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Sometimes we are like wounded animals.
It’s not a conscious choice but rather an instinct.
When we’re hurt, emotionally or deep inside, some of us behave like wounded animals.
A wounded animal doesn’t always seek comfort; it hides, it growls, it might even lash out. Not because it wants to cause harm but because it’s scared, it’s in pain, and it doesn’t know how to express that any other way.
People can be the same. When the pain is too much, some withdraw. They go quiet, become defensive, or push others away. It’s not that they don’t want love or comfort; they don’t always know how to receive it when they’re feeling vulnerable.
Love can feel overwhelming when your emotional skin is raw.
We don’t always recognise these behaviours for what they truly are. We might take the silence personally. We might feel rejected by the distance or misunderstood by the sharp edges. Often, it’s not rejection; it’s protection, it’s a shield built-in panic, not permanence.
Understanding this takes patience and care. It means choosing not to mirror the hurt but to respond with gentleness.
To see beyond the growl or the silence and recognise the fear beneath. To hold space without pressing. To say, in your presence and actions, “I’m not here to fix you or force you; I’m just here.”
Healing doesn’t respond well to pressure.
It needs safety, not solutions.
Presence, not performance.
Time, not timelines.
Sometimes, the most compassionate thing we can do is to sit quietly nearby, as you would beside a wounded animal , letting them know that when they’re ready to come out, they won’t be alone.
