Bold Enough to Fight

Throughout her adult life, she felt an instinctive need to shield herself from everything and everyone around her—friends, family, and even men and women unknown to her. Without the guidance of therapy to help her understand why she built such strong defenses, she often wondered if she was fighting battles that didn’t need to be fought. Perhaps it was because she now wielded a power she hadn’t possessed when she needed to protect herself as a child.

One coping mechanism she adopted was drinking, using it to drown her sorrows and conjure a sense of happiness. The moment the scent of whiskey reached her nose, an almost instant surge of joy flooded her; her troubles seemed to dissolve, and a rush of endorphins overtook her as she stepped into a world consumed by an unfamiliar thrill.

The night always began with the sound of clinking glasses and the shared excitement of fellow revelers, filled with cheer and applause. With each sip, her heart raced, the music grew clearer and louder, and every word resonated with newfound energy. Conversations transformed, becoming sweeter and more engaging, as everyone sought to be heard in the shared rapture of the moment.

Yet, as the night unfolded and the joy around her reached its peak, she often felt her energy begin to drain. At the height of the celebration, she unknowingly slipped into memories of the past, revisiting the pain and hatred that marked her childhood. As the hours passed, bitterness bubbled within her, transporting her back 20 years to relive the verbal and physical abuse, and the relentless mistreatment she endured at the hands of her guardian.

With each drink that filled the emptiness inside her, her tolerance for those around her shifted. The line between friend and foe blurred, and she lost the ability to discern who truly stood beside her.

Her wrath often fell hardest on those who loved her the most. She came to understand that she had never truly known real, unconditional love. In her mind, everyone who tried to get close to her seemed to have ulterior motives, always seeking something from her.

She reflected on the truth that she had never experienced genuine, unconditional love. In her mind, everyone who approached her was searching for something. The first man who told her he loved her was 33 years old while she was only 14. Should she have fought back then?

In a conversation with a friend, she received a powerful insight: at some point in their lives, their adult selves attempt to fight for and heal the younger versions of themselves—the ones who endured childhood trauma. They strive to do the things they wish they could have done back then, to resist, to fight, to protect, and to save themselves. Should she have fought back then, when she wasn’t strong enough? Now that she is strong enough, now that she is bold enough, is her mind programmed to fight, now that she finally dares to conquer on her own?