The Impact of Neglect on Every Aspect of my Life

It is amazing how much I don’t know about basic human functioning. Sure, I taught myself how to survive, but every time something new comes up, I freak out and break down. I have no basis upon which to draw from, just a gaping hole where a loving and caring childhood should have been.

My father was an addict and a dealer. I can count on my fingers the memories that don’t involve him in a stoned catatonic state on the couch, his house a hoarder’s squalor. I moved out at 16, living off charity and government handouts to get through school.

I survived. But I have learnt something fundamental to my existence, that is: I don’t know how. How to do what? How to do anything.

Neglect is a specific form of abuse marked by absence. Little care, guidance, instruction, or opportunities for modelling. Just a void where life should have been. I was left to comfort myself in a volatile environment, keep myself safe, and sort out my food, hygiene, and clothing needs.

I was taught some stuff, but a lot of things had to be gleaned from unreliable sources. Television and peers became my instructors, then the ‘how to’ sections in magazines and books. I got good at faking it until I made it… but I’m still working on the ‘making it’ part.

I could give endless examples of these kinds of neglect-formed deficiencies, but I feel like the list could encompass most aspects of my life.

From the practical, how do you shave?
To the social, how do you make friends?
To employment, how do you find and keep work that is at least tolerable?
To the spiritual, what is the point of all this?

I feel like there is no basis for me to begin. That there is no scaffolding upon which I can start my journey into the world — this terrifies me.

I find myself in a constant state of anxiety, questioning everything that I think, questioning every innate response that I have.

Is this the right thing to do, or am I responding with a child’s answer to an adult problem?

That child — my past self, the one that taught me how to survive, still has significant sway. He kept me alive and intends to keep doing so. He warns me against relying on others, he tells me what worked and insists that it will work again.

Unfortunately, he is wrong — or at least his responses are no longer optimal. I don’t have the inner guidebook that most people seem to have as they move into their adult lives. I have had to build it on my own, and I had to build it upon quicksand.

Where others had their parents guiding them, I had to work it out on my own.
Where others could ask for help, I had to find that help on my own.
Where others had positive options modelled to them, I had something to avoid becoming.

It feels like I know what not to do, but not what to do. With everything, all the time.

It's unsurprising then to know that I have anxiety. I struggle to know what to say or when to say it. I struggle to feel safe in new environments. I fear the unknown. I hate ambiguity. Panic attacks are commonplace.

I write like this to make sense of my inner world, and I share it because I know that you may have had similar experiences to me, and thus may find some comfort from the knowledge that you are not alone.

That said, I am hyper-aware that this entire piece may come across as an elaborate ‘woe is me,’ but as described, I don’t have a basis upon which to ground my self-expression in a socially acceptable format.

Perhaps that is the anxiety speaking again.

I wanted this piece to explain the slipperiness of neglect. Trying to define its impact is like trying to pin down mercury, and overcoming it is harder still. It feels like battling a multiheaded hydra. I finally get comfortable in one part of my life and then things change. I have slayed one head, only to discover two more that up to this point I didn’t know existed.

I am now a father of two young boys. They are my joy and purpose, but they are also the cause of many more hydra heads. In attempting to teach them how to survive and thrive I am discovering just how little I know about life — or more specifically, just how little I was taught as a child myself.

Once again, the physical ‘how to’ knowledge is just the tip of the iceberg, how do you organise a household? How much is too much television? The real issues come when I attempt to aid them emotionally, socially, and spiritually.

It is hard to have confidence in my truth when my truths come as a response to neglect. What can I offer them when my experiences and mental states differ so significantly from theirs? The only solution in my mind is to seek professional help and read books that cater to people with my experiences.

Here are some of the best I have found:
‘Running On Empty’ by Jonice Webb
‘Mindsight’ by Daniel J. Siegel
‘The Highly Sensitive Person’ by Elaine N. Aron
‘The Body Keeps The Score’ by Bessel van der Kolk

These are poor substitutes for a loving, caring, attention filled and safe childhood, but they are at least a starting point. Beyond that, I have found that connecting to people with similar pasts has been beneficial.

We all “don’t know how” in one area or another and can therefore help fill the gaps in each other’s inner worlds.

Point is, you are not alone, despite maybe feeling that way at times.
 

If you can relate to this piece and want to connect, please do so @zacpphillips. I welcome all discussions and questions. Together we can learn, grow, and accept ourselves.

And if you want to read more about my past, I encourage you to check out ‘Under the Influence, Reclaiming my Childhood’. It’s out now, online in its entirety for free.