“If Walls Could Talk” by Kali Fox-Jirgl
Kali is a professional content creator, writer & published author who believes that writing is an art form and delights in the power of words. She specializes in capturing moments that transcend the page so readers can find connection and meaning within her work. It is her mission to spread knowledge, break the silence, and provide her readers with an elevating and inspirational reading experience one nugget of wisdom at a time. You can find more of Kali's work at https://medium.com/@...KaliLou or for more nuggets, subscribe to her Substack at https://substack.com/@courageouschaos
A Word from the Author:
If Walls Could Talk is an Anthropomorphic story depicting an external look at domestic abuse in the family home and the difficulty in healing from relationship trauma. It was written as a personal and therapeutic piece meant to symbolically assist me in letting go of emotional trauma caused by the confinement and silence that coincides with verbal and emotional abuse fueled by manipulation. This is the first time I have ever opened up about my experiences and allowed me to break free from fear and have a voice... a voice for many who have yet to break the silence and hence wise, break free. If my words can help even just one person to find the strength within themselves to break down walls, I have succeeded in my purpose.
“Sometimes our walls exist just to see who has the strength to knock them down”
If Walls Could Talk
If these walls could talk, my story mayfinally be heard. He killed me here — right here — but I am still very much alive. If these walls could talk, the justice of truth may set me free.
“Do you remember when I appeared to you as a prison wall?” I heard from seemingly nowhere as I hammered a nail into the wall. I looked around, but as I thought, there was no one else there, so I raised my hammer for one final blow.
“I said, do you remember when I appeared to you as a prison wall?” There it was again. The voice sounded old and distinct, but I couldn’t place any recognition of it. “You’re doing a fabulous job working through some heavy shit, young lady, and your decorating skills are top-notch, I love this shade of brown you have given me. The nails hurt a little, but I like the new art you’re hanging on me. It’s inspiring”
I looked down at the rustic wall hanging that I had just purchased.
NOTHING EVER GOES AWAY UNTIL IT TEACHES US
WHAT WE NEED TO KNOW
— it read in stark white letters contrasting the dark wood the quote was painted on.
“I thought it was inspiring too”, I said out loud as I hung it on my nail while trying to discern if my wall was actually talking to me. I straightened my newly hung piece of art and stood back to admire it. If my wall WAS talking, it was right, the message was inspiring. “What I need to know is why my wall is talking to me”, I said out loud once more. I was kind of amused, and simultaneously considering I was losing my mind.
“You’re an inspiration seeker. You look for the bigger meaning in everything. You search endlessly for answers to life’s biggest questions”, it said, “so let me ask you one more time, do you remember when I appeared to you as prison walls”?
As if I could ever forget thelife — the walls — that once held me hostage between them, stuck and scared for years. I was free to physically leave these walls whenever I wanted, I had a busy and zestful life on the other side of them, but when I was home, they were my subjective confinement.
“Yes, of course, I remember”, I replied solemnly. He killed me here.
“I have been here, steady, and bearing the weight of structure for over 75 years, my dear. I have witnessed a tremendous amount of human conduct and social graces throughout my time...
I hated these walls again at this moment. What they were implying. I knew I had been horribly mistreated by my husband, but I was keeping that oppression in the past where it belonged and where I finally put him just the same. I kept this house in the divorce and had redecorated, so to speak, giving them a fresh coat of positivity and transformative anticipation of walls with no metaphoric bars.
“You didn’t answer my question.” the wall said to me after a long moment of silence.
“Sorry, I got lost in thought”, I replied and confirmed the answer to the question.
“I know you did, I see you do it all the time, getting lost in your thoughts. You stare blankly at me, nearly catatonic at times, yet I can hear your heart beating at an alarming rate while you struggle to hold back tears”, it said.
I must be truly insane, I thought to myself. Not only do I hear my walls talk, but I’m also engaging in discourse… with a wall! I needed a smoke, so I slid my slides on to go outside.
“Walls have ears, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. Just watch out for the doors, they have eyes.”
