The Walls We Built and Forgot We Built

There’s a scene of a couple dancing that I keep coming back to.

The cinematic music. Her long hair and flowing dress. Gas masks on both of them. It looks like the end of the world, and yet they keep dancing.

Every time I watch it, I feel something somewhere deeper than my heart.

It feels like a bond tying two people together so tightly that the world burning around them doesn’t matter. Two souls intertwined as chaos unfolds. Their demise is coming, and they’re dancing together until I almost imagine them becoming nothing but wisps of energy, flowing around each other.

I wonder why this scene reaches so deeply into me.

Is it the love? The surrender? The feeling of being so connected to someone that, even in the face of the unknown, you’re willing to stay present with them?

And I wonder how many of us crave that depth of connection while also being afraid to feel it.

We watch it. Read about it. Feel that ache of recognition. But when it comes to our own lives, do we believe it’s possible? Or does some part of us start looking for reasons it isn’t?

That kind of love doesn’t exist.

People always leave.

It’s easier to rely on myself.

How could someone love me that deeply?

I wonder about the walls we built and forgot we built.

Maybe, at one point, we made a promise to ourselves: I will never let someone hurt me like that again. And years later, we’ve forgotten the promise, but we’re still living by it.

We want to be understood, but hold back what we really feel. We want closeness, but feel uncomfortable when someone gets close. We say we don’t need anyone, while some part of us longs to be met.

I think about young love and the heartbreak that can come with it. How completely consuming it can feel. Like an inferno burning us from the inside out.

We often explain that intensity as being young. Inexperienced. Overwhelmed by emotion.

But what if, for some of us, our walls just weren’t built yet?

What if we allowed ourselves to feel love more fully because we hadn’t yet learned to anticipate its ending?

And what if that was part of why its absence hurt so deeply, too?

I don’t think growing older means we lose the ability to love like that. But I wonder whether we sometimes become so practiced at protecting ourselves that we start calling it who we are.

“I’m just guarded.”

“I don’t trust people.”

“I’m better off alone.”

“I could never be loved that deeply”

Are those things true for us now? Or are they conclusions we reached when we were hurting?

These are the kinds of questions I’m drawn to in my hypnosis work. Making space to explore the part of us that wants connection alongside the part that pulls away.

What is that part afraid of? What does it want us to understand? What would we need in order to feel comfortable taking one small step toward someone?

I’m not suggesting we ignore what someone’s behavior is showing us. Trust matters. Boundaries matter. We get to choose who we let close.

But I wonder if there are places where the protection has outlasted the situation that first made it necessary.

Places where we’re still bracing for an ending before we’ve allowed a beginning.

Maybe that’s what moves me about the couple dancing. There is so much uncertainty around them, and still, they allow themselves to feel the connection that’s there.

I wonder where I do that in my own life.

And where I hold back.

What if the walls we forgot we built deserve another look?

In my Quantum Journey Hypnosis sessions, there’s room to explore these questions and what connection means to you.

If this brought something up for you, and you’re curious about exploring it through hypnosis, you can book a consultation with me.