Layers of Defense

My inner self, my core self, sits inside a stone tower within a stone castle behind a moat behind a low stone wall behind a white picket fence behind a low fence of iron pickets with roses growing up the fence.

I used to have a problem with boundaries, in that I had virtually none. This is typical of someone who has been sexually abused as a child. Over the years, I worked hard at developing boundaries. Then, as I continued to be hurt by relationships, rejections, disappointments, and letting too many people in too soon, I began developing protections.

I have a vivid and strong imagination and am good at visualization. Every time I felt hurt, I imagined myself protected by a thick wall. This wall extended out to become a fortified castle, a wide land filled with dangerous creatures, and a series of walls and fences, all with manned gates. The outer fence was too tall to see over and the roses grew huge, sharp thorns and obscured an onlooker's view inside. Eventually, no one could see inside and I couldn't see out. I had become almost completely protected against emotional pain, yet I still hurt because I didn't have close intimate friendships (I had even protected myself from my oldest, closest friends). I still felt alone. But no one could hurt me.

Several years ago, my protective barriers crumbled and broke down completely, leaving me naked and vulnerable. My therapist at the time was stunned by the self that was revealed because she had taken what she'd seen of me as truth: that I was fairly superficial and had solid boundaries. Finally we were able to do deep work. I learned that vulnerability was a strength and that being as protected as I'd made myself actually made it impossible for me to form and maintain the emotionally intimate connections I craved. I agreed to not create such an impenetrable barrier again, but I would still create the layered barriers to remind me to not let everyone in and to let people further in only when I knew I could trust them.

Over the past several years, I've experienced some heartbreaking pain. I've wanted so much to build up those barriers again, wanting to be safe from pain, but I have learned that they won't keep me safe from pain. Nothing can. And I want to be able to experience life fully, which does require being vulnerable to pain.


My current therapist and I have been discussing defense mechanisms. I have some that have become detrimental to my well-being, so we are exploring them before figuring out how to adapt them or change them to allow me access to all of what makes me me.

One of the things I will maintain, however, is the place that holds the core of me. We all need a part of us that is entirely ours, that we don't share with anyone, not even a best friend, a spouse, a soul-mate. And I need to protect that part of me. Therefore, I've been spending time thinking more about it, furnishing it, revisualizing it. My therapist has even asked me to draw it.

It's still a tall tower in the center of my domain, myself. It's made of thick stone and my room, my wizard's workroom, is at the very top. The only way others can reach this room is via a narrow stair with no guardrails that spirals up the outside of the tower, ending in a small platform right outside my room. Very easy to knock invaders off that stairway and that platform. There is no door into the tower, and the only windows in are narrow arrow slits. it's well-defended because I need to defend the core of me. I am highly sensitive, I trust too easily and I am easy to read. I need a strong place to hold my center.

Inside, my wizard's room is entirely different than it is on the outside. It's warm and cozy. Large windows let in the light and allow me to view my entire kingdom. I don't need any doors because I can walk through my own walls. I have stairs down to lower levels and I can walk down the stairs through the floors. I can walk up the stairs that lead to the roof where a dragon can land to either carry me away or defend me.

Inside this room is an aged polished wood floor. There's a worktable, an artist's easel, a desk, a comfy couch, and a canopied bed with translucent white curtains hanging from the canopy. The walls are lined with books and art. And there is a cat.

As for the layers of barriers, they now allow outsiders to see me. Outsiders still have to be invited inside, and each layer in allows them to see more of me. I'm in control of how far I let anyone inside, but I no longer present a shallow, superficial face to the world. People can see in and I can see out.

I've learned a lot about boundaries over the past few decades. I've learned a lot about how to protect myself — but I still have more to learn to do so in a healthy, balanced way. This exploration of my defense mechanisms and boundaries is reminding me how powerful my ability to visualize is: I can do so much for myself with it if I put in the effort. And if I put in the time and effort and focus, I can do amazing things. However, next time I'd be better off creating and building than hiding. It's better to have control over my defense mechanisms than to allow them to work, and adapt, autonomously.

It's really beautiful up here in my tower.