When Walls Go Up: How Emotional Barriers Affect Healing

There are books you read—and then there are books that read you. Just Before Dawn is the latter. Especially in the chapter titled “Kicking the Walls,” the author takes readers into a deeply honest look at what it means to live behind emotional barriers built in the aftermath of trauma.

This chapter doesn’t offer platitudes or surface-level comfort. Instead, it walks through the emotional walls so many trauma survivors construct to protect themselves: secrecy, denial, shame, self-protection, and self-contempt. Each is explored with clarity, compassion, and biblical insight.

The Wall of Secrecy

This wall is often one of the first to go up—and the last to come down. For many survivors, silence was a matter of safety. Speaking up could mean punishment, disbelief, or further harm. So secrecy became second nature, a form of protection that eventually turned into a prison.

“The veil of silence and secrecy is a required part of an abuse victim’s wardrobe… carved into the very soul of every abused child.”

The chapter in Just Before Dawn doesn’t minimize this—it acknowledges how deeply ingrained the silence can be. But it also reveals the cost. When we keep everything locked inside, we shut out the light that could bring healing.

Truth-telling, no matter how small, becomes the first crack in the wall. Whether it’s sharing with a trusted friend, writing down our story, or praying honestly for the first time, these moments matter. They are not weakness—they are courage. Secrecy might have once kept someone safe, but it’s truth that sets them free.

The Wall of Denial

This wall often looks like strength from the outside—but it’s hollow. It’s the kind of strength that keeps everything pushed so deep down, even the person living with it can no longer access what’s underneath. Denial becomes a form of self-protection: a quiet refusal to look too closely, because what’s buried might be too painful to uncover.

“Denial is the saddest form of deception, and often the very thing that allows evil to prevail.”

But denial, while often necessary at one point, isn’t meant to last forever. It can serve as a temporary shelter in the aftermath of trauma—but it isn’t a permanent home. Eventually, it begins to crack under the weight of unspoken truths and unresolved pain.

This wall doesn't demand that everything be faced at once. Instead, it invites an honest look at what’s been hidden. Naming the truth—no matter how small that beginning may be—is often the first step toward lasting healing.

The Wall of Self-Protection

“If even my own parents failed to provide protection… then I would simply have to do it alone.”

This might be the most deceptive wall of all—because it feels wise. It feels smart. It tells us, Don’t let anyone close. You’ve already seen what happens when you do. And for many survivors, that message was learned early through deep betrayal by the very people who were supposed to provide safety.

The chapter in Just Before Dawn describes self-protection as a survival mechanism—one that made sense at the time. It was the wall that kept someone alive when trusting others felt too dangerous. But over time, that same wall can become a prison, keeping out the very things most needed for healing: love, connection, community.

Trust doesn’t come naturally for those who’ve been hurt. And it shouldn’t—it’s something carefully, painfully learned. The wall of self-protection doesn’t fall all at once. It doesn’t respond to a sledgehammer. It cracks slowly, moment by moment, through every safe relationship, every honest conversation, and every decision to risk closeness again—with wisdom, discernment, and care.

The Wall of Shame

This wall is often the heaviest. Shame doesn’t just speak to actions—it targets identity. It doesn’t say, “I made a mistake.”It says, “I am the mistake.” And when that message is internalized, it distorts how someone sees themselves, their worth, and even their ability to be loved.

“Shame is experienced as the all-pervasive sense that I am flawed and defective as a human being.”

Unlike guilt, which can guide someone toward accountability and growth, shame isolates and silences. It creates an inner narrative of unworthiness that’s hard to shake.

But this lie doesn’t get the final word. The message of Just Before Dawn offers a powerful truth to replace it: “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.” The antidote to shame isn’t perfection—it’s truth. And shame cannot coexist with the reality of God’s love, grace, and redemption. Healing begins when that truth starts to take root.

The Wall of Self-Contempt

“If I am the problem, I can fix it by self-punishment… I don’t hit back.”

This wall is built in silence, often unnoticed by others—but it runs deep. For many, blaming themselves for the harm they’ve endured becomes a way to make sense of the pain. If they were the problem, then maybe there’s a way to prevent it from happening again.

It’s a painful form of self-protection—a belief that self-punishment offers control.

But self-contempt doesn’t heal. It only reinforces the lie that pain is deserved and healing is out of reach.

The message in Just Before Dawn is gentle but clear: blame never leads to freedom. Grace must take its place. Healing begins not by turning inward with condemnation, but by turning toward the truth of one’s worth—and choosing compassion over criticism.

The Turning Point

“Repentance was the wrecking ball that broke me out and through to freedom.”

This section offers more than just insight—it extends hope. Healing isn’t about demolishing every wall overnight. It’s a slow, intentional process—layer by layer, moment by moment.

The turning point often begins with a shift: a quiet willingness to stop pretending, a desire to be honest, or a simple cry for help. And when truth is allowed to take root, when God’s love enters the places that once felt off-limits—freedom becomes possible.

The walls may have felt necessary once. But they don’t have to be permanent.

Final Thoughts

Kicking the Walls is a chapter that resonates deeply with anyone who has witnessed how protective mechanisms—once necessary for survival—can slowly become emotional strongholds. For therapists, ministry leaders, or those walking alongside trauma survivors, it offers language, imagery, and insight that acknowledges the weight of pain while gently pointing toward the possibility of restoration.

This chapter doesn’t just name the walls—it invites us to consider what healing might look like as they begin to fall. It reminds us that no matter how long those walls have been in place, they are not immovable. Healing is possible. Hope is real. And no wall is too strong for God to break through.

Healing is possible. Hope is real. And no wall, no matter how long it’s been standing, is too strong for God to break through.

🕊 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3

💛 For more chapter reviews and faith-based trauma reflections, visit justbeforedawn.net