The Necessity of Valves

Releasing Pressure Without Leaving Ourselves

There are pressures we carry that no one sees.

The slow simmer of uncertainty.

The clench of too many responsibilities.

The ache of transitions, grief, longing.

The overwhelm of simply being in it—this thing called life.

And unless we have valves—conscious ways to release the pressure—

we hold it in

until we rupture

or shut down

or numb out

or lash out

at ourselves,

at those we love,

at strangers on the highway who are driving too slow in the left lane.

Valves are not the same as distractions.

They’re not escapes.

They’re not the mechanisms of disassociation we’ve learned to perfect—scrolling, shopping, overworking, bingeing, people-pleasing, pretending we’re fine.

Valves are conscious choices to let the steam out while staying present.

They are the rituals, rhythms, and spaces that allow our nervous systems to reset without abandoning ourselves in the process.

In Bali, I found mine.

Time by the ocean.

Riding my scooter with the wind on my skin and no destination.

Early morning coffees by the pool, kissed by sunlight, held by birdsong.

Quiet moments with King where no words are needed.

Barefoot on the earth, hips moving in dance, or just breathing—fully.

They arrived easily, naturally.

It’s as though the land itself conspired to offer me pressure relief.

But in Canada, I realized something startling.

I never had them.

Or I mistook my numbing for them.

Overworking, productivity, caretaking, wine with dinner.

Things that dulled the noise but didn’t actually bring me home.

And that’s the difference.

Numbing silences us. Valves soften us.

Scrolling is numbing.

Staring at the horizon in stillness is a valve.

Overeating is numbing.

Sharing a meal slowly with someone who sees you—valve.

Netflix until 2am? Numbing.

Dancing to a single song like your soul is on fire? Valve.

It’s not just what we do.

It’s the quality of presence we bring to it.

So now, I’m in a rediscovery.

Asking my body, asking this land:

What are the ways here I can let the steam out and still stay with myself?

What is pleasure in this place?

What is presence here?

What does it mean to be well…here?

Because the goal isn’t to never feel pressure.

The goal is to stay open while it builds and releases.

To not disappear when it gets loud.

To not collapse under the weight of it all.

To not hand ourselves over to numbness in the name of endurance.

The goal is to stay here, in our skin, with our breath,

and let life move through us—not get stuck inside us.

So I’m not just building a life.

I’m building a system of valves.

A map of rituals.

A devotion to stay open, even when life is hard.

To choose release over repression.

To return over and over again—to myself.

Because I wasn’t built to hold it all in.

Neither were you.