When Nothing Happened, but Nothing Matters.

Learning to Hear and Heal the Silent Burden of Preverbal Neglect.

There was this story that often got told at family gatherings. Whenever it was shared, it was followed by laughter. Why my family considered this story to be humorous was always confusing to me. And yet, I would join in the laughter to avoid causing any discomfort for the people in the room. After a few decades of therapy, I have come to see that the story is not only completely devoid of humor, but it is also, in fact, terribly sad.

The story goes like this: My mother and her best friend were raising seven children between them. The two women lived next door to each other, and the families were very close. Their parents had also been close family friends, making us a chosen family in many ways. One year, my mother and her best friend found out that they were pregnant (again!) within just a few months of each other. When they discovered the news, they sat down together and they cried.

That is it. That is the story told among the now nine children about how the last two of us came into the world: unwanted. Apparently, this was amusing to my siblings, and to my mother and her best friend.

By most significant measures, my childhood was perfectly fine. I had a home, food on the table, two parents (well, really four parents and eight siblings), and an excess of resources at my disposal. However, as I got older, a vast emptiness and profound existential despair began to ache deep in my bones. This emptiness led to a lifelong journey of self-discovery, solo-travel, education, and an immense amount of therapy. It also led to a deep spiritual curiosity, religiosity, a masters in social work, then seminary and eventually to the priesthood.

Yet, I still struggle with maintaining consistent connections in personal relationships. I still avoid asking for help or acknowledging my own needs. I still feel an emptiness and despair at times that can become so overwhelming it drives me to isolate myself for comfort and security.

My life now, much like my childhood, is objectively fine. I have been successful in my work and vocation. I have resources at my disposal and a community of good friends whom I love and trust. If you asked anyone who knows me, I believe they would say I am fiercely independent, deeply curious and  intelligent, and professionally successful. When I told my brother recently about a new adventure I was undertaking, he said, “Well, if anyone can do it, you can. I wish I had your magic. You just make stuff happen!”

And he is right. I do “make stuff happen.” I can do most things I set my mind to accomplish, and I will do them alone, because I always had to.

You see, I was the first baby born to a mother in generations who did not have a nanny. My mother had been cared for in infancy by a nanny, and so were my two older siblings. But by the time I unexpectedly entered the family system, six years after my siblings, the nanny was no longer present. My mother suddenly found herself with an infant and two young children, but with no “help”. For the first time, she was solely responsible as the primary caregiver of an infant.

While my mother loved babies, she had no idea how to care for them in a way that develops healthy attachment. That vital labor had been outsourced for generations on the wealthy, elite side of my family tree. While my siblings had received dedicated care from the family au pair, what I received was nothing. And nothing is something. Nothing matters.

Ruth Cohn, a psychotherapist and expert on developmental trauma, notes that neglect is the story of “nothing”. It is the story of all that did not happen that children developmentally need. It is a story told by clients who report that “nothing happened” to them. 

This “nothing” is precisely what leads to that vast emptiness. While it can feel like existential despair, it is actually preverbal trauma. The wound feels like nothing because when it was inflicted, there was no language to verbalize the experience of woundedness. And when needs were communicated through crying, or tantrums or reaching out for care the neglect became reinforced and the lack of care simply affirmed in the infant brain. 

The wound of neglect can manifest outwardly in the wounded adult as self-reliance, perfectionism, over-functioning, and high competence. Alternatively, it can show up as numbing, addiction, shutdown, and isolation. Often, it shows up as both. Ultimately, neglect results in a fragmented sense of self, feeling like “too much” and yet “not enough”, alongside a diminished capacity to connect with others in trusting, consistent, and mutually beneficial relationships.

Assessing for the wounds of neglect in ourselves and in our clients is crucial, and here is why: Treatment begins with uncovering and naming the nothing that happened.

Not everyone is as lucky as I was. I had a recurring family story that eventually helped me understand the emptiness I felt growing up. I had a clear narrative that explained why I often felt unwanted and consistently sought to be “chosen.” Many people do not have these stories. They have no witnesses to their neglect and no narrative to tell because neglect is so often preverbal.

Therefore, clinical work with neglect must also begin with non-verbal interventions. To be more precise, treating neglect wounds must begin with somatic assessment and continue through somatic processing. The therapist or practitioner must provide a safe relational container of connection and consistent care for what is often a long journey toward understanding and naming the invisible wound of early childhood neglect.

If we as practitioners fail to assess clients (and ourselves) for the profound wound of neglect and rely solely on verbal communication, using standard language like “self-leadership” or “accessing self”, we can unintentionally place more burdens on the client’s system. Often, it is a system that only knows “self-like manager parts” to be trustworthy, and only views absolute isolation, or absolute self-denial, as truly secure and safe.

Of course, my mother wanted me, or eventually she did. And we had a close relationship throughout my life. She did the best she could with the emotional resources she had in that moment. And yet, it wasn’t enough. Due to generational neglect and trauma, the capacity she had for attachment and consistent connection and care was not enough for my infant brain to develop a sense of core security and safety. So, while I had a great capacity for self-reliance, I had limited capacity for self-leadership. Because a secure Self is developed through secure relationships with others first. 

Now, at the age of 53, I am still learning to trust others. I am learning to ask for help and actively receive consistent care. I am learning to see these wounds in the people I serve in prison and in private practice. I am learning to grieve what I did not get and to help others do the same. 

I am learning that while “nothing” happened, that nothing matters more than words can say. 

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Here are a few common signs of early childhood neglect to look for when assessing adult clients (or yourself).

*This is not a complete list of symptoms related to the trauma of early childhood neglect. Below are a few resources for a deeper dive into assessment and treatment of profound childhood trauma and neglect. There are many resources to explore and many different theories and treatment modalities. 

• Over-functioning
• Hyper self-reliance 
• Perfectionism
• Avoidance of sustained eye contact
• Preference for pets over people
• Lack of long-term, caring, intimate relationships 
• An existential and undefinable sense of grief, loneliness or despair 
• Lack of early childhood memories 
• Disconnection from bodily sensations such as hunger, tiredness or pain
• Performative therapeutic engagement or people pleasing tendencies 
• Concern for burdening the therapist by “over-sharing”
• Focusing on work issues and avoiding relational troubles in therapy
• Repeatedly disengaging from therapy and then returning in crisis 
• Lack of insight into personal desires or wants
• A sense that no one can be trusted and a pride in “rugged individualism” 
• Having an abundance of material possessions but a lack of joy in activities 
• Fear of dying alone while also being able to identify “close connections”
• A sense of disgust at the idea of asking for help or needing attention
• Avoiding medical care
• Numbing behaviors such as alcohol, drugs, social media, pornography or television
• Reckless behaviors such as criminal activity, risky adventure sports or endorphin and dopamine producing drugs
• Seeking to be influential, famous or to be in the “spot light” 
• Rapidly changing jobs, relationships, frequent moves or consistently traveling and avoiding stillness, peace or quiet
• A near obsession with Ernest Hemingway (while not a clinically sound indicator, I am noticing a trend). 

Working with the Developmental Trauma of Childhood Neglect by Ruth Cohn

Running on Empty by Jonice Webb

To Trust is to Survive: Toward a Developmental Model of Moral Injury

Profiles of Adult Emotional Dynamics

Ruth Cohn