The Walls Work

Real honesty is rare. The raw, honest, nothing-hidden self is something we’ve learned not to share.

But it makes sense — I think. People aren’t trustworthy, reliable, or safe for full disclosure. They’ll twist it, post it, or use it. And if they don’t, they’ll still quietly think less of you for it. So we don’t share. We meter. We give people the edited version — the one that’s already been checked for anything that can be turned against us.

The walls I’ve built — I don’t always even know what’s behind them, but I know they’re not things other people need to see. So for now, the walls stay.

Here’s the thing: the walls work. They keep me safe. They keep me in control. The kid who learns to take care of himself because life has taught him nobody’s coming isn’t broken — he’s smart. The walls keep him standing. They keep him from being gutted every time somebody walks out. But the same walls that keep him safe also keep him alone. And the scary part is we don’t always realize that the emptiness we feel, the unrest, the restlessness that keeps us searching for the exit — it all started the day we laid that first stone in the wall.

We fill the gap with other things. Screens. Noise. Success. Shallow connections that don’t cost us much but don’t feed the core of us either. And none of it gives us real rest. The hunger doesn’t leave.

We were built to be known — and to know others the same way. I think that’s how we were made. It’s the one hunger these counterfeits can’t touch. They take the edge off. They never fill the hole.

Maybe that’s why real honesty feels so far off. Not because it’s impossible — but because someone has to go first. Somebody has to pull the first stone loose.

Thank You, God, that You made Yourself vulnerable first. You pulled every stone loose before You knew what we’d do. Thank You that I can love freely, and open up fully, because You did it first.