“What the hell, now you’re a funny wall?”, I retorted as I made my way to the front door with a sneer making sure it wasn’t watching me.
“I have my moments. Comic relief is good sometimes. Wouldn’t you agree? Not to be a bearer of bad tidings, but my ears are very acute, so when you sit outside and smoke your problems away, I can still hear everything. I rolled my eyes and threw up my hood to go have my problem-solving puffs.
“Make yourself a cup of coffee”, my wall told me when I came back inside. “I have some little nuggets of wisdom to share with you. You’re not going mad, doll”, it continued, “you have burdened yourself long enough and it’s time to let go.”
As I started up my Keurig and added the hazelnut creamer my dad and I both had an infinity for; my heart missed him so much. He was my wisdom giver. As if my thought was spoken out loud, my wall, stoic like dad, said, “Your father told you once that you were the strong one in the family and I have seen that strength. It's remarkable, but you have to remember that fragility and vulnerability are a part of being human.”
I sat down, holding my coffee mug in both hands as my Grandma used to, wondering if it was the warmth of the cup that comforted me or the memory of her. “I’m all ears”, I said facetiously with a snicker, “comic relief.”
“I see what you did there, good one,” my wall laughed. “I remember the first time you walked through this house. A new state, new town, new beginnings. The first thing you wanted to do
was knock me down. Open things up. You were hopeful as you held your infant girl and watched your young boy run through with curiosity. He was the reason you were eager to get settled in and begin your new life here. It was his new chapter and you wanted to make sure it started on the right page. You built a solid foundation for him to start kindergarten in a good neighborhood full of families with children with whom he could make friends. You were devoted to being a mother regardless of how broken your marriage already felt. I know you wanted to leave him and I also know how difficult it was to leave your family to come here, but you had conquered everything in life thus far and knew you would conquer this transition too. As you made these walls your home, you were poised and tenacious with a vigor for life and that self-reliant courage you had always maintained.”
It was right, my wall. I remembered that me.
“You and your son made friends rapidly and you adapted to small-town life even though you never thought you would be content in a place as trifling as this.”
“I have adapted to every change, big or small, good or bad, in my life. I’ve always considered that one of my strengths,” I replied.
“Yes, you have. You’re very resilient, or, at least you used to be. I watched you degenerate slowly, though you never seemed to notice it was happening and you became powerless to stop it. The hypothetical demons that you had continuously and triumphantly quarreled with were taking new forms fueled by manipulation, intimidation, and aggression. Only by that horrific and invisible force did your mental armor begin to crack leaving you susceptible and weak to further blows from him. You see, his entire goal in life was to control and have power over others because it was he who was weak. A strong woman was never meant for his type, so he felt the only way to control you was through threats, malicious words, and a slow process of breaking down everything that made you who you were.”
“Yeah, fuck him,” I intentionally thought out loud this time. It had taken me nearly two years to stop the panic I felt just from seeing his name pop up on my phone wondering what spiteful and egotistical shit would erupt from his contentious mouth. He was the king of verbal vomit and it was always laced with lies to influence and control. He was always right, you know, and blameless in every situation. The compassionless, self-centered bastard who used to tell me I had fucked up morals while he defiled the very foundation of moral behavior. He was an antagonist to the core of his being and the cause of my cynicism.
“Your pain didn't come from the bruises on your body... the wounds are far deeper than that. They are in your heart and scars on your mind. You cannot judge yourself by what others have done to you. Only you know your real self and what motivates you to continue this journey no matter how neglected the path may be. Your vital force has been tortured and marred, but it's not irreparable damage. The feelings of being undervalued, unappreciated, or that your life is purposeless do not have to be ones that you carry with you for the rest of your life.”
I sipped my coffee while reflecting on my wall's sermon and remained perplexed for a moment. "You know, I thought I had already healed all that. I closed those wounds when I left him. I was able to walk with my head high again. I smiled and laughed without effort. I fell in love again."
