The Armour She Wore

---EllaeenahJadeFire

There was a girl who seemed to have everything. A warm, loving family. Hard-working parents who sacrificed so that she wanted for nothing. A cupboard full of books that she devoured, losing herself in the different worlds created by the magical words that she read. A golden dachshund who snuggled up to her every night. Parents who attended every school play, proud of all the many prizes that she won.

But inside her chest was a heaviness that no one knew about.

Eve didn’t know why she felt that ache, that fear that she could not name. Nothing bad had happened to her, not really. No big traumas, no bruises. But somewhere along the way, she came to believe that love was ‘dangerous’, that you could break when people left. If they did not leave physically, they often left emotionally. They drifted away. They forgot about her. They almost always somehow let her down. And somewhere deep inside, she decided she wouldn't let people get close enough to hurt her.

So she began to build a different version of herself. Not the scared little girl who felt too deeply. Who couldn’t hold back the tears that overwhelmed. She became someone sharp. Smart. Hard. Untouchable.

She was not even thirteen when a girl at school called her a snob. “Do you think you’re better than everyone?” she hissed when Eve had angrily pulled her hair for sitting in ‘her’ place.

By the time she was a teenager, Eve had perfected all her masks. She got top grades, won almost every award there was to win, rolled her eyes at the ‘dumb ones’, and carried herself like she couldn’t care about anyone or anything. People said she was arrogant. Intimidating. Too much. Some admired her from afar. Many resented her. But no one really knew her.

At home she became difficult to control, shouting and resisting every move of her parents that she perceived as ‘controlling’. The only solace she found was when her grandma told her stories that fascinated her. Or when she locked herself in her room with the music blaring.

What no one could see was that her rage was grief that she couldn’t understand. Couldn’t express. That her tongue was sharpened upon a pain she couldn’t name. That every time she pushed someone away, it was because she was scared they might leave first.

She hated how easily her emotions rose in her, but instead of letting them show, she converted them into something hard that gave her the illusion of ‘safety’. When she felt hurt, she acted cold. When she felt rejected, she lashed out. When she felt afraid, she hid behind arrogance.

Many years passed, and many boyfriends came and went. Few friendships had the strength to remain steadfast in the face of such hardness. Those who remained took the time to look below the masks at the caring nature, the readiness to help, the deep capacity for sacrifice, the loyalty.

And then came Mr. Jeff.

He taught science in the university she attended. Middle-aged, soft-spoken, glasses that were thick but not thick enough to hide the gentle eyes. He had a quiet kindness about him, and a way of looking into the hearts of people that made them feel safe to be themselves. To not pretend. To speak the truth.

The first time he asked to speak to her after class, she braced herself for what she was certain would be a harsh critique of her assignment. But what he said was, “You’re carrying something too heavy for one person. You don’t have to do that alone.”

Eve blinked, stunned. No one had ever said that to her before. No one had ever seen that before. Quickly, she whispered, ‘I don’t know what you mean’, and left before he could say anything more.

For weeks she avoided him. If she had an academic problem she would approach a teacher who had taught her in her junior year. But Mr. Jeff didn’t push. He just gave her the space to process her discomfort, to think over what he had said, “You feel deeply. That’s a strength.”

She didn’t know how to handle someone who saw the frightened, hurting girl underneath the masks. But little by little, she let him in. Testing him often, so that he could disappear on her like so many had. One afternoon, when everyone else had gone home, she stayed behind. She beat her desk with clenched fists and said, “I think something’s wrong with me. I get so mad, and I don’t know why.”

Mr. Jeff didn’t lecture or offer any intelligent analysis. He walked over, sat across from her, and said, “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve just been holding your heart too tightly. Maybe it’s time to let go. To trust again.”

That day marked a shift. A small one. A real one.

Over the next year, they spoke often. Sometimes about science. Sometimes about grief. Sometimes about nothing, just sitting in the quiet. He taught her how to be gentle with herself. How to name her pain instead of hiding it behind arrogance. He taught her that strength wasn’t pretending not to feel, it was having the courage to feel in spite of the pain of the feelings.

The first time she cried in front of him, he just placed his hand over hers and said, “That’s the bravest thing I’ve seen you do.”

Years later, Eve stood in her white coat, uncertain and hesitant as she walked down the hospital hallway. It was her first day as a doctor. She remembered Mr. Jeff’s words. She remembered his warmth. She remembered how he had held space for her broken pieces without trying to fix them.

And now, she could do the same for others.

She didn’t just treat patients, she saw them. Their fear. Their silent cry for dignity. Their helplessness. When they cried, she didn’t turn away. When they were angry, she held their hands. She knew what it meant to carry pain, to feel lost and scared, to be judged and condemned, and she offered them the same quiet strong love that had saved her.

On the wall of her office was her medical degree. Mr. Jeff stood beside her, so much older now, but smiling with pride. His hand still holding hers. But now also holding her two young ones.

In her chest, where emptiness once lived, there was now the fullness of feeling. Of love, freely given and freely received. Of love for herself, even when she made horrible mistakes.

She still had those moments when the old masks tempted her. But Mr. Jeff had taught her well: her heart didn’t need walls. It needed kind hands, that could hold her, and embrace others as well. The glass of the frame that held her degree, reflected a young woman. Not a woman who was a snob. But a woman who was a healer. In the reflection, she saw the face of the girl who had once run from her pain, and she saw the woman who helped others walk through theirs.