01/03/2026
Is to go walkabouts at the age of 2, seeking adventure or seeking safety? To put up impenetrable walls of independence for no one to see in, bar the glimpse that are safe to allow. The shields that protects, in place of where those that should have didn’t or couldn’t.
To see love as to keep secrets, to keep secrets is to not hurt. To not hurt is to love. Is compliance of love the act of a coward, not brave enough to say no? Maybe the innocence of the child to carry for a lifetime, with the idea of to say no is a betrayal of love, or that that was seen as love.
To let that shield down a little to love, to have the self fulfilling prophecy of hurt to manifest time again. Playing the mantra in the head, ‘I love so much - I never want to lose this love,’ to find it lost. Is it grief I feel, or the loathing of expressing my emotions, for someone - anyone - to see the me.
Is it anger bubbling under the surface, masked by a stoic facade, buried in a sea of calm? Shoulders to carry the burden, the yoke to cover the cracks that be seen. It’s not the time or place to let that go, I tell myself. It’s not safe for that to be expressed.
They say it’s a man’s man that carries the load, to protect, treats all with respect. It’s the same man to open the door for others to walk, then to close it on his fingers without a sound so not to disturb those around, to suffer in silence. Apparently, no kind act goes unrewarded. Is the reward to affirm the pain with gritted teeth, maybe a coat of paint on the shield?
Is the compassion I tell myself a Trojan horse, to let the guard down and the self in? The self that has been the enemy of a lifetime. The fear of being stabbed and poisoned from within, with no escape but to sit in pain, with great walls to hide the shame.
Yes, I know the theory of the modern writers about harbouring and deflecting. What would happen if I was to have the courage to do all that I preach? What if I was to walk to the beat of my heart, not that of an external drum?
Maybe the beat of my heart can walk with the beat of the drum, with resonance to break the silence from in, collapse the walls, live to be seen.
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A piece writen not for advice or fixing but to express and feel the inner child.
Francis Swindells