Walls as A Trauma Defense Mechanism

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The Walls: A Protective Defensive Coping Mechanism

Among the defensive coping mechanisms I’ve observed, one of the most unsettling has been what I call “the walls.” These mental barriers rise up around my traumatic memories, separating me from the overwhelming reality of what happened.

When the walls are in place, I feel completely detached from the emotions tied to those memories. While I can cognitively acknowledge that these events happened to me, the recollections feel distant, muted, and strangely impersonal.

Cyclical Walls vs. Dissociation

This phenomenon is a psychological defensive coping mechanism the mind uses to block or compartmentalize painful and distressing memories and emotions from a traumatic experience. Essentially, it creates a temporary barrier between you and the trauma.

Likely tied to the brain’s attempt to regulate the overwhelming emotional load of trauma, this mechanism may be more prevalent in survivors who are still actively processing.

While similar in some ways to the “trauma blocks” associated with dissociation, these walls are distinct in that they may rise and fall cyclically, allowing for periods of emotional detachment followed by waves of intense emotional flooding.

In comparison, dissociation creates longer-term “walls” around a memory by actively altering how the brain encodes and stores it, often fragmenting, numbing, or making the memories completely inaccessible.

When Walls Fall: The Emotional Impact of the Cycle

My first experience with the walls came when they collapsed for the first time. After being assaulted while on vacation out of the country, I had unknowingly built a strong barrier fortified by denial to survive the remainder of the trip. But the night I returned home, safe in my own room, I began to truly confront what had happened for the first time.

As the walls crumbled, the flashbacks began.

Suddenly, memories that had felt distant and vague became vivid and emotionally charged. I started reliving moments from the car-beginning with the instant I realized what was about to happen and continuing through events that I previously hadn’t remembered at all. Sometime the next day, as quickly as they had come down, the walls went back up, and I felt no emotions at all.

Throughout my healing and recovery journey, this pattern has been salient and recursive. When the walls come down I’m hit with a tsunami of emotions to process and it feels unbearable, hopeless, and dark. Most of all, it feels like it will last forever. Eventually they come back up and I’m standing on solid ground again gasping for air.

There were many times that I thought I was “healed,” past it all, and doing better just for the walls to come back down, leaving me to question whether I had ever made any forward progress at all. For a long time, it felt like a betrayal-like I couldn’t trust my mind at all and each time they came down felt like a failure or regression to my healing.

This specific aspect of trauma can leave you wondering if true healing is really even possible, or if every time you think you get there, the rug just gets pulled out from under you again.

I wrote a more detailed account of my most recent experience with the ‘walls’ coming down. I also talk a bit more about how I navigate the cycle.

Acceptance and the Role of the Walls

It wasn’t until I moved closer towards acceptance that I finally understood how vital this defensive coping mechanism was to the non linear process of healing. Sheltered in a safety blanket of denial, I spent a lot of time fighting the fact that I even had to take on these emotions at all.

But as I looked back on my journey through a perspective of acceptance and compassion I recognized for the first time that the walls weren’t there to make me feel pain, they were there to allow me to process the memories and emotions of what happened in portions that I could handle.

And while it may feel like drowning while I’m in it, eventually they come back up and I can breathe again, rebuild myself and prepare for the next wave.

The walls don’t exist to trick or betray me, they exist to protect me-and each wave isn’t proof that this hardship will never end, it’s a stepping stone towards healing and acceptance.

Still, in the thrall of it, it feels absolutely all consuming, infinite, and hopeless. I can’t count the times I have cried to my therapist, telling her that it’s too dark and I couldn’t see a way out or an end to the pain-to which her response is usually along the lines of “well, you’ve been here before-what happened last time?”

Even so, faced with these immeasurable, overwhelming emotions-combined with the awareness that I have no choice but to carry them with me for the rest of my life-it’s easy to catastrophize. My therapist often reminds me that, with time, my relationship to this will change and it will become easier to carry. I’m working toward believing that.

I reached a turning point the first time I told myself that these feelings would not last forever, crying and overtaken by grief. Even though I wasn’t fully convinced, stepping out of my head for just a moment to give myself something to hope for had a profound impact.

Strategies for Grounding and Moving Forward

Coping during these difficult times will be deeply personal to your journey. However, I’d like to stress the importance of searching for even the smallest glimmer of hope. Things that helped me escape ruminating and cyclical thoughts included grounding techniques like:

• Deep breathing.
• Reminding myself that the past is in the past and that I am in the safe, present moment.
• The 5-4-3-2-1 technique (5 things you can see, 4 you can touch, 3 you can hear, 2 you can smell, and 1 you can taste).

I relied heavily on having a safe space—my bedroom—and a safe, happy memory to refer to during especially difficult moments. I count the small wins, and practice self-soothing techniques and gratitude.

While the emotionally numbed periods can be painful in their own way, I do my best to appreciate that time for what it is and prioritize self-care rituals I may not have the energy for when the walls are down.

And although I still stand at the precipice of each wave, afraid of what’s to come, I’ve learned that each cycle brings me closer to healing. Embracing the nonlinear nature of progress has been transformative. I am no longer a victim of my circumstances; I’m a survivor, growing stronger with each step.

Thank you for being here. If this post resonated with you, I’d love for you to share your thoughts or connect with me-your voice matters too.