out of mind. Focus on something else. Do something else. Time heals all wounds - isn’t that what they say? But what we don’t realize is that the drawer those feelings have been shoved into is actually said pressure cooker - equipped with all the means necessary to speed up the explosion we are doing our best to avoid. Put enough of those hurt, ignored, waiting for time to fix them, feelings in there, and it’s a given that the mess they create will be worse than the one that would have been created, had we tried to cook the meal the slow, normal, time-consuming way. It’s the absolute irony of the whole scenario - the thing we want to ignore by pretending those feelings aren’t real, is the very thing we invite over a high speed connection.
I wish somebody had told me that a long time ago. Actually, somebody did- I chose not to listen.
For the majority of my life, I put my feelings into a pressure cooker, but I never failed to turn the cooker down at the exact right moment. I may have cut it close at times, but I always regained control. That ability to regain control quickly disappeared after I was attacked. I questioned every instinct I had. I couldn’t have any good instincts - I mean, I went with them willingly. I understood that I had been drugged, but I couldn’t recognize it as playing a part in my instincts being compromised. Before I could really identify that it was happening, I felt myself spinning out of control. The faster I ran to try and catch up, the faster I spun out.
5am is my golden hour. Some of you are like, uhhhh 5am is a crap hour, also known as shitty o’clock. I hear ya. I don’t love when the alarm goes off that early - but it’s in that hour that God has historically spoken to me the most clearly. The 5am silence is beautiful and peaceful, but one morning a little while ago - it was deafening.
After over a year of shoving every feeling I had into it, the pressure cooker finally exploded. I sat staring out my window at the Irish countryside, embarrassed, exhausted, and nauseous. There was no one to call, everyone back in America was asleep. Nowhere to go and nothing to do but sit. As I sat, and the minutes ticked by, I felt the tiniest sense of relief creep in. I knew that I was done - done numbing the pain, done pretending that it didn’t exist, and done running from my reality into lie after lie after lie. I knew in that moment that God loves me in a way I might never comprehend. In the deafening silence of my golden hour, God sat down next to me, waited, and offered me His hand to begin the climb out of that pit.
The mess created by the explosion may have been astronomical, but it was free and in the light.