Breaking Down Walls: A Journey to Trust After Trauma

Feb 23

Finding the balance between protecting yourself and letting others in

This week, I want to talk about something many people, including myself, have done to protect ourselves: putting up imaginary walls.

It's something I'm still struggling with trying to balance protecting yourself while also letting others in.

And I don't want to sit here and act like I have it all figured out, because I don't. This is something I work on every single day.

For a very long time, I built up these walls and didn't let anyone in. I pushed every single person away and kept them at arm's distance.

When people hurt you constantly, especially the people who were supposed to protect you, it's hard to know who to trust.

If you've built up these walls, you understand:

The fear of letting anyone in
What it's like to feel safer alone than vulnerable with someone else
What it's like to have someone reach out with kindness and your first instinct is to run the other way because you're waiting for the other shoe to drop

But here's the question I've been asking myself lately:

Are those walls keeping me safe, or are they keeping me from healing?

And that's a hard question to sit with. Because for so long, those walls were keeping me safe. They were necessary. They were survival.

Building Walls Brick by Brick

I was reading a poem recently about building walls, and it really hit me. The poem talked about how we build these walls brick by brick, thinking we're protecting ourselves, but eventually we realize we've built a prison instead of a fortress.

And then I was listening to "Untitled (How Could This Happen to Me)" by Simple Plan you know that song? The one that just gets into that feeling of being hurt and wondering how you got here?

That raw emotion of looking at your life and thinking, "How did I become this person who can't trust anyone?"

And it made me think about how we build these walls brick by brick, hurt by hurt.

Each time:

Someone lets us down
We're betrayed
We're dismissed
We're made to feel small

We add another layer of protection.

When Walls Are Necessary

At first, those walls feel necessary. They feel like survival. And honestly? Sometimes they are.

When you're in an unsafe situation, when you're still healing from fresh wounds, those walls can be exactly what you need.

I built my first walls as a child. I had to.

When you grow up in a home where you never know what version of your parent you're going to get—are they going to be happy today, or are they going to tear you down? you learn to protect yourself.

You learn to:

Stay quiet
Stay small
Stay behind those walls where maybe, just maybe, you won't be the target today

As I got older, those walls got thicker. Taller. More reinforced.

Because it wasn't just my mother anymore. It was other people too:

Friends who betrayed my trust
People who I thought cared about me but turned out to only care about what I could do for them
Relationships where I gave everything and got nothing back

Every single hurt was another brick. Another layer of concrete. Another reinforcement that told me: See? This is why you don't let people in. This is why you can't trust anyone.

When Walls Start to Isolate You

But here's what I've learned: there comes a point where the walls that once protected you start to isolate you.

There comes a point where you're not just keeping out the people who might hurt you you're keeping out everyone.

The good ones. The safe ones. The people who actually want to show up for you.

The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

I remember being so closed off that even people who genuinely cared about me couldn't get through.

I would:

Sabotage relationships before they could hurt me
Push people away the second I felt myself getting too close, too vulnerable, too seen

Because being seen? That terrified me.

When you grow up in an environment where:

Being seen meant being criticized
Vulnerability was weaponized against you

You learn to hide. You learn to make yourself small. You learn that the safest place is behind those walls where no one can reach you.

I would do this thing where I'd test people. I didn't even realize I was doing it at first.

I would push them away or act cold or distant, waiting to see if they'd leave. Because in my mind, everyone was going to leave eventually, so I might as well speed up the process and save myself the heartbreak.

And you know what happened? People did leave.

Not because they didn't care, but because I made it impossible for them to stay. I made it impossible for them to get close to me.

And then I'd use that as proof: See? I was right. People always leave. I can't trust anyone.

But the truth is, I was creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I was so convinced people would hurt me that I hurt them first. I pushed them away before they could reject me. I rejected connection before connection could reject me.

The Painful Truth About Walls

And that's the painful truth about walls: they don't discriminate. They keep everyone out the bad and the good.

