Maya’s silent world began to form at the age of eight, learning to keep to herself. It wasn’t because of shyness, but if she cried, it brought no reaction. No one cared to notice. Her mother was either in the kitchen or at work, while her father was often away. On this specific afternoon in school, she scraped her knee in the playground. It was a minor injury and healed in a few days, but the internal struggle remained.
It was marked; homework and chores filled the conversation at the dinner table. No one inquired about Mya’s feelings. Over time, she grew accustomed to it. Mya began to speak less. Mya became the model daughter, a “good girl” which was defined as someone who studied well, helped at home, and never demanded anything.
She was thirty-four when she found herself in a therapist’s office. “My job is fine, my friends are good, but I feel as if I am outside my life and just watching it happen,” is how she started, describing her situation.
She had never experienced a loud home, with the absence of shouting and shattered plates. In the same breath, there was no kindness. She received the essentials from her parents. Maybe love existed, but it was purely function. No person ever taught her feelings, and no one ever mentioned them. She grew up unaware of how to soothe her sadness, and how to seek assistance without feeling guilty. Rather, she learned the need to remain strong, keep quiet, and believe she was overreacting.
This made her too independent as an adult. It was difficult to express hurt, even with those she loved. She felt almost nothing as significant events like funerals, weddings, and birthdays came and went. She could spend hours listening to others, but she would remain silent when the conversation turned to her. “Why do I feel empty when nothing bad happened to me?” was a question she frequently asked herself. and “I support everyone no matter what, but when can I lose it?”
Her therapist once remarked, “This is emotional neglect.” She started crying – not for what had happened, but for what had never happened – the wanting, the quiet rooms, the missing pieces. “You mean wanting more is okay?” she inquired. The therapist said, “Yes.” “It is human.”
She began to heal gradually by allowing herself to feel, not by doing more. She talked about the things she had missed. “I see you,” she said, imagining her younger self. Now I’m here. She kept a notebook in which she recorded her emotions, even if it was only one word per day. She stopped thinking her needs were too great and discovered people who were as concerned about her heart as they were about her success. She eventually realized that growing up without emotional intimacy can cause one to become estranged from oneself.
Some injuries result from the incident. Others from what never occurred – the embrace that never materialized, the soft voice you never heard, the unspoken words, “It’s okay, I’m here.”
If you see yourself in Maya’s story, remember this: Remember that you are not broken, that you are not overreacting, and that you are not asking for too much if you recognize yourself in Maya’s story. You weren’t seen. Healing starts when you learn to see yourself.
Hear it now if you haven’t heard it before.
We are here to support you during your painful times, quiet times, and gradual self-discovery. No wound is too concealed to be healed, and no tale is too minor to be significant.
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Sonia Jha