The Walls Outlast the Thing They Were Built For.

I'm very good at concealing parts of myself. I've been doing it for a long time. Long enough that I'm not always sure I'm doing it, and in some cases long enough that I'm not entirely sure what I'm concealing any more. There were reasons for it. Some of them were probably good reasons at the time, some of them probably weren't, and some of them were things I'd convinced myself were true because that was easier than finding out. I learnt that certain things were better kept to myself. Don't say that. Don't show too much of that. Tone this bit down. Make a joke out of that bit. Give people enough to be honest, but not enough that they can actually do much damage with it.

It works. That's probably the problem.

If you build a wall because something on the other side is dangerous, and the wall successfully keeps it out, you don't really get much evidence that you no longer need the wall. All you know is that while the wall was there, you were safe. So you maintain it. The danger might have gone years ago, but the wall is still doing exactly what you built it to do (The film Nimona did a good job of highlighting this). I know, intellectually, that I'm safe. I have people around me who accept me. I have people who love me. I've told people things I was convinced would change how they saw me and, mostly, it didn't. Sometimes the response has basically been "yes, obviously". Apparently I'm not nearly as good at concealing things as I thought. But knowing all of this doesn't seem to make much difference.

I still edit.

I still have conversations where I can feel myself deciding which version of an answer to give. Not whether to lie, exactly, just how much of the truth is sensible. I still say something more honest than usual and then spend far too long afterwards wondering if I shouldn't have. I still find myself testing people who have given me absolutely no reason to think they need testing. And the particularly stupid part is that when somebody reacts well, I don't always take that as evidence that the wall isn't needed. I take it as evidence that I got away with it. Which is a fairly impressive bit of circular reasoning. The wall works, therefore the wall is necessary. Something gets through the wall and nothing bad happens, therefore I was lucky. There's not really any result that proves the wall can come down. I've been thinking about this as repointing bricks. The wall isn't being built any more. That bit happened a long time ago. I'm maintaining it. Something happens that puts a small crack in it and rather than seeing what happens, I get the mortar out. Someone gets a bit too close. Repoint. I accidentally say what I actually think. Repoint. I let somebody see that I'm upset rather than saying I'm fine. Definitely repoint that one. It's not even always conscious. A lot of it is just habit now, the same way you maintain anything else because you've always maintained it. Except normally when I maintain something I occasionally stop and ask whether I still need it at all I'm quite happy to throw out software I don't use any more. I'll replace some bit of infrastructure that's outlived its purpose. I'll happily spend hours getting rid of some unnecessary dependency because I dislike having things around for no reason. Apparently I don't apply the same standards to myself. I think part of the problem is that taking a wall down feels much more deliberate than putting it up. Putting it up happens a brick at a time. Something hurts, brick. Something gets used against you, brick. You misjudge somebody, brick. You watch somebody else get hurt for being a little too open, brick. After a while there's a wall and you don't really remember building most of it. Taking it down means looking at it and deciding that you're willing to be exposed to whatever is on the other side. Even when you know there probably isn't anything there. And I don't actually think the answer is to knock all the walls down. Some people aren't safe. Some people will use things against you. Some things are private simply because I want them to be private. I don't think everybody is entitled to all of me just because I've decided hiding myself isn't particularly healthy. Privacy is a choice. This is different. This is wanting to tell somebody something and being unable to. Wanting to let somebody closer and then instinctively backing away. Being loved and still keeping some bit of yourself hidden because you're convinced that will be the bit that changes things. It's quite hard to feel accepted for who you are while also making sure nobody can actually see who you are. There's an obvious problem with that arrangement. I don't really know what to do about it. I suspect, like most things, noticing I'm doing it is probably a start. Maybe instead of immediately fixing every crack I can leave some of them alone and see what happens.

Maybe the wall doesn't need knocking down. Maybe I just need to stop repointing the walls.