How to Walk into a Room: The Art of Knowing When to Stay and When to Walk Away

by Emily P. Freeman

My prayer for you is that this process feels less like the bright light of fluorescent bulbs and more like the gradual flicker of lighting a candle. A flame that sparks to life and softly grows, offering a warm circle of light to sit within.

no matter how much you wanted something, prayed for something, or worked hard to get it, if the room no longer seems to fit, it’s good to begin to explore why. You are allowed to ask questions. You are allowed to reconsider. You are allowed to look around and to look again.

Other times we leave rooms in turmoil, heartbreak, and loneliness, wishing it didn’t have to be this way but knowing that it’s time.

Sometimes just showing up and telling the truth will get us kicked right out of a room we’ve been in all our lives, with no questions allowed. And we’re left standing in a hallway with nowhere to go, hands empty, heart broken, and accusations hanging in the air.

Why is it so difficult to accept the change, or to be the one to leave a room in the first place?

The way they walk into the room is informed by what was happening in the last room they left—if

It wasn’t a bad room, but it wasn’t a room for me.

Perhaps the most difficult decisions we make about the various rooms of our lives are ones about the rooms we love and that have loved us.

Or has the time arrived for us to say our goodbyes and make our exit, to thank the space and its inhabitants for the gifts they brought, to leave behind what we must, to pack up what we are able, and to walk out the door?

anticipated goodbyes, includes those endings in which you and everyone around you agree that the time has come for a new season.

We accept that these kinds of endings come and go with the seasons and stages of life.

the question of whether or not it’s time to go is not there simply because these types of exits are ones we accept, expect, mark, celebrate, and communally agree are part of life.

When an ending is expected, we know it’s time to leave the room, and most, if not all, of the people in our lives agree. There may be sadness and grief, but it tends to be mixed with celebration or nostalgia.

forced ending is an exit you didn’t want and couldn’t plan for.

How we walk into new rooms often depends on the last rooms we were in and how our time there ended.

question of pausing, staying, or walking away is not usually one we ask when everything is fine.

the only path available to us is the one we’ve already walked.

Our good work, then, is not to try to find the path before us but to name the path behind us, the one we’ve walked that’s brought us to the sacred now.

No matter their outcome, personal decisions we made in the past are often our best teachers. The ones that resulted in wins and losses. The good, the bad, even the indifferent—all of our past decisions have something to teach us.

I learned and believed that God was, at the core, good, that God was for me, and could be trusted.

“At crucial moments of choice most of the business of choosing is already over.”3

Naturalists love God through the natural world and feel closest to God outside in the midst of creation. Whether it’s the mountains, forest, or ocean, being in nature awakens the naturalist to God’s presence and beauty.

Activists are compelled by a greater vision for the world. Confronting corrupt systems, standing up for the marginalized, and fighting for justice and equity are ways they most deeply connect with the Divine.

it’s imperative to identify what matters most to you. Because what matters most will always inform your next right thing.

admitting what we long for is something to not only name; it’s also something to protect, as it flows from our inner life.

But I also trust that God often works within us good things we can’t see or understand,

good work but isn’t my best work, and that though I am ready to exit, it isn’t yet time.

Sometimes you’re the one leaving, other times you’re the one left.

Sometimes the decision to leave leads to quick movement and instant change. Often, though, leaving well actually starts with a choice to stay for now so that you can leave when the time is right. This may be years in the making, requiring patience, persistence, and a lot of grace.

If we don’t give ourselves a bit of time and space to consider possibilities, to sit with potential, to let ideas and scenarios play out for a while, then our imagination will just do its knee-jerk thing. We’ll make our decisions not based on our gifting, our values, or what matters most; we’ll just make them to avoid pain, to avoid discomfort, to avoid disappointing others, or sometimes just to get the decision out of the way.

As you continue to discern your next right thing as it relates to the rooms of your life, knowing and naming the path behind you will offer clarity about the path ahead as you name what embodies you with God (your spiritual personality) and what gets you back to yourself (your personal core values).

We may be defensive against any new or better information. We may fear what considering that new information will require of us. This is something that may keep us in rooms way past time.

I couldn’t avoid conflict just to keep the peace that was really no peace at all.

We don’t always know what kind of fire we’ve got, but for beauty to come from ashes, something has to burn.

“repent” comes from the Greek transliteration metanoia and means both to change one’s mind and to experience a transformative change of heart. This is not just a cognitive change. It implies a turning away but also a turning toward.

“growing into.” We are always growing into ourselves, growing into our identity, growing into God.

before she offers to help someone, she asks herself three questions: What am I expecting in return? (reveals her motivation) Does this person want my help? (opens her awareness to the lived-experience of others) What is mine to do? (reminds her of assignment, vocation, call) Her final action is the answer, or the decision: to help or not to help. But her three questions leading up to the action are arrows, part of her discernment process that allows her to reach her decision.1

The work of a spiritual director is to create prayerful space on behalf of another.

In spiritual direction, while one person listens to another without an agenda, both people submit to the movement of God.

Over time, our ability to discern will grow, helping us to name not only the difference between lightness and darkness or goodness and corruption but also all the gradients in between. It’s a way of knowing, of seeing, of moving into alignment with your truest self and your role in bringing the peace of God to the world.

Does staying draw me nearer to God and to people or further from God and people? Does leaving bring me closer into alignment with my personal core values or further away? To what degree? For how long? What’s at stake (for me and the community) if I stay? What will I or the community lose if I leave?

just because the group marks a thing doesn’t mean we own that ending for ourselves.

If a ritual is something we do to mark a moment, then a rhythm will be our way of life leading up to and after those moments.

Our rhythm of life is an intentional way of embodying the reality of our decisions.

While the world had a shared experience during the pandemic, we did not all have the same experience. Every heart knew its own pain.

“It’s easier to leave when you’re mad than when you’re sad.”3 She implied that if you wait until you’re angry, you may have waited too long.

We needed to receive compassion and to find hope in community. We had things to learn, stuff to process, and we needed a safe place where we could ask questions and wrestle alongside people who would handle us with care.

whether or not the rooms you’re in allow for safe dialogue, wrestling, and community. Are you in a place where you feel able to disagree? Are the voices in the margins welcome at the table? Are you able to trust that God is big enough to hold it all?

We may want answers and certainty, but sometimes all we get are arrows. Arrow to the statistics that tell us who is struggling, left out, and dying. Arrow to the heartbreak of isolation and questioning. Arrow to the longing for belonging. They shout their answers and call it God, but God within me points to something different, something more vast, something that feels like mystery and sounds like love. This story is ongoing, but I’ll tell you how it ends: God is still with us.

We were leaving, but we felt left.