"Yes,, your strength allowed you to love yourself through that time, but you were still broken. You were walking around castles in the sky, giddy and bewildered in liberation, enchanted by the freedom to love yourself enough to let someone else love you again even though you didn’t feel like you deserved to be loved. You encountered a love that made you feel respect and connection instead of criticism and disregard, but you were still broken. Your morals never evaded you, your empathy for others remained constant, and even grew through it all, but you were still as broken as you are sipping that coffee right now. As time went on, the blinders came off, exposing you to your whimsical, narrow outlook as well as the wounds you thought you healed. Your own expectations fabricated from your desire to be truly loved & accepted ended up only hurting you more, as fanciful expectations generally do. You already knew that, but you were unconsciously taking measures to protect yourself and your heart from being wounded ever again. Yet through every gesture and endeavor, introspectively, your old fears and insecurities resurfaced, impairing your ability to see that they were damaging relationships with those you love and never being aware of it. The power of that knowledge is now crushing you, dismantling pieces all around you.”
The tears were welling up now… seriously, how do I not run out of tears? I felt sick to my stomach.
“Go get the sledgehammer,” the wall continued.
“What?” I replied.
“Go get the sledgehammer and knock me down,” it said.
“Why would I do that?” I questioned.
“You’re going to knock me down, but make sure you understand whyyou are knocking me down.”
I did as I was told. My first blow was pretty weak, so I swung again. And again. And again. My swings got stronger. It felt amazing and I began yelling with every swing I took.
“I AM NOT A WHORE!
I AM NOT A DUMB BITCH!
MY PARENTS DID NOT DESERVE TO DIE.
I DO NOT DESERVE TO LIVE MY LIFE FEELING LIKE I SHOULD!”
I was so angry, I don’t even know what came over me.
“I AM A GOOD MOTHER!
I AM THE ONE WHO RAISED THESE KIDS BY MYSELF WITHOUT YOU EVER DOING A THING!
I AM NOT WORTHLESS!
I AM JUST AS IMPORTANT AS EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS WORLD AND I HAVE A REASON FOR BEING!
I AM NOT USABLE AND YOU DO NOT HAVE CONTROL OVER ME ANYMORE!
I DID THE BEST I COULD WITH EVERYTHING UNTIL YOU KILLED ME!”
I fell to the floor in a heap of human shambles. No, no, no, I refuse to be a victim. I will not take on that title. I have life left to live and so much love left to give, but this disturbing force is so heavy and suffocating. How can an invisible fury like this cause so much mental anguish? Something completely unseen being powerful enough to transform every thought I think and every action I take… was incomprehensible to me. I turned to my wall for wisdom, but it was no longer there. As I sat among the debris, I remembered its last words to me…”but, make sure you understand whyyou are knocking me down”.
I had to get my thoughts together. I knew what I was feeling, what I have been feeling. Isolation from the world while in a room full of people. Hopelessness… and an alarming disassociation from reality and self like I am existing in the world without actually living in it. Numb, empty, invisible. Bleak and unchanging.
NOTHING EVER GOES AWAY UNTIL IT TEACHES US
WHAT WE NEED TO KNOW.
My art piece! It was not only inspiring, but it was also symbolic. I had to take back ownership of my thoughts and emotions to overcome this paralyzing unease. I had to accept the realization that no one else was going to completely heal my wounds and the only person who can truly help me, is me. All the anxiety, fear, and anger that has tornopen my soul to steal my core essence needed to be choked out.
I stood up and at my feet was a piece of rubble in the shape of a heart. I picked it up and placed it right on top of my new wooden block art that I rehung on the wall opposite me. My prison walls were gone. In a rare, but beautiful moment of clarity, I realized I was going to be ok. I had a lot to learn to get out of this awful place, positive affirmations to find, and healthy relationships to build with those who would encourage me and invigorate me. Yes, I had a lot to learn and it wasn’t going to be easy, but it took my wall a lifetime to gain the wisdom it shared… and I have a lot of life left to live.
