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.