I was adopted when I was 14 months old. My parents were open with me about being adopted. I didn’t realize how much it affected me until I found recovery. My dad has shared a story with me many times. It took me about a year and a half to hug my mom, and when I realized I was hugging her I dropped my arms down. My dad said it’s something that was burned into his memory. “This little two year old, scared to love and be loved.”
The wall I have had up since I was a toddler, not fully grasping why until I started to explore and heal from my trauma’s. This wall I have been building since I was a toddler became bigger than me, much like the drugs I used to help fill the gaps within the wall that had become my masterpiece, my safe space; where I didn’t have to feel, face and could hide behind.
I don’t know if we ever fully heal from our traumas. I do think we learn how to face them. live with them without letting them consume us. We can weaken the wall by removing the things we have filled it with. The drugs, negative self talk, material things. In the process we strengthen, heal, forgive. Slowly brick by brick we recreate what was once our wall into a home with windows and doors we can open to let in the light.