When we imagine the difficulties involved in a so-called ‘bad childhood’, we most readily
think in terms of children who are physically harmed - beaten, underfed, sexually abused - or
else treated with active contempt: screamed at, blamed, put down, mocked and tormented.
Such harrowing images make it hard for us to picture that there might be another,
in many ways more prevalent yet just as damaging form of injury to which children may
be exposed. In this case, there is no physical violence, there is no taunting or shouting.
It looks - at first glance - as if all must be well. But that would be to miss the particular
kind of wound that can be inflicted through what psychologists term ‘emotional neglect.’
We’re so used to focusing on abuses that spring from interventions, we forget those
that can equally painfully flow from absence. The emotionally neglected child isn’t screamed at or
hit, locked up or jeered at. they are just - often very subtly - ignored. A parent doesn’t smile at
them very much. There is never any time to take a look at the drawing they just did or the story
they wrote. No one remembers their stuffed animal’s name. No one notices that they are
looking sad and that the first day at school might have been very difficult. There’s always something
more urgent to do than spend time with them (perhaps another sibling to think about or the
demands of work or of their partner. There might be a lot of parties as well). The parent seems in
no way charmed or interested. There are no cuddles or hair ruffles, there are no nicknames or terms
of endearment. Birthdays get forgotten. Tears aren’t dried or consoled. The parent doesn’t look
the child in the eye. They might, shortly after the birth, go off and live in another household.
None of this may seem - at first glance - to be especially bad,
particularly because the insidious behaviour is largely invisible.
It is compatible with all kinds of outward signs of healthy family life.
But that isn’t to say that no damage is being done. The psychologist William James presciently
observed that it might as bad, if not worse, to be on the receiving end of indifference as of
physical torment: ‘No more fiendish punishment could be devised, were such a thing possible,
than that one should be turned loose in society and remain absolutely unnoticed by all the members
thereof. If no one turned around when we entered, answered when we spoke, or minded what we did,
but if every person we met “cut us dead”, and acted as if we were non-existent things,
a kind of rage and impotent despair would before long well up in us,
from which the cruellest bodily torture would be a relief.’
A crucial fact of psychological life is the disinclination of any child to think there is
something wrong with its parent; it will go to almost any lengths to prevent the idea emerging
that its parent may be mentally unwell or fundamentally brutish.
It will remain attached and obsessed by the most vicious and uncaring figure
whom an objective observer might see through in an instant.
The child will do anything rather than entertain the idea that an injury has been
done to it by its own progenitor - especially if the parent is charming to other people
and impressive in the professional sphere. The child will just assume that there must
be something deeply wrong with itself to justify the indifference. It must have failed in some way,
it must in its essence be profoundly ugly, repulsive, deformed or lacking.
This is the only conceivable explanation for the blankness with which their existence is received.
The adult who emerges from such a complicated, veiled childhood is likely to be in a confused
state. On the surface, they may experience only good will and a continued desire to
please their early caregivers. But deep within themselves, they may feel lacerating doubt,
paranoia and self-contempt. To numb such feelings, they may take to drink or develop numbing, calming
addictions to keep themselves from constant encounters with their perceived repulsiveness.
A measure of resolution comes when we can take on board the term ‘emotional neglect’
and treat it, and thereby our own stories, with requisite seriousness. Our childhood sorrows may
not rank among the most obvious or newsworthy, but they may be substantial and genuine nevertheless.
Our levels of shame attest as much. We were not hit, but we were injured. We failed to receive
the love that makes people firm and whole, that allows them to feel authentic and deserving,
that prevents them from being impressed by those who mistreat them
and that stops them wanting to kill themselves when they mess up.
We hear so much about the virtues of bravery, we miss out on the importance of learning more
regularly to feel - with appropriate cathartic intent - usefully sorry for ourselves.