We all carry pieces of ourselves that were formed in moments of pain—tiny parts that rose up to help us survive when we didn’t have the safety or support we needed. They’re not always visible as such to others, but we often know when they show up. They can present like walls we put up, the sharp edges that appear when we feel threatened, the silence when we’re scared of being dismissed, the over-explaining when we’re desperate to be understood.
I’ve named one of my parts Porcupine.
Porcupine showed up any time I felt unseen, dismissed, or pushed into a corner. She was feisty. She wasn’t about to let me get steamrolled. She started operating long ago when I was just a little girl trying to navigate unmet needs, misunderstood emotions and unwanted treatment. Her job was to make sure no one could ever get close enough to hurt me again.
The problem is, Porcupine, like most of our self-protective parts, was created in a moment of survival, not strategy. She was a child’s solution to an adult problem.
“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.”
—1 Corinthians 13:11 (ESV)
And like many of us, I didn’t realize that she was still driving my reactions long after the threat had passed.
Years later, as an adult, I found myself triggered again—this time by certain family members. Every time I was around them, Porcupine came out in full armor. I didn’t like how I felt, or who I became around them. I didn’t yet have language for things like parts work, emotional triggers, or trauma-informed boundaries. I only knew that I was guarded, edgy, cold. Not because I didn’t want to care and connect, but because something deep inside me felt unsafe, felt very threatened.
At the time, I was in a Bible study group exploring the idea of surrendering our self-protections. They called it letting go of control and trusting God. One night, I found myself asking God a terrifying question:
“What if I let down my guard, and they walk all over me?”
The answer came gently but clearly:
“Then I will heal you.”
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
—Psalm 147:3 (NIV)
I wasn’t expecting that. To be honest, I probably wanted to hear something more reassuring, like: “That isn’t going to happen.” But what I received was a promise—one that invited me into faith, vulnerability, and trust. Not in people. But in God.
That moment began a shift in me. Slowly, I chose to lay down my armor. No, they had not suddenly become trustworthy. I chose to lay down my armor because I trusted the One who promised to heal me. I chose to have a quiet, vulnerable conversation. I told them I didn’t like how I’d been showing up—cold, distant, guarded. I asked for forgiveness, motivated by the desire to own my stuff and learn to live from a different place.
They didn’t respond the way I’d hoped. They didn’t join me in vulnerability. But something stunning happened anyway.
I didn’t break in the way I feared. I broke open.
Where I was driven by reactivity before, I was now responding with calm clarity. The panic and over-defending gave way to peace and groundedness. I could feel when my boundaries were being crossed, and rather than lash out, I found the strength to speak up. My voice became steady, instead of sharp. My stance became strong, instead of rigid. I was no longer living from Porcupine—I was living from wholeness.
And that was the beauty in the breaking of my self-defense mechanism.
The beauty isn’t that the pain didn’t happen.
It’s that the pain didn’t get the final say.
What broke wasn’t me—it was the survival strategy that had kept me from truly living.
Your Turn: A Gentle Invitation to Reflect
If you’ve noticed parts of yourself reacting sharply or withdrawing quickly, you’re obviously not alone. Often, those are protectors doing their best to keep you safe. But sometimes, what they’re protecting is a younger, hurting part of you that’s ready to be seen, healed, and restored.
Take some time with these journaling questions. There’s no pressure to have all the answers. Just be curious and kind toward your own story.
Journaling Prompts:
- What situations tend to trigger a strong emotional reaction in me?
- What does my self-protective part (or parts) look like? Can I name it or describe it?
- When did I first start needing this kind of protection? What might that part have been trying to help me with?
- What emotions are hiding underneath that protection?
- What would it be like to invite God into the place that part is trying to protect?
- If I believed He would heal me even if I got hurt again, what might I choose differently?
- What would it feel like to live from my healed, whole self?
You are not too much. You are not bad for having protective parts. And you don’t have to fear the breaking either.
There is a fierce beauty in choosing vulnerability and a deep strength in surrendering our survival strategies to the God who restores. That beauty is already inside you, just waiting for the breaking to make space for it to bloom.
