There’s something I’ve debated bringing up, but there’s a point I want to make and this is a good example.

We’ve been talking about emotional neglect. Sometimes this is coupled with physical abuse, but not always.

My first memories are feelings. Feeling that something was wrong, but I didn’t know what, didn’t know how to make it right. Feeling alone and lost and maybe a little scared.

I believe I was feeling emotional neglect.

The problem with emotional neglect is that it’s so… intangible.

I feel hurt. Am I hurt? I feel lonely. But Mom is right over there. I feel hungry. Am I hungry? I’m not hungry for food. What am I hungry for?

Those thoughts devolve into:

Maybe I’m crazy.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me.

I was disoriented, until this happened…

Mom was getting ready to wash my hair in the kitchen sink. I never liked standing on that stool, bending over, the feel of it.

This time was worse. Mom pressed my head so hard my arms got tired from pressing up, fearful that I’d crack my teeth on the thick white porcelain sink. Her fingernails dug into my scalp. I told myself I was too sensitive. Be stronger!

But then pink threads wove through the water running into the drain. They were thin, then thicker, then red.

I knew this was wrong.

That night in bed, I carefully touched the long, tender places, happy. Proof. I wasn’t crazy.

When the scabs formed, I liked them, liked feeling those three long bumpy ridges that curved across my scalp, the short little one near my ear.

When the scabs fell off, I was sad.

.         .        .

The reason I wanted to write about this is that maybe you were emotionally neglected but didn’t get any proof.

Maybe you thought you were crazy.

Maybe you thought you were defective.

Please hear this:

What you felt was real.

You were not crazy.

You were not defective.

You are beautiful and precious and you deserved to feel cherished.

That was then, this is now.

Now we get to do it ourselves. We get to love ourselves the way we deserve. We get to hold ourselves, tell ourselves we’re precious, and wrap ourselves in a soft blanket. We get to be kind, to speak gently. To listen.

Yes.

Even though we’re all grown up, that little one is still inside, longing for our love.

Chewing the Cud of Good

Thankful for softness.