A few months ago, as we prepared for our move here in London, it quickly became clear that the new place would need some renovation. Nothing out of the ordinary, but enough to keep us quite busy … some flooring, wall filling and decoration, some fixtures, and most notably … the roof.
An independent surveyor had assessed the roof beforehand and raised some flags. It needed quite a bit of overhauling and included one section, a glass panel embedded in the roof, which the expert pointed out as needing replacement. The glass looked slightly worn and raised doubts about whether it would hold up in bad weather. But if we were to replace it, we’d also need to meet updated insulation and building standards. Translation: a replacement would be costly.
So, we talked to a roofer. He gave us a competitive quote that covered the rest of the roof, which required substantial work, but left the glass section untouched. “That still looks alright,” he said with the best intention, and I nodded. The roof repair itself wasn’t cheap, but it was within budget … excluding the glass panel replacement. So, we left the glass panel as it was and moved on.
Anyone who’s done roof work knows the disruption involved: scaffolding, weather delays, the risk of leaks mid-project, not to mention unexpected structural surprises and the constant background worry of something going wrong just when you’re not looking. Add to that a particularly stormy winter, and you get the picture. One Sunday, we found ourselves grabbing every plate and cup we owned to catch incoming rain.
Still, with the expert help of the roofer we got through it and soon the roof was finished. It looked great from the outside. But deep down, I had this gnawing doubt. A little whisper saying: You should have done the glass too.
I ignored it. For a while.
Then. we tried to open that glass window … and couldn’t. It had jammed after the work. The roofer came back and offered a few fixes, but I could tell he wasn’t that optimistic either. A few days later, during another heavy downpour, the inevitable happened: water started coming in.
Now, just weeks after completing Round One of the roof project we were looking at scaffolding again. Round Two. We went ahead. Replaced the glass completely. Upgraded the insulation. Finally did what we probably should have done the first time.
The good news? It’s now done properly. And every time I look up, I’m relieved.
But also, reflective.
Because it wasn’t just about the glass. It was about something else … a deeper lesson.
Going through this experience I came across a quote by Eugene Gendlin, the philosopher and psychotherapist behind the “Focusing” technique. It struck a nerve:
“What is true is already so.
Owning up to it doesn’t make it worse.
Not being open about it doesn’t make it go away.
…
People can stand what is true – for they are already enduring it.”
I read the quote multiple times. Because that was me. I knew that glass panel needed work. But I avoided it. It looked “ok enough,” and I told myself we’d deal with it later … if at all. The reality, though, was already true. The issue was already there. And eventually, it found its way through.
This experience reminded me of how often we do this in life.
We postpone hard decisions. We avoid awkward conversations. We brush over gut feelings. Not because we’re lazy or irresponsible, but because reality, when inconvenient, is something we hope might go away if left untouched.
Spoiler alarm. It doesn’t.
And the irony is, by the time we do face the “thing”, we’ve often already been living with the consequences for a while. The strain. The doubt. The quiet leak we pretend not to see. As Gendlin writes: “People can stand what is true — for they are already enduring it.”
So here’s my question to you:
Is there a small “leak” in your life right now … a quiet discomfort, a tension, a nagging truth that you already sense, but haven’t fully faced yet?
Maybe it’s in your work. A conversation you’re avoiding. A change you’ve been postponing. A decision that keeps getting pushed down the to-do list, even though you already know it’s coming.
Leaks don’t always flood the house at once. They start small. But if left alone, they find their way in.
And the truth is: if you’re already managing the discomfort, the doubt, or the emotional energy of holding something back, you’re already dealing with it. As Gendlin said, you’re already enduring it.
So, maybe now is the time to acknowledge what’s real. To face it. To fix it the first time and face the leak … before the storm.
Cheerio
Joerg
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