When we bought our current house, we knew little about cooking with gas. We’d had electric everything in our old home.
Mark and I had heard how much better cooking with gas would be. We’d be better able to control the cooking temperature, and less likely to burn food. {I’m not the world’s greatest cook!} We quickly adjusted to cooking with gas, and found it much more convenient than cooking on an electric stove.
However, I didn’t realize how easy it would be to also blow up our house.
Not long after moving in and cooking breakfast on a Saturday morning, the family headed out to an early-morning event about 20 miles away. The event lasted a little over an hour, and I’d planned to run a few errands afterward. However, our second car was in the shop, and instead of taking the entire family to run errands, we decided to go straight home.
Upon arriving back at home, the girls and I entered a stinky garage. For whatever reason, Mark was several steps behind, and didn’t walk in and smell the gas as quickly as the rest of us had. Being unfamiliar with the dangers of gas, I headed inside, flipping on light switches as I made my way upstairs to the kitchen. By then, Mark had come in and was telling the girls and me to get outside. Instead, I made my way to the stove, and realized we’d accidentally bumped one of the stove eye dials enough that gas had been leaking the entire time we’d been gone, which was close to two hours. I turned it off, and flipped on the switch for the ceiling fan, then headed to open several windows. Mark, once again, told me to go outside. As I stepped out the back door into fresh air, I realized exactly how much gas I’d breathed in.
As he called the fire department, Mark fussed at me for turning on the light switches, and for roaming through the house. By that point, he was still unsure how safe it was for us to be inside, and I was realizing how dangerous it had been for me to go inside so nonchalantly.
A fire truck happened to be in our neighborhood, so when Mark called the station, they sent the truck right over. After walking through the house, the firemen declared it fine for us to be inside. However, they said had we been gone very much longer {as in less than an hour}, the gas would’ve reached the pilot light in the water heater, located in the garage, and blown the house to pieces.
We quickly learned that our stove has a gas lock control on it, and taught everybody in the family how to use it. {We’re still a little neurotic about making sure the stove says “OFF.”}
I spent the rest of that day reeling over how naive I’d been to walk into a gas-filled house; how dangerous it had been to go in, flipping on light switches, acting as if everything were normal; how I didn’t even realize the effects of the gas on my body until I walked into fresh air; how close we came to blowing up our home.
* * * * *
Abuse and religion go hand-in-hand for me. I didn’t choose either one; rather, I grew up with the convoluted mess as my everyday normal. Looking back, there were plenty of red flags, but my young age and naivety overruled any good sense I might’ve had.
It’s taken three years of slowly but surely walking out the door to realize how much damage was done. It’s taken walking away from people and circumstances to realize how unhealthy I’ve been…how much toxicity I’ve allowed into my life.
Just as I walked out my back door, and recognized that I needed to fill my lungs with fresh air, I’m realizing how important it is to fill my heart and mind with truth and grace and love. In order to do that, I can’t walk back into a toxic environment. I have to set and maintain boundaries, which is difficult because in an abusive/religious environment, boundaries are equated with selfishness, so I believed boundaries were bad.
Much like the day we nearly blew up our house, I feel a bit dizzy with the ongoing awakening to the danger and damage I experienced. There are days when I can accept it all as the normal I grew up in, and there are days when I scream with anger in rejection of it all. Perhaps it takes a long time to settle in to healthy remembering.
* * * * *
Too often we naively and blindly walk through life, not realizing the harm we’ve experienced until it’s done. We then have to choose whether to live in the awakening, or to close our eyes and pretend the damage is not so bad. We have to decide whether we want to live healthy and whole, or continue to believe that the hurt is not so bad. Either way, the price is costly. It’s simply a matter of determining which one is worth the cost.