I think about:

All the relationships I could have had
All the friendships I sabotaged
All the people who tried to be there for me, who tried to show me love, and I just… couldn't receive it

I couldn't let it in.

When Love Feels Dangerous

Because when you've been hurt the way we've been hurt:

Love feels dangerous
Kindness feels suspicious
When someone shows up for you, your first thought isn't "How nice," it's "What do they want from me?"

I've had people in my life who were so kind, so patient, so consistent. And it terrified me.

I kept waiting for them to:

Change
Show me who they "really" were
Become like everyone else who hurt me

And when they didn't—when they just kept showing up I didn't know what to do with that.

Because it didn't fit my narrative. It didn't fit the story I'd been telling myself about people and trust and safety.

So instead of accepting that maybe, just maybe, this person was actually safe, I would:

Find reasons to push them away
Convince myself they had ulterior motives
Sabotage the friendship before they could hurt me

And looking back now, I can see how much pain I caused myself by doing that. How many good people I pushed away. How much connection I denied myself.

But I also understand why I did it.

Because the alternative trusting someone and getting hurt again felt too risky. It felt like too much.

Finding the Balance

So how do you find the balance? How do you protect yourself without isolating yourself?

I'm still figuring this out, but here's what I've learned so far:

1. Not Everyone Deserves Access to You

Not everyone deserves access to you. And that's okay.

You don't have to let everyone in. You don't owe anyone:

Your vulnerability
Your story
Your trust

Some people have proven they can't be trusted with those things, and it's completely valid to keep your walls up with them.

There are people in my life who I will never let back in. People who had their chance and blew it. People who showed me exactly who they were, and I believe them.

And I don't feel bad about that anymore.

For a long time, I felt guilty about it. Like I was being mean or holding a grudge.

But protecting yourself from people who have hurt you isn't holding a grudge it's honoring yourself.

It's saying, "My peace matters more than your access to me."

2. Some People Have Earned That Trust

But there are people who have earned that trust. People who have:

Shown up consistently
Proven they're safe

And those people? They deserve a chance to know the real you.

3. Build a Door, Not Just Walls

The goal isn't to tear down all your walls it's to build a door.

A door you can:

Open when someone safe is standing on the other side
Close when you need to protect your peace
Control with a lock that you hold the key to

I love this analogy because it's not about being completely open and vulnerable with everyone. That's not safe. That's not healthy.

But it's also not about shutting everyone out forever.

It's about having a door that you control. You decide:

Who gets to come in
When it opens and when it closes
You hold the key

Loneliness Dressed Up as Independence

I used to think letting people in meant I was weak. That needing support meant I hadn't healed enough. That if I was truly strong, I could do everything on my own.

I wore my independence like armor.

I would say things like, "I don't need anyone. I'm fine on my own." And I believed it. I really did.

But that's not strength. That's just… loneliness dressed up as independence.

Real strength is:

Recognizing when you need connection
Being brave enough to let someone see you flaws, scars, walls and all
Trusting that they won't use it against you

The Risk Is Worth It

And yes, sometimes you'll let the wrong person in. Sometimes you'll get hurt again. That's the risk of being human, of being open, of choosing connection over isolation.

I won't lie to you and say that hasn't happened to me since I started working on this. It has.

I've:

Let people in who turned out to not be safe
Shared parts of my story with people who didn't handle it with care

And it hurt. It really hurt.

And every time it happens, there's that voice in my head that says, See? This is why you don't let people in. This is why you keep your walls up.

But I have to fight against that voice.

Because for every person who hasn't been safe, there have been people who have been.

People who have:

Held my story with gentleness
Shown up for me in ways I never thought possible

And I would have missed all of that if I'd kept everyone out.

The Alternative Is Lonelier

But I promise you: the alternative staying behind those walls forever is so much lonelier.

I think about who I was before I started this work. Before I started slowly letting people in.

I was so isolated. So alone.

Even when I was surrounded by people, I felt completely alone because no one really knew me.

