Childhood neglect leaves a mark. It’s not always visible, and it doesn’t scream for attention the way other wounds might. Instead, it whispers through the cracks in adulthood, shaping how we see ourselves, how we relate to others, and how we navigate the world. For those who experienced neglect as children, life becomes a delicate dance between surviving and living—between the old patterns that once kept them safe and the present moment that asks for something new.
Neglect teaches us to be small. As children, we learned to hide our needs, our voices, our very selves, because there was no one there to listen, no one there to care. And so, we became experts at disappearing. The vulnerable parts of us—the ones that needed love, safety, and connection—were tucked away, guarded by parts of our being that rose up to protect us. These parts became warriors, rescuers, and sometimes even saboteurs, doing whatever it took to keep us safe in a world that felt unsafe.
But now, as adults, these parts often show up uninvited. They leap into action at the slightest hint of danger, responding not to the present but to the ghosts of the past. A kind word from a friend might feel suspicious, a moment of conflict might ignite a storm, or the quiet moments might feel unbearably loud. These responses are not flaws; they are echoes of the child who learned to survive.
In adulthood, the story shifts. Those protective parts that once saved us now keep us distant from the very things we long for: connection, intimacy, and peace. They carry a hair-trigger sensitivity, responding to perceived threats before we even have a chance to fully see the present moment. And so, the cycle continues—not because we’re broken, but because we’re human.
Therapy becomes a mirror. It’s a place where we begin to see these parts of ourselves clearly for the first time. The parts that fight, the parts that hide, the parts that cling—they all start to take shape, revealing the courage it took to survive. In the safety of the therapeutic space, we can gently turn toward these parts, not to banish them but to understand them. We learn that they are not the enemy. They are, in their own way, our protectors.
And yet, we are not just the sum of our parts. Beneath the layers of protection, beneath the strategies and the patterns, there is a core self. A self that exists in the here and now. A self that is capable of connection, of joy, of being fully present. But this self doesn’t appear all at once. It comes in glimpses—a moment of laughter, a deep breath, a fleeting sense of peace. These moments remind us that we are not defined by our past, even if it shaped us.
For those who were neglected as children, adulthood is not about erasing the past. It’s about learning to live alongside it. It’s about recognising the patterns, honoring the parts of us that tried to keep us safe, and slowly building a new way of being. It’s about finding a balance between the future we dream of and the past that still lingers.
And so, the journey continues. It’s not linear, and it’s not easy. But it is possible. With each step, with each moment of awareness, we move closer to the wholeness we’ve always deserved.
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