When the Eruption Comes
from the truth that lives beneath my calm
It starts as an explosion inside me, something sudden and undeniable. Rage rises before I can prepare myself. This rage feels ancient, like it has been waiting for the moment I finally stop holding it in place. It pushes up from the pressure point beneath my ribs. It erupts from my solar plexus and radiates out to my whole body, shaking loose the silence I have used to survive. My breath tightens. Heat spreads through me like a truth I can no longer contain. This is everything I pushed past because I had to keep going.
The anger is wise. It shows me every moment I kept pushing when I needed someone to meet me halfway. It shows me how often I held the weight alone, how many times I silenced my needs so the world would not collapse around me. I used to carry my strength as a badge of honor, a symbol of what I could survive. Now I feel the shift in me. I no longer want to be strong in ways that drain me. I want to be me. I want to be supported, not stretched. I want to exist without having to prove my endurance.
The eruption leaves me empty in a way that feels unfamiliar. My stomach twists with nausea. My appetite disappears. My body shakes as the pressure drains away. I sit in the quiet that follows, aware of how raw and exposed I feel. This is not relief. It is a release that unsettles everything I thought I had neatly tucked away. I am overstimulated and numb at the same time, trying to make sense of a storm that swept through me without warning.
I turn on a show so I have something steady to anchor me. The sound keeps me from drifting too far into the quiet. I let myself sit in the semi-present space where I can breathe without having to engage. I don’t want explanations, and I don’t want conversations that require effort. I want presence and comfort that meets the depth of the fire that just moved through me.
Underneath the numbness, I recognize a slow, quiet pride. I stayed with myself through the eruption. I did not run. I did not collapse into pretending. I let the fire move the way it needed to move, and I remained here with myself when the flames settled. I let the anger tell the truth I had been holding for too long.
Now I sit in the clearing that follows a storm. The air feels different around me. My breath feels different in my body. I am not rushing to close this moment. I am giving myself permission to let the aftershocks settle naturally. When the eruption comes, it breaks open what needs to be released and leaves me standing with myself in a deeper, more accountable and transparent way. It reminds me that I can choose softness as easily as strength. It reminds me that the truth beneath my calm deserves space too.
Thank you, Spirit. Àṣẹ.