Growing Roots Instead of Building Walls

Doing the work.
For many people, it involves daring to open up again. To be vulnerable. To connect. To let others in. Apparently, people put up walls when they get hurt. Some slowly, brick by brick, until the wall is so high they can’t see who’s in front of them anymore, and if that person is truly someone to protect themselves from. Others get affected so deeply that all they are able to do with their pain is build, build, build. Brick upon brick, multiple rows deep. Just in case someone were to start tearing down their wall from the outside in.

They’re not great, these walls. They lead to unspoken words, pent-up feelings, stories cut off mid-sentence, and – I suspect – a fair deal of loneliness.

And yet… How I would like to have some bricks to stack. Some concrete to keep it all together, to throw up my own sturdy wall.

I’d keep it modest. Say, chest-high. Low enough to see who’s on the other side and to extend a hand. High enough to protect my heart and crouch down behind when I spot danger.

But whenever I want to start building, I notice that I lack the tools. Like a tree in the woods, I remain out in the open. My branches catch the rain just as much as the sunshine and I never know who will pass by and whether they’ll stay for a while.

So instead, I try to grow my roots, knowing that storms may hit me and someone might even get the idea to carve their initials in my bark. So that whatever damage gets done above ground, a part of me will always remain untouched.