Invisible Children

Recently, I shared a post on Instagram about what it means to grow up as an Invisible child, in my case, learning to believe that being “low maintenance” made me more lovable.

This post encapsulated one of the most important realizations of my life—coming to understand that, as a child, I had internalized the belief that I was a burden.

That unconscious story shaped so much of how I moved through the world… and recognizing it marked a turning point in my healing journey.

Based on the DMs, comments, and shares…

It’s clear that this one hit home for many of you, too.

So I wanted to expand on it here.

To give this topic more space.

And to offer some food for thought, if this is your story, too.

Let’s talk about what it really means to grow up emotionally neglected—and what it looks like to heal from it now.

🧠 Symptoms

Do any of these sound familiar?

• You find it hard to cry—or even name your feelings.
  

• You don’t ask for help. It feels like you just shouldn't, or you don’t know what to ask for.
  

• You often feel lonely in relationships, even when people are physically present.
  

• You avoid conflict at all costs… and then melt down later.
  

• You’re kind to others—and incredibly harsh to yourself.
  

• You give others the benefit of the doubt, but rarely offer yourself the same.
  

• You feel like there’s a hole inside you, but you don’t know what would fill it.

🧩 Name the Pattern

This is what childhood emotional neglect can grow into in adulthood.

It’s quiet. It’s hard to spot.
It doesn’t leave bruises—just a lingering sense that something’s missing.

You were likely cared for in the ways people measure on paper: Fed. Clothed. Driven to school. Taught to say please and thank you.

But your inner world?
Your feelings? Your fears? Your needs?
They were ignored, dismissed, or shamed.

So you adapted.
You learned to suppress your emotions, shrink your needs, and disappear when you were hurting.
You learned that being “easy” made you lovable.
That maturity meant silence.

You were praised for being independent.
And so, you became self-soothing. Self-contained. Low maintenance.
You took pride in needing nothing—because no one ever showed you how to need safely.

But those strategies eventually stop working.
The numbness set in. The loneliness grew.
And despite everything looking “fine” from the outside, you begin to feel hollow on the inside.

It’s a wound that was never named—
and one that so many people carry, quietly.

You’re not alone.
And you’re not imagining it.

💬 My Story

I was raised in a low-income, well-meaning Christian household in the Midwest. My parents were deeply involved in their work, church, and caring for both their parents and their children.

They were the kind of people who’d drop everything to help a neighbor move, bring a dish to pass, coach a sports team, or fix someone’s hot water heater.

Everyone around us saw them as generous, reliable, kind. So I did too.

But, despite all that outward care for others, I felt largely unseen. Not abused. Not mistreated. Just… emotionally alone.

I internalized that absence of connection as something wrong with me.

If everyone else experienced my parents as loving and present, the only logical conclusion was:

I must be the problem.

I was raised to believe that needing help meant I was failing.

So I became what they wanted:
Strong. Quiet. Reasonable. Self-contained. Independent.

I turned 18, moved out, and it was like… we silently agreed to stop trying. No calls. No invitations home. No “we miss you.”

When I moved across the country at 23, this continued.
And for years, I carried this quiet, aching weight.
That it must’ve been something I did.
That I hadn’t tried hard enough.
That the absence of a relationship was somehow my fault.

By my late-twenties, I started to notice something else.

I hadn’t cried in years. Not once.
It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t stubbornness.
It was like the wiring just wasn’t there.

When hard things happened, I didn’t break down—I shut down. Blank. Frozen. Quiet. And then, later, I’d explode over something completely unrelated.

Asking for help didn’t even cross my mind. It wasn’t an option—it was a foreign language.

I thought needing support meant I was doing life wrong.

I avoided conflict, fearful of losing the few connections I had.

I worked hard to keep the peace at the cost of my own needs.

In my career I was considered successful.  But I carried this quiet craving. Not for attention. But for something steady. Something safe. Something unconditional.

The kind of support I had never really known.

So I went looking for it. In all the wrong places. In people, roles, and relationships that could never make me feel whole. 

Eventually, I learned something I wish I’d known all along:

My parents didn’t show up for me, now I’d have to learn how to show up for myself.

👥 Children of Emotionally Immature Parents

This wound has a name.

And it’s more common than you think.

If your parents struggled with empathy, dismissed your feelings, or made you feel like your emotions were too much—you may have been raised by emotionally immature parents.

These parents often:

• Expect children to regulate their emotions
  

• Become reactive when you express needs
  

• Lack the capacity for deep, mutual connection
  

• Overvalue image and obedience
  

• Teach you that being “good” means being quiet
  

You might grow up constantly second-guessing yourself, chasing approval, or blaming yourself for how others treat you.

You might not trust that love can coexist with conflict or honesty.

Want to go deeper?

🔗 Start here with Dr. Lindsay Gibson’s book or resources on this dynamic.

🧰 Healing from Emotional Neglect: A Self-Inventory

If any of this resonates, try this gentle check-in:

✅ Do I minimize my own needs or apologize for having them?

✅ Do I freeze, shut down, or go numb when things get overwhelming?

✅ Do I struggle to identify or express what I’m feeling?

✅ Do I feel uncomfortable asking for help, even when I want it?

✅ Do I avoid conflict, even if it means losing myself?

✅ Do I judge myself harshly, even while giving others the benefit of the doubt?

✅ Do I equate independence with worthiness or strength?

If you said yes to more than a few of these…

You’re responding exactly how you were taught to survive.

And you can unlearn it.

💖 Reparenting Yourself

Here’s what saved me:

• Giving myself what I never received. Encouragement. Empathy. Permission to feel.
  

• Learning that needing people doesn’t make me weak—it makes me human.

• Speaking to myself like someone I love. Not a critic.
  

• Letting conflict become a doorway to intimacy, not rejection.
  

This work is gentle. And slow. Like 5 years for me. 

But when you reparent yourself,

You stop waiting for the love that never came—

And you start allowing yourself to feel what's all around you.

To give yourself what you know deep down that you need. 

And it’s a totally new lease on life.

🌿 Final Thought

You didn’t ask for too much.

You just learned early on to expect too little.

The ache you feel isn’t weakness—it’s awareness.

It’s your system finally noticing that something was missing

Healing doesn’t always start with huge revelations.

Sometimes it begins with letting yourself feel

without shutting it down.

This isn’t you falling apart.

You’re not behind.

You’re becoming aware and learning it’s safe to have needs.

What do you think of this idea?

I’m playing with something new: a Meme Journal Club.

After I created the post that inspired this issue, I re-read it—and it hit me hard.

So much came up, I had to start writing just to process it.

That reflection became the “My Story” section you just read.

It made me wonder… what if we (the Mental Health Mail community) picked one meme each week—and used it as a journaling prompt?

Whether you wrote two sentences or two pages, we could share our reflections, learn from each other, and connect through our stories.

Would you want to join?

👉 Just hit reply and say “I’m in” if you’d try it.

📬 Mental Health Mail