The Elephant In The Room by Kirsten Snyder

The elephant had long ago been mentioned. It was more than mentioned. It had lumbered from the unhidden, odd position in the corner to the center of the room, spotlighted like a 1960’s operating theater. The elephant lay there, tolerating  uncomfortable poking and prodding, and no anesthesia for the pain. Now, it had been some time since the exploratory surgery had been performed, and yet the elephant still lingered. It stayed there, making a home. We had to learn to live with the elephant. There was no trying to hide it away, nor could we even if we tried. We got accustomed to making our way around the large occupant. At first we were cheerful, hopeful even, that our time with the elephant would be an event not to be missed. As time went on, we felt more like we were in the home of the elephant, instead of the elephant in ours. Our routines revolved around the elephant. Our space revolved around its needs. The room was the elephant. We tried to move out, but we found the elephant just tied on to us, as if circus-trained. And so, we sit. The elephant. The room that became the elephant. And us. Welcome.

This metaphor illustrates the thing—the knee-jerk reaction, the incident, the disagreement, the socio-political ideology, the gossip, the illness—that has been acknowledged, but not forgotten. The uncomfortable thing that lingers in a lack of forgiveness or misunderstanding, or simply just exists. The people who we are called to be in community despite the elephant in the room.