The Pressure Cooker Principle:

Grief & Pain under Pressure.

Once upon a time, red peas soup was a favourite of mine. Beginning with dried red kidney beans, soaked overnight, rinsed thoroughly, the pressure cooker would be set on the stove. The beans would begin from cold, moving into intense heat under pressure. Once they were cooked long enough, I would release the pressure - either by toggling the weight on the pressure cooker, or by allowing the pressure to release naturally. Then additional flavouring ingredients and fresh items would be added to the beans - now cooked to a soft consistency, their redness making the broth a lovely, rich, colour.

The Pressure Cooker operates on the principle of heat under pressure cooking faster than simply heat alone. That heat, when pressurized, becomes so strong it can break down even the hardest cuts of meat or toughest dried beans - they don’t even have to be soaked!

I’ve found in my life, when I leave grief and pain unattended, they have a similar effect as a pressure cooker - they cause a breakdown that is much more powerful than the kind of breakdown I would have if I allowed myself to feel the grief, to process the pain as it comes along.

Build up of grief and pain is dangerous. It can convert the safety weight into a missile. If one is not careful, one could lose an eye when the lid flies off. There will be wet, mushy, messy, pressure cooker contents splashed everywhere. Bystanders will be scalded. The clean-up job is epic.

Conversely, taking the time to deal with the painful events when they happen: to process the pain, and let go what needs to be let go - this process, though difficult, prevents the build up of pressure that can cause undue harm.

Without taking this time, the pressure build up can cause dangerous thinking … the kind of thinking that begins to imagine a pain-free state as some kind of utopian relief. The fingers of the mind play on the idea of relieving the pain like a maestro strumming some magical musical instrument. Imagination is a strong elixir: sometimes it can make us feel that an alternate reality of feeling nothing is better than contending with the pain.

The marketing gurus of the world know this. They offer lots of options of “retail therapy” to numb the various pains we may feel. But so often, with so many kinds of emotional, psychological, spiritual, existential pains, the only way through the pain is through it. Buying shit you don’t need will not make the pain go away. There is no utopian relief to be had. The only way through the pain is through the pain.

So, what happens when you have to keep working and ignore the pain?

What happens when you have to keep on keeping on, and haven’t the time (or so you tell yourself) to deal with the grief? It builds up. It accumulates. The internal pressure escalates until an explosion is imminent.

Or, until imagination becomes reality and one reaches for the strong elixir one has been imagining: the end.

The pressure valve can be gently nudged aside to relieve some of the pressure build up (for me these techniques work - you will have your own):

• by taking quiet time (“Let us go off to a deserted place to rest”).

• by sitting in nature, or hiking or swimming … movement without music or sound filling my mind so that a certain blank canvas state of consciousness is achieved upon which my psyche and my soul can simply splash (safely) the inner things they have been holding on to.

• by practicing contemplative prayer or meditation - in which the thoughts and feelings are simply allowed to percolate and move around until they find a natural exit or evaporate into a less harmful state.

• by talking things through with a trusted person: close friend, psychotherapist, pastor or non-judgmental beagle.

• by being in community in a way that is intentional lament: addressing the pain, plumbing its depths with ritual and words, turning at the rock-bottom place of that plumbing exercise - turning back to Creator in trust and faith.

• WRITE.

The absolute worst thing I can do is keep going and pretend I am ok when I am not: swallow the pain down and try to keep on keeping on. This kind of tactic will lead to an explosion. A big mess everywhere. People will get hurt. Nobody is spared the resulting first, second, third degree burns.

When we encounter people, we never know whether they are actively, currently, in about-to-explode-and-cause-an-epic-mess Pressure Cooker mode. They may smile, and glibly mention the death(s) of loved one(s), the endings of relationships, changes of work, changes of residences, transitions in less visible but equally powerful inner spaces and places. But mentioning something and allowing it to pass through you is not the same thing.

Most if not all of us have gone through a considerable grief process over the past four years. Whether or not we’ve had loved ones die, we have certain lost a kind of innocence about the world. We have witnessed the realities of inequity and privilege: whether we’ve been on the downside of these or the upside. These things cause soul-pain, they cause soul-grief. Some people are better at seeing things and pretending they haven’t seen. Others cannot unsee. I’m a cannot unsee kinda person.

And that which is seen needs to be processed somehow. Not denied.

Un-addressed pain and grief, accumulated over time, squished into small spaces in our beings so that we can function as if nothing has happened - we too give way to the pressure cooker principle. There is breakdown under pressure. If that pressure is not safely released, somehow, there will be explosions.

I am now layering on the grief of friends, parishioners, colleagues who have suicided. All the usual things that demand my attention, that would have me put these griefs into small, top-shelf boxes and ignore them - all these usual things are telling me: I. do. not. have. the. time. to. grieve. and. feel. this. pain.

These attention demanders like to behave like bosses - but in fact they are powers and principalities denying my soul the grace of turning to God in sorrow, denying my hands the reaching out to touch the fringe of Jesus’ garment in search of healing.

I pray for the humility of the woman with a flow of blood that wouldn’t stop, and the courage to touch Jesus’ hem as the crowd presses in all around.

I pray for the humility of the centurion who asks for his sick daughter to be healed.

I pray for the courage of the Syrophoenician Woman who asks for the crumbs under the table to feed herself and her child.

I pray for the heaven Lazarus finds, for the celebration of the shepherd, the woman of the lost coin, the waiting father when the prodigal son (daughter) returns.

I pray for the faith that will make me turn towards healing instead of pretending that I am ok when I am not.

The world is telling me to keep going as though all is ok. When my heart is broken and my soul is weary from ignoring pain and grief for so long.

It is Kleenex and God time. It is hiking boots and lake-swimming time. It is pen and ink and keyboard time. Long overdue.

---

Photo by Tarun Hirapara on Unsplash