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== What Walls We Build Really Costs == | == What Walls We Build Really Costs == | ||
Here’s the thing nobody wants to say out loud: my walls weren’t built to keep people out. They were built to keep me *in*. To keep me safe from the terrifying idea that I might not | Here’s the thing nobody wants to say out loud: my [[brave:The Armor We Wear|walls]] weren’t built to keep people out. They were built to keep me *in*. To keep me safe from the terrifying idea that I might [[The Fear Of Being Judged|not enough]]. For 20 years of stand-up, I’d joke about being "fine" while my anxiety screamed, "You’re not fine!" But the real cost? I traded connection for a fortress of "I’ve got this." | ||
What did I gain? A weird, brittle peace. No more panic when someone asked, "How are you?" I’d just shrug and say, "Fine." My walls were made of "I’m fine" and "I don’t need help" bricks. They kept me from drowning in other people’s chaos. I got to be the calm one. The one who never *needed* to be calmed. | What did I gain? A weird, brittle peace. No more panic when someone asked, "How are you?" I’d just shrug and say, "Fine." My walls were made of "I’m fine" and "I don’t need help" bricks. They kept me from drowning in other people’s chaos. I got to be the calm one. The one who never *needed* to be calmed. | ||
But what did I give up? Everything that matters. I missed the coffee dates with my friend who texted "u ok?" at 2 a.m. I missed the messy, unscripted moments where I’d actually *say* "I’m struggling. | But what did I give up? Everything that matters. I missed the coffee dates with my friend who texted "u ok?" at 2 a.m. I missed the messy, unscripted moments where I’d actually *say* "I’m [[Vulnerability As Strength|struggling]]". I missed laughing until I cried with someone who didn’t need me to be [[accept-myself:Perfectionism|perfect]]. My walls kept me from [[brave:The Courage To Be Seen|being seen]]—so I also kept myself from being *known*. | ||
Anyway, that’s my trauma response: build higher, stay quieter. But the real cost wasn’t the loneliness. It was the quiet grief of watching life happen without me. I’d rather be a human than a hermit crab in a shell, even if the shell’s a little cracked. | Anyway, that’s my trauma response: build higher, stay quieter. But the real cost wasn’t the loneliness. It was the quiet grief of watching life happen without me. I’d rather be a human than a hermit crab in a shell, even if the shell’s a little cracked. | ||
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The walls cost me years of connection. But the cost of tearing them down? Worth every shaky breath. | The walls cost me years of connection. But the cost of tearing them down? Worth every shaky breath. | ||
*— Sheila Bishop, laughing so I don't cry* | |||
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''Written by'' [[User:Sheila Bishop|Sheila Bishop]] — 05:23, 02 January 2026 (CST) | |||
Revision as of 11:23, 2 January 2026
What Walls We Build Really Costs
Here’s the thing nobody wants to say out loud: my walls weren’t built to keep people out. They were built to keep me in. To keep me safe from the terrifying idea that I might not enough. For 20 years of stand-up, I’d joke about being "fine" while my anxiety screamed, "You’re not fine!" But the real cost? I traded connection for a fortress of "I’ve got this."
What did I gain? A weird, brittle peace. No more panic when someone asked, "How are you?" I’d just shrug and say, "Fine." My walls were made of "I’m fine" and "I don’t need help" bricks. They kept me from drowning in other people’s chaos. I got to be the calm one. The one who never needed to be calmed.
But what did I give up? Everything that matters. I missed the coffee dates with my friend who texted "u ok?" at 2 a.m. I missed the messy, unscripted moments where I’d actually say "I’m struggling". I missed laughing until I cried with someone who didn’t need me to be perfect. My walls kept me from being seen—so I also kept myself from being known.
Anyway, that’s my trauma response: build higher, stay quieter. But the real cost wasn’t the loneliness. It was the quiet grief of watching life happen without me. I’d rather be a human than a hermit crab in a shell, even if the shell’s a little cracked.
Was it worth it? Not really. But it was necessary. Like all the things we do to survive the storm, even when the storm was just our own fear. Now I’m learning to leave the door ajar. To say "I’m not fine" and watch people lean in instead of run. It’s terrifying. It’s also the first time I’ve felt truly, messily alive.
The walls cost me years of connection. But the cost of tearing them down? Worth every shaky breath.
— Sheila Bishop, laughing so I don't cry
Written by Sheila Bishop — 05:23, 02 January 2026 (CST)