If I Had a Hammer
I have gotten very good at metaphorically telling stories and using a play on words, since my book has been recognized and published. It has given way to another creative endeavor on how I look at things and who I am, and what I am trying to achieve towards a higher purpose. Once you learn something, you can not unlearn it, and once you see something, it can never be unseen. Psych 101 #narcbehavior #awareness #artenrichment Education is a powerful tool.
*A freshly covered, painted mask may offer a fleeting illusion, much like staining old wood to give it the appearance of renewed strength. Yet beneath that polished surface, the fibers often remain compromised, riddled with tiny passageways where insects have long feasted. When someone wraps themselves in a bright new persona, hoping to obscure a history of shame, lies, and guilt, they forget that untreated damage does not simply vanish. It festers. It’s like erecting walls over weakened joists, ignoring the signs of strain until the entire framework begins to groan under the weight of what was never properly confronted. Sooner or later, that beautiful veneer can no longer hide the bowing and buckling of a life built on fragile support.
Picture a contractor so eager to finish an addition that he dismisses the faint, musty scent rising from the boards. He might pour sealant over the surface, believing the gloss alone will protect against deeper decay. This is not unlike a person who tries to mask their guilt with bursts of charm or ambition, hoping new habits will obscure old faults. Meanwhile, like woodworms drawn to the moist, unprotected crevices, unresolved fears and long-ignored wounds tunnel deeper. Joists that should be solid begin to hollow out, until every step across the floor above sends a soft, ominous creak. These quiet protests are the psyche’s subtle warning signs of anxiety, defensiveness, or sudden anger that reveal the concealed fractures under growing pressure.
As the damage progresses, floorboards once trusted to hold firm can no longer bear the strain. Under ill-treated pressure more guests, heavier furniture, storms of emotion they begin to splinter or even cave outright. The human parallel is a person buckling under the compounded stress of secrets and unacknowledged remorse. Small lies grow into structural distortions, requiring even larger falsehoods to maintain balance. Eventually, the weight of sustaining this false architecture proves too great. The emotional floor gives way, relationships fracture, and personal well-being plummets through the gaps left by years of neglected care.
No amount of cosmetic repair can truly stabilize what’s unsound at the core. Real restoration demands more than a quick sanding and stain. It requires stripping back layers to expose every wormhole and every pocket of rot. The compromised joists must be braced with honesty, or replaced entirely with accountability and sincere change. Only by treating these vulnerabilities directly can one rebuild a structure meant to last. A wise carpenter understands that every beam bears history within its grain, and so must we accept our own past, not to hide it beneath fragile masks, but to reinforce today’s foundation with hard-earned integrity. In doing so, we stand on floorboards that can finally hold our full weight.
Therefore, it is not just neglect but ego that often drives this dangerous shortcut. The builder, eager for applause and admiration, pours his energy into surface beauty. He relishes the compliments on the fresh stain, the intricate trim, and the appealing style. Yet all the while, he deliberately diverts attention from the original skeleton of the house, its obscure framework riddled with hidden damage. In truth, he depends on the oohs and aahs to soothe his own discomfort, hoping external validation will drown out the internal whisper that something fundamental remains unsound. The floorboards may already sag in places, the joists may moan under shifting weight, but he assures onlookers with broad smiles and grand gestures, desperate for them to admire his handiwork without looking too closely.
This is the same fragile theater played out in human relationships when someone cloaks unresolved guilt and shame with exaggerated charisma or restless achievements. They long to be seen as successful, attractive, or morally upright, anything that distracts from the uneasy knowledge that their foundation is compromised. Compliments become a kind of narcotic. Each new bit of admiration covers another hairline crack, but it does not reinforce the structural beams beneath. The original damage, born of unaddressed wrongs or long-nurtured falsehoods, continues to deepen away from view, weakening everything that relies on it.
The tragedy is that when the weight inevitably becomes too much, when new demands press down or old secrets come to light, the collapse is often sudden and spectacular. The very people who once cheered the polished exterior recoil at the sight of boards snapping and floors dropping away. The builder, having spent years ignoring the true problem for the sake of applause, is left among splinters and dust, bewildered that the charm and praise he so carefully cultivated could not save the house. Likewise, a person who invests only in appearances discovers too late that no amount of external approval can compensate for a life never made truly stable.
Ultimately, lasting strength is earned not through admiration but through difficult, private work. It means climbing under the floorboards, probing each joist with honesty, acknowledging the mold and decay that have been hidden there for so long. It means reinforcing what is weak, even if no one sees or applauds the effort. In this way, the house and the self can finally stand firm without fear of the day it all caves in. Only then does the beauty on the surface match the integrity beneath, a structure worthy of both pride and peace.
It is not simply neglect but a deeper compulsion for admiration that drives this reckless cover-up. The builder, absorbed in his need for praise, invests heavily in ornate facades and gleaming finishes. He delights in every compliment that praises his apparent craftsmanship, hoping that the applause will drown out the quiet creaks of stress reverberating through the unseen beams. Like a narcissist, he depends on outside validation to prop up an internal emptiness. His pride rests entirely on what others perceive, never on the true strength of what lies beneath. Meanwhile, the original structure, obscure, flawed, and quietly decaying, goes unattended, its weaknesses masked by a superficial shine.
This is the essence of narcissistic behavior: tirelessly cultivating an external image to distract from hidden fractures. They crave admiration as a substitute for doing the painstaking internal work that would truly reinforce their character. Every compliment acts as a patch slapped over a soft spot in the joists, giving the illusion of stability without addressing the underlying vulnerability. They draw people in with polished charm and rehearsed generosity, all the while steering attention away from the foundation that was never properly set. But like weakened floorboards under too much strain, their carefully managed persona starts to give under the smallest tests of authenticity.
Eventually, the burden becomes too much to bear. The pressure of maintaining lies, concealing old guilt, and shouldering the weight of unaddressed shame causes the structure to buckle. The collapse is rarely gentle. Relationships fracture, trust evaporates, and the once-admired image splinters into debris that can no longer be swept out of sight. Those who once praised the gleaming finish now witness the rot for what it is. The narcissist is left exposed, bewildered that the admiration they relied on could not hold up the failing beams. Just like a house built on compromised joists, the crash is inevitable when there has never been true reinforcement where it matters most.
In the end, no clever presentation can rescue a life hollowed by unresolved flaws. The work must go deeper, beyond what others see or applaud. It requires uncomfortable honesty, stripping away illusions to inspect and rebuild the core. Only through this rigorous process does a person emerge capable of bearing life’s inevitable pressures without caving in. Until then, the mask remains just that: a thin covering over a fragile framework, doomed to splinter the moment reality steps too heavily upon it.
So be careful who you trust with the hammer. Not every hand that swings it aims to strengthen what stands; some are content to patch and polish, chasing applause while ignoring the hollow thud of rot beneath. A house built on sticks, no matter how cleverly adorned, will eventually collapse under the weight of its own illusions. When the beams finally give, it is the truths long evaded that come crashing down hardest. Trust only those willing to tear back the floorboards, to probe the joists for weakness, and to rebuild with honesty. Because in the end, what stands firm isn’t what dazzles the eye, but what was quietly made sound from the inside out.
A house built on sticks—propped up by show, hollow at its core—cannot stand forever. In time, it buckles beneath the weight of its own deceptions, brought down by the truths it was too brittle to face.
Kitryn Marie
#writer #publishedauthor