I had surface-level friendships. People I could:

Laugh with
Grab coffee with
Talk about the weather with

But no one who:

Knew the real me
Knew my story
I could call at 2 AM when I was struggling

And I told myself I was fine with that. I told myself I didn't need deep connections. I didn't need people to "get" me.

But I was lying to myself.

Because humans aren't meant to be alone. We're not meant to carry everything by ourselves. We're wired for:

Connection
Community
Being seen and known and loved

And when we deny ourselves that, we're denying ourselves one of the most healing things available to us.

What I'm Working On

Here's what I'm working on:

1. Being Honest About My Walls

Instead of pretending they don't exist or that I'm "fine," I'm starting to tell safe people:

"Hey, I have a hard time letting people in. I'm working on it, but I need you to be patient with me."

And you know what? The right people understand.

They don't take it personally. They give you space while still showing up.

I had this conversation with a friend recently. We were getting closer, and I could feel myself starting to pull away. Starting to get scared.

And instead of just ghosting her or making excuses, I told her the truth.

I said, "I'm really enjoying our friendship, but I need you to know that I struggle with letting people in. It's not about you. It's about my past. And I'm working on it, but there might be times where I'm distant or closed off, and I don't want you to think it's because I don't value you."

And she just hugged me and said, "Thank you for telling me. I'm not going anywhere."

That was huge for me.

2. Recognizing the Difference Between a Boundary and a Wall

This is a big one.

A boundary says, "I need this to feel safe in this relationship."

A wall says, "I can't let you in at all."

Boundaries are:

Healthy
Necessary
What protect you while still allowing connection

Walls, when they're with everyone, keep you isolated.

Example of a Boundary vs. a Wall

A boundary might be: "I'm not ready to talk about my childhood yet, but I'd love to share other parts of my life with you."

That's healthy. That's protecting yourself while still staying open to connection.

A wall would be: "I'm not talking about anything personal ever. Let's just keep things surface-level forever."

That's protection, yes, but it's also isolation.

I'm learning to use boundaries instead of walls. To say:

"I'm not comfortable with this, but I am comfortable with this."

To give people a roadmap for how to be in relationship with me without shutting them out completely.

3. Practicing Vulnerability in Small Doses

I don't have to share everything all at once. I can test the waters.

Share something small and see how the person responds.

Do they:

Respect it?
Use it against me?
Show up with empathy?

That tells me whether they're safe or not.

I think of it like dipping your toe in the water before jumping in.

You don't have to dive into the deep end of vulnerability right away. You can start shallow and see what happens.

Maybe you share:

Something small about your day
How you're feeling
A struggle you're having

And you watch how they respond.

The right people will show you through their actions that they're safe.

And then you can share a little more. And a little more. Until eventually, you realize you've let them in, and it didn't destroy you.

4. Forgiving Myself When I Slip Back

Some days, I feel that old instinct kick in, push them away before they can hurt you.

And instead of beating myself up about it, I remind myself:

This is a process
Healing isn't linear
Neither is learning to trust again

Just last week, I had a moment where I felt myself shutting down with someone I care about.

We were talking about something vulnerable, and I could feel my walls shooting back up. I went cold. I went quiet. I pulled away.

And the old me would have just stayed there. Would have let the walls win.

But I caught myself.

And later that day, I went back to them and said:

"I'm sorry I shut down earlier. I felt scared, and my instinct was to protect myself. But you're safe, and I don't want to push you away."

And that's growth.

Not that I didn't put the walls up—but that I recognized it and worked to bring them back down.

What Letting People In Actually Feels Like

Let me talk for a minute about what it actually feels like to start letting people in when you've had walls up for so long.

It's terrifying. I'm not going to sugarcoat it.

The first time you share something real with someone, your:

Heart is racing
Palms are sweating
Every part of you is screaming, Don't do this. It's not safe. They're going to hurt you.

And you do it anyway.

