I swear there must be a tiny alarm inside the human heart that blurts out:

“Warning: emotional discomfort detected — please open Instagram or YouTube immediately.”

It goes off the second we stop moving, stop scrolling, or stop distracting ourselves — and most of the time we don’t even notice it’s happening.
If you resonate with the phone grabbing, TV binging, or compulsive cleaning impulse: you’re not alone.

And yes… even me writing this article is its own clever way of avoiding some of my stuff — and avoiding God.

We all do it.
We all evade the awkward, painful, boring, torturous, terrifying present moment at times.

It is painful to sit with our emotions: frustration, loneliness, shame, boredom, grief, or that vague ache we can’t quite name. The world offers plenty of explanations — dopamine addiction, doomscrolling, burnout, laziness, procrastination — and while those might be partly true, they’re not the whole story.

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What We’re Really Running From

When we slow down, we run into things we’d rather not encounter:

• the ache in our heart
• the sensations in our body
• the questions we have for God
• the emotions we’ve buried
• the beliefs we’re afraid to face

Our inner monologue often sounds like:

• “If I feel this, it’ll destroy me.”
• “This will never stop hurting.”
• “God probably won’t show up.”
• “It’s wrong to slow down — I need to be productive.”
• “I can’t deal with this right now.”

And so… we scroll.
We distract.
We numb.

We don’t journal.
We don’t pray.
We don’t pause long enough to let God near the parts of us that ache.

Yet Scripture speaks right into this fear:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
— Psalm 46:10

Stillness isn’t passive — it’s courageous.
It’s not dullness — it’s faith.
The present moment can feel like a monster God is asking us to wrestle, but never alone. Sometimes it’s a battle. Sometimes it’s resting in the Father’s arms. Either way — it’s always relational.

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When Avoidance Turns Into Compulsion

Ignoring our inner world doesn’t make it disappear. It multiplies it:

• compulsive behaviors
• resentment
• addictions
• chronic shame
• emotional overwhelm
• spiritual dryness
• relational disconnection

Why?
Because sitting with ourselves often hurts — so we medicate in increasingly creative ways. We chase anything that relieves the ache: excitement, stimulation, distraction, sleep. And for a moment (or two hours), it works.

Then the emptiness returns — deeper than before — and we need more to cover more.

St. Augustine wrote:

“Our hearts are restless until they rest in You.”

Restlessness, loneliness, boredom — these are not failures.
They are signals.
They point us back to God.

The present moment with all its hard emotions, negative thoughts, and unpleasant sensations is often a door — a door leading us to the very place God is working in our hearts.

A door to encounter.

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The Ancient Lie Behind All Avoidance

Avoidance is not only psychological.
It’s spiritual.

Most of our running comes from one lie:

“I am alone, and I have to handle this myself.”

This lie goes all the way back to Eden.

Adam and Eve hid in their shame, believing they no longer had a loving Father to turn to after the Fall (Genesis 3). Original sin distorted their vision; it made them think they had to fix everything on their own.

We do the same:

• We hide our ache.
• We avoid silence.
• We fear what we’ll find.

The Catechism reminds us:

“Man is made for communion with God.”
— CCC 27

Avoidance isolates.
Communion heals.

Fr. Jacques Philippe even says God cannot abandon us — it is not in His nature. The enemy knows this, so he whispers the opposite: You are alone. You are weak. You have to do everything yourself.

Avoidance behaviors imitate connection while actually isolating us further. To re-enter communion, we must confront the lies about ourselves and God that keep us stuck.

We have to speak the Gospel into those dark places — daily.

The Catholic Therapy Center

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We Comfort Everyone Except Ourselves

You might be a professional at validating others:

• “Your feelings matter.”
• “It makes sense you’re hurting.”
• “God is with you.”

But internally you say:

• “Don’t feel that.”
• “Stop being sad.”
• “Be stronger.”
• “Move on.”

Aquinas reframes all of this:

“The passions are not evil; they are movements of the soul.”
— St. Thomas Aquinas

Your emotions aren’t enemies — they’re invitations.

And like a good friend, you are invited to sit with your own heart — and with the Lord.
To listen to your struggles, tears, frustrations, and joys.
To be attentive, patient, and gentle with the one person you spend 24/7 with: yourself.

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Avoid Our Feelings, Avoid God

Here’s what most people never realize:

Avoiding our emotions often means avoiding God.

God created our emotions.
They are powers of the soul, revealing what is written on our hearts. We aren’t meant to be ruled by them, nor to shove them down. God meets us not in polished prayers, but in our raw, unfiltered hearts.

He is often most near when our emotions are loud and overwhelming — if we resist the urge to pray them away prematurely.

Sometimes, the healthiest prayer is:

screaming at God.
Asking why.
Admitting frustration.
Telling Him the truth.

Scripture gives us permission:

“How long, O Lord?”
— Psalm 13

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”
— Psalm 22 / Matthew 27:46

God is not offended.
He is moved.
This honesty is intimacy.
He wants your heart — your full heart — not just the shiny parts.

He listens.
He helps.
He answers when we leave space to hear Him.

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God Wants Our Raw, Untidy, Real Heart

God doesn’t want a cleaned-up version of us. He wants:

• the ache
• the confusion
• the anger
• the shame
• the desire
• the disappointment
• the longing

Inviting God into our rawness doesn’t erase pain — but it draws us into a mystery He has already entered.

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Christ Enters Our Ache

Jesus didn’t merely observe suffering — He entered it.
And He re-enters it with you every time you bring your suffering to Him.

He embraced:

• human longing
• frustration
• loneliness
• unfulfilled desire
• sorrow
• grief

He knows the ache intimately.

The Catechism teaches:

The mystery of suffering can only be understood through the entirety of the Christian life, because the answer to suffering is Christ Himself.

Meaning:
the answer to suffering is Jesus — not an idea, not a slogan, but a Person.
A Person who is attentive to you right now.

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Every Quiet Moment Is an Invitation

Every time we choose:

• not to scroll
• not to numb
• not to distract
• not to outrun ourselves

…we create space for Christ to step in.

And in that quiet, Jesus whispers:

• “You don’t have to carry this alone.”
• “It’s okay to cry.”
• “It’s okay that you don’t have answers.”
• “I’m here with you.”
• “I can bring fruit out of the manure of your life.”
• “I’m not done planting.”

St. John Paul II captures this mystery perfectly:

“Christ does not explain suffering; He shares it with us.”
— Salvifici Doloris

This is faith:
remaining with Jesus in our pain instead of running from Him.

So… take a moment right now.
Breathe.
Look at the questions below.
Or simply put your phone down and be with the Lord who made you.

You are never alone in your suffering or grief.
You are not alone with your thoughts or emotions.
He is here.

He is not asking you to handle anything alone.
His grace is being poured out on you in this very breath.

Welcome to the present —guts, glory and all.

Share Adam Cross

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Reflection Questions

1. What am I avoiding?

• What emotions or thoughts do I run from most often?
• What do I immediately do when discomfort rises?

2. How do I treat my own emotions?

• Do I minimize or dismiss my feelings?
• What would happen if I validated them instead?

3. Where is God in this?

• What am I afraid to say to God?
• What questions or anger have I kept from Him?

4. What beliefs lie underneath?

• Do I believe God won’t help me?
• Do I believe I’m alone?

5. How can I invite Christ into my ache?

• What would it look like to bring Jesus directly into my sadness, desire, or shame?

6. A step into stillness

• What small moment of silence can I create today — and what happens when I stay there gently, without escaping?