Do you ever get to the point where you feel like exploding?
There are issues which can really make us mad.
Maybe something or someone has touched a nerve.
We feel raw. Wounded. Hurt.
Out of the blue (or so it seems) rage, anger, annoyance or other emotional pain come to the surface.
Feelings rise as steam and we long to vent somehow.
If our nearest and dearest are in range then they may be the unwarranted recipients of our spleen.
Perhaps we need a safe way and place in which to vent our feelings?
A safety valve to allow us to let go without losing full control.
An escape. Outlet.
It may vary greatly depending on the nature, duration and extent of our pain.
And the type of people we are, the resources we have and openings for letting go.
I have found many ways over the years to vent. Not all of them comfortable for others, sad to say.
Over the years, I have tended to rush more eagerly to the phone than the throne of grace.
Counselling gave me the tools to work through pain and see why it was so deep-rooted.
Now, I try to remember that God is always listening, caring, available and – most important of all – loves us unconditionally.
Loved ones, friends and family can help us up to a point, but only God can truly heal, restore and make us whole again.
The poem below describes how those deep emotions can affect us and how I have found some help and release from mine.
Sometimes our pain
in a safe place
where we hide
our true selves
from prying eyes
yet wounds will
fester when left
unattended over years
and seep their poison
through our systems
anxiety and fears
We need an outlet
safety valve to
vent within constraints
for leaking holes
where what is
heard is veiled
yet has intent
I express myself
through poetic lament
to pour forth
words as water
releasing mercy drops
that may hit
the spot for other
This poem is part of a guest blog post on my friend, Barry Pearman’s site where I’m honoured and delighted to be sharing my thoughts on how poetry helps my mental health. I’d love you to come on over and read the rest there.