My stubbornness has never been a secret. Determination, my mom calls it. It's sheer pigheadedness, according to my sister. My friends see it as hard-earned confidence mixed with a dash of spunk. But to me, it's something far more profound and harder to praise.

To me, it's a defense mechanism.

Stubbornness is putting a foot down when someone dares to step across a clear-cut line. It's quitting a job purely because of the mental and physical tolls it causes. It's pushing and wearing yourself dry to achieve a lifelong dream. It's turning down an offer of drinks because the situation doesn't feel right. It's standing tall, proud and alone when everything else caves in.

But when it's within someone who's been torn down and ripped apart her whole life, stubbornness becomes a steel-cased wall. A barrier between a fragile heart and a harsh world.

That "someone" was and is me.

Now I love my feisty personality and my ability to fight for my beliefs, and those are both strong aspects of my stubbornness. I don't back down in an argument unless I know I'm in the wrong (and, in extreme cases, not even then). I don't let others walk over me easily. While I have respect for them, I refuse to be strapped down to others' rules or lifestyles. I stick to my own goals, opinions and dreams.

Yet my stubbornness goes beyond those instances.

It keeps shut up in my room reading in solitude when it'd probably be more beneficial to tear up the town with my friends. It convinces me that I'll still have time to write my essay even after I finish a complete season of "Friends." It tells me I shouldn't bother trusting people because I'll only get hurt in the end. It gives me justification for living in a sheltered box of what I already know I love instead of giving me the courage to try new things.

Yes, it's good to be stubborn in the way that allows you to live the life that brings you joy instead of fitting the molds of those around you, but my stubbornness grew as a form of protection against bullies and broken hearts. And once it blocked out all harmful forces outside myself, it remained alert until even the slightest threat of heartbreak caused the steel wall to shoot back up. It convinced me that everything could hurt me.

So, while my stubbornness makes me strong-willed and passionate, it also keeps me from stepping out of the shelter its created to "protect" me.

Being stubborn is not a destructive trait, but it can become one if it goes too far, if it locks you up rather than giving you strength.