If my childhood walls could talk, they’d tell the story of fear. They’d tell the story of fights and harsh words, of broken-hearted kids and emotional manipulation. If my childhood walls could talk, they’d share the cycle of calm to violence, of shattered trust and unkept promises.
If my childhood walls could talk, what they’d say might break your heart-no child should doubt a mother’s love.
If my high-school walls could talk, they’d tell you this is where I started to grow. They’d tell you I accepted far too little from boys who should have known better. If my high school walls could talk, they’d tell you it’s where I decided to take back my power. They’d recount the story of moving out of my mother’s home while still in school to grasp for an ounce of peace.
If my high school walls could talk, they’d tell you that hardwork and dedication starts to break cycles.
If my college walls could talk, they’d tell you dreams must change. They’d tell you that sometimes desire isn’t enough, and the world can be tough. They’d tell you of a few too many parties, a lot of great memories with friends, and the story of losing far too many friends.
If my college walls could talk, they’d tell you the story of how college broke me down, but built me so much stronger.
If the walls in my house today could talk, they’d tell you the story of healing. They’d tell you the story of learning trust and promises to be held. If the walls in my house today could talk they’d tell you the story of undoing generational trauma, and while every day isn’t a good day-this life is a good one.
If walls could talk, I think we’d all show a little more love and kindness.
