By Chelsea Prentice

When a door closes, it usually closes hard. It hits you and it hurts. You weren’t expecting it. That’s what will most likely happen. That makes it sound quick. But it’s even more likely you’ll be sitting, rubbing your side, focusing on the lingering pain, than looking for an open window.

That’s why that phrase never made much sense to me.

It never matters in the moment that there’s a window open with a welcoming breeze flowing through. The pain from the door is still fresh. The throbbing is still lingering and you often find yourself focusing completely on the sensation of pain rather than what to do or where to go next. You are blind to the window, just as you were numb to the cold concrete floor underneath your feet that led you to this shut door. Just like you are deaf to the supportive voices coming from all directions, because your focus is on you, on your failing, and on the pain it’s inflicted – your open wounds.

It’s so hard to look away from those faults, to see the bigger picture, to scale back. Because in a small room occupied by yourself, everything seems so much worse than it is. Small tragedies are life catastrophes; simple errors are devastating mistakes, difficulties become impossible feats. Your world encloses around you so quickly and so tightly, there is hardly time or room to breathe.

However, it’s there in those breathless seconds, those terrifying moments, that you are made. Molded. Crafted. And amplified. Your best and worst qualities are displayed all around for you to see and each must be evaluated before you can find your way out of the claustrophobic room.

That is when you see it all. That is when you become you.

Image: Carl Lovén

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