There were walls built inside me long before I ever knew what to call them. No one could point to them from the outside, but inside, they were thick, reinforced, and necessary. Growing up surrounded by darkness, control, fear, and spiritual distortion, those walls became my way of staying alive. They held back memories. They held back pain. They held back emotions that would have overwhelmed a child who had no safe place to put them.
When your world teaches you that vulnerability is dangerous, your mind learns to compartmentalize until you become too numb to want or need anything. When they teach you that love hurts and pain means you’re special, your spirit learns to hide. When love is unsafe, your heart learns to guard itself. And over time, those internal walls become so familiar that they begin to feel like your identity. They become your protection and you take comfort in knowing you don’t need anyone.
Sometimes, the childhood walls that once saved our lives slowly become our prison if we don’t take them down after we find safety.
Taking those walls down has been one of the most difficult parts of healing. Not because I didn’t want freedom, but because I did. I wanted healing so badly, and at the same time, I was terrified of what would happen if the walls came down. Who would I be without them? If I wasn’t the broken one… if I wasn’t the one who needed help… would I still exist in the same way? Would anyone stay?
There were conflicting emotions that ebbed and flowed constantly. Hope and fear. Relief and grief. Longing and resistance. Some parts of me wanted to run toward healing, and others clung tightly to what had always kept me safe. The in-between was disorienting. I wasn’t where I used to be, but I wasn’t fully free either. That middle space felt super vulnerable and I seem to return to it in every new season where the next layer is peeled back.
It began to shift when I started to understand something I had never seen before: the walls weren’t just barriers. They were built by parts of me that had been protecting my life for years. Those parts carried what I couldn’t. They stepped forward when I couldn’t function. They held memories, emotions, and fear so that I could keep moving forward. They were not my enemy. They were evidence of how fiercely my mind and spirit fought to keep me alive. In their own way, they were my evidence that I was loved all along. I was always worthy of love and when Yeshua couldn’t go against my abusers’ freewill, He was there with my parts as they were there protecting me, loving me, and keeping me alive. That was a life changing revelation when I finally realized that even though the parts did not know how to do things in healthy ways, their heart was to help and protect in the only way they knew how.
Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Healing didn’t start with tearing everything down. I can look back now and see that finding compassion and understanding for those parts gave me the endurance I needed to not quit when things felt impossible. The walls continue to come down as the Lord gives me deeper revelation into His truth and His blueprint for healing.
As I began to feel safer, I also began letting God into places I had kept closed for years. During prayer, I would picture myself climbing into Yahweh’s lap and letting Him hold my littles, the parts of me that had carried so much fear and pain. I stopped trying to control the process. I stopped getting in my own way and gave Him permission to give me my tears back, to let me feel emotions I had buried, and to sit with me in the memories I had avoided.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3) For survivors, this means binding up the wounds of each and every part of us. The walls didn’t disappear overnight. But they began to change. They no longer felt like prisons. They began to feel like doors Yahweh was slowly, safely opening. Piece by piece, layer by layer, and always at a pace I could survive. He knows what we need and how much we can handle at once.
Joel 2:25 says, “I will restore to you the years that the locusts have eaten.” Restoration hasn’t meant forgetting what happened, but what happened is now being refined by fire, weaponized for Yahweh’s Kingdom and used to help others heal.
The reward of letting the walls come down is connection. It’s safety and comfort, a peace that surpasses understanding in the worst of the storm. It’s discovering that healing does not erase who you are; it reveals who Yahweh created you to be in the fullness of His mercy and grace.
Today, I have connection and life is full of hope. I have people who love me and are fighting for my healing alongside me. I know that I know that Yahweh is faithful through every stage of healing: the building, surviving, resisting, breaking open, and the rebuilding. Just as the sins of the father are passed down to the 3rd and 4th generation, when we say this abuse stops with us and break the cycle, healing also gets passed down. I’m amazed every day at how gently and lovingly He is revealing truth and making a way for those I love to find freedom.
He was there the whole time, and if you are standing in front of your own walls right now feeling unsure whether to keep hiding or begin letting them come down, know this: Yahweh does not tear down walls recklessly. He meets you inside them first. He establishes safety and stability. Then, together, you begin opening doors. He tells us in His word that we shall know the truth and the truth shall set us free. Our truth is waiting for us on the other side of our walls.
“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.” (Philippians 1:6)