And then you wait. You wait for them to:

Use it against you
Judge you
Leave

And when they don't… when they respond with:

Kindness
Empathy
"Thank you for trusting me with that."

It's almost shocking.

Because you've been so conditioned to expect the worst, when someone shows up with the best, it doesn't even compute at first.

Be Patient With Yourself

I also want to acknowledge how exhausting this work is.

Learning to let people in when every fiber of your being is telling you to stay closed off? That takes:

So much energy
So much intention
So much courage

Some days, I'm just tired. Tired of:

Fighting my own instincts
Having to remind myself that not everyone is going to hurt me
Doing the mental work of distinguishing between past hurt and present reality

And on those days, it's okay to rest. It's okay to not push yourself. It's okay to say:

"Today, the walls stay up, and that's fine."

This isn't about forcing yourself to be vulnerable every single day. It's about slowly, over time, learning that:

Connection is possible
There are people out there who are safe
You're worthy of being known and loved

The Difference Between Alone and Lonely

There's something else I want to talk about: the difference between alone and lonely.

For a long time, I confused the two. I thought if I were alone, I would be lonely.

So I surrounded myself with people but kept them all at arm's length. I was never actually alone, but I was desperately lonely.

Because being surrounded by people who don't really know you? That's one of the loneliest feelings in the world.

I would be at parties, at gatherings, surrounded by laughter and conversation, and feel completely isolated.

Because no one there really knew me. I was:

Performing
Playing a role
Showing them the version of me that I thought they wanted to see

And I would go home exhausted. Drained from:

Pretending
Holding up the mask
Keeping the walls intact

Now, I'm learning that being alone doesn't have to mean being lonely.

Sometimes, being alone is:

Peaceful
Restorative
Necessary

But I'm also learning that true connection—the kind where someone really sees you, and you really see them—that's the cure for loneliness.

Not surface-level friendships. Not people you perform for. But a real, authentic, vulnerable connection.

And that's only possible when you let the walls down.

You're Not Broken

If you're someone who has walls up, I want you to know:

You're not broken. You're not damaged beyond repair.

You built those walls for a reason, and they served you when you needed them.

But you don't have to live behind them forever.

There are people out there who:

Are safe
Will honor your story
Will show up for you without expecting you to be perfect or fully healed

The hard part is taking the risk to find them.

And I know that's scary. I know it feels like you're standing at the edge of a cliff and someone's asking you to jump without knowing if there's something to catch you.

But I'm here to tell you: there is.

There are people who will:

Catch you
Hold space for you while you heal
Be patient with your walls while you figure out how to build that door

Your Challenge Today

So here's what I want to ask you today:

Who in your life has earned the right to come through that door?

Maybe it's:

A friend who's been there through everything
A therapist
A support group
Or even just one person who makes you feel seen and safe

Whoever it is, consider letting them in just a little.

You don't have to tear down the whole wall. Just crack the door open and see what happens.

Start small:

Share something that feels manageable
See how they respond
And then decide if you want to share a little more

Because connection is part of healing.

And you deserve to have people in your life who truly know you and care about you anyway.

You don't have to do this alone anymore.

Surviving vs. Thriving

Before I go, I want to leave you with this:

Your walls don't make you broken. They make you a survivor.

They show that you were smart enough, strong enough, brave enough to protect yourself when you needed to.

But surviving and thriving are two different things.

Surviving is keeping the walls up forever.

Thriving is learning when it's safe to let them down.

You survived. Now it's time to thrive.

And that means:

Taking the risk
Opening the door
Letting the right people in

It means believing that you're worthy of:

Connection
Love
Being fully known

Because you are. You absolutely are.

Listen to the full episode on the Beyond the Red House podcast wherever you get your podcasts.

Connect with me:

Instagram: @beyondtheredhouse
Read my memoir: I Was Once The Girl In The Red House
Write your story with support: The Trauma-Informed Publishing Blueprint

Kayla Volturno https://Kaylavolturno.com