These high walls surround me.

Many years ago, a friend told me something about myself that I had never seen. They said, “You are very selective about who you let into your life and who you spend time with.” As the social butterfly I believed myself to be, I didn’t realize that I had unconsciously kept a quiet distance from so many. I didn’t let many people in. I still don’t.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I love meeting new people and learning their stories. But the truth is, I’ve built these high walls around myself, around my heart, without even realizing it.

I’m not sure when these walls first appeared or how high they’ve grown.

But what I do know is that every person carries a story—and mine has shaped me into who I am today.

Imagine waking up on the first day of eighth grade. You decide to get up earlier than usual, excited to get ready—makeup, hair, and what you thought was a cute outfit at the time. You’re glowing with confidence as you head out the door. And then, in an instant, that bright aura is shattered… by someone who was meant to protect it.

A brick is added to the walls around me.

It’s the morning of my 22nd birthday. I wake up excited to celebrate myself—to honor my energy. But underneath that excitement sits an unsettling feeling, like I wasn’t allowed to be happy. Joy was something I had to earn but never received. Fast forward to my 23rd, 24th, and 25th birthdays… and the tears never stopped.

The walls grow higher.

Since graduating from high school and college, I’ve begun to understand my mom more deeply. Her stories carry hidden lessons. I feel her heart as if her emotions were my own—her pain, my pain; her sorrow, my sorrow.

One morning, I came home from the gym and saw her on the phone with someone we were meant to trust, someone who should have helped his family rise, not break them down piece by piece. She ended the call, and moments later, she collapsed into my arms, breaking down.

The walls around me solidify.

So yes, I am selective—because my trust has been broken more times than I can count. Yes, I’m perfectly fine being alone—because in some way, somehow, life has reminded me why solitude feels safer. Yes, my peace matters more than many can understand—because I have fallen apart countless times and had to rebuild myself piece by painful piece.

This is just part of my story. Part of the reason I am the way I am. And I write this not to ask for pity or to complain, but to remind you that every person you meet in this little thing called life carries a story you could never imagine. Behind a single smile can live a thousand unsaid things.

So please—choose to move forward with kindness.