Walls

Walls

There is no picture accompanying todays post simply because most walls are invisible. They keep darkness in; light and goodness out.

We start building our indiscernible walls when we are young.  We were hit and yelled at.  People called us worthless and stupid.  Perhaps it was because we were born female and we had no worth or value.  Maybe we were a reminder of a horrible memory and we took the brunt of that anger.

It could be we were perceived as a threat from the very beginning with our endless curiosity, our rebellion and our independence.  Quite possibly we were an image of what someone detested in themselves.

That is why we have walls.  Our insides are wounded; we have been hurt and are easily bruised.  We are impatient with the ignorance and arrogance of people who try to control us.

The construction of The Wall starts with a look, a tone of voice or an action of someone.  The layers are cemented together with memories or even a smell or an action.  When we try to explain this barrier we are met with confused faces or indifference.  We are told to ‘suck it up’, ‘put on your big-girl panties’, or “I didn’t mean it.”  Of course you meant it—or you wouldn’t have said it.  We are injured—not stupid.

Walls are built because of abuse.

People hit people. Parents beat their children.  They yank their hair out with combs because they are too impatient to comb through a child’s hair and gently deal with the tangles.  Instead, they cut the hair off.  They hit you with wooden spoons, whip you with belts, and inflect unbearable pain with croquet mallets.  When you try to run away you are chased down by green pickup trucks.  You are thrown down stairs and kicked because the dishes weren’t clean enough. We are pulled from fences and beaten with books just for the sheer enjoyment of some bully's warped sense of authority and entertainment. We are isolated and not allowed to have friends or family.  We are lonely, hurt, and confused.  Trust and safety are unknown.  Questions are asked but there are no answers… just yelling and hitting.  To this day it is difficult for me to lick frosting off a knife without fearing being beat across the knuckles.  I finally am able to do this—and the only reason is sheer rebellion.  Every time I do I figuratively stand in the face of my abuser and laugh and say to myself “Watch me now, old man… just what are you going to do about it?”  And honey… does it feel good.

We are allowed no reprieve from these memories; throughout each waking hour of each day we deal with the past recollection of what we have endured.  There is no escape.   Just as The Wall is built to keep you out, it is our attempt to keep ourselves safe.  We withdraw.  We go silent.  We leave the room.  We don’t speak or have relationships with people who offend or remind us of the insanity.  We over-compensate for our perceived inadequacies.  We strive for perfection in each and everything we do, constantly waiting for unwarranted criticism.

There are no locked doors in our childhood, no sense of safety or privacy.  You have NOTHING.  You are nothing.  We are told this for twenty years.  We are fat, ugly and undeserving of things.  Our clothes will never fit us right because our bodies are dreadful, we smell bad and we are good for nothing.   No one could, would, or be able to love us ever.

This is the reality of walls.  Every time we sense fear, abandonment, or abuse another layer of brick goes up to keep the monsters out.

This is only the surface of the picture.  There are countless more dark and ugly things that happen to children.

So, the next time you choose to call someone stupid, unattractive, lazy, worthless, or choose to criticize their abilities be prepared to be shut out.  Your insult to someone because of the way they dress, is not necessary...keep it to yourself.  Trust me; your feeble attempt of 'concern' is not helping—it damages the fragile child that resides within all of us.

This is a difficult subject to confront... but I refuse to be part of the pattern of silence.  Unless someone speaks out, no changes can be made.  We must never give up the fight to become better people.  Things happen for a reason.  I like to believe that my past has made me a better mother, wife, friend and compassionate contributor to society. 

Be kind to people.  Be gentle, don’t argue; discuss.  Never ever inflict pain.  Don’t yell, throw things or laugh when we fail.  We’ve been failing our whole lives… do you think we need to be reminded?  Trust me; we are aware of our inadequacies.  Please don't attempt to control us because eventually you will be locked out and never allowed to come back in. 

The joys of walls are the people who love us unconditionally and take the time to help us dismantle the barriers.  They are the loving and supporting spouses, aunts, children, and doctors.  They have their sledge hammers and chisels with them all the time.  They come into our lives and force us to lower our defenses and to come out of our shell.  They keep chipping away because we are worthy, loved, needed and cherished.  These wonderful people are the most cherished gift I have—my husband, my daughter and son, and my friends.  Thank you for always being there for me—for picking me up and dusting me off, for loving and being gentle with me.  I love you all.