When I was in kindergarten and first grade in New York City, teachers had not yet made the rule that we had to give Valentine’s cards to everyone in the class. We all had our little art project mailboxes made out of decorated brown paper bags perched expectantly on the sides of our desks. The “popular” kids’ bags brimmed over with the bright red missives of “love.” Invariably mine was, as Tony Soprano would say, “a little light.” I felt like a “reject” or a “queer,” back when that word was not associated with sexual orientation but rather with being weird and outcast. By the time they made the rule, it was way too late for my battered ego. And I knew that the kids only stuffed my mailbox because they “had to.” But I would have felt like a reject anyway because that is how a child internalizes neglect. I am ignored because I’m worthless, or worse.
As I got older, I was so used to being a misfit, an introvert, and later a rebel, that I did not get caught in the romance around Valentine’s Day. But I certainly saw the big build-up and letdown among so many of the kids around me. Valentine’s Day can be a dreaded nightmare for many who are unpartnered and often even worse for those that are.
As a couples’ therapist, working with many clients who have histories of childhood trauma and neglect, I am faced daily with major disconnects and misunderstandings between them about “what makes me feel loved” and giving and receiving. Valentine’s Day can be a veritable hornet’s nest for both, resulting in major ruptures and hurt feelings that endure like the ghosts of Valentine’s Day past. Oy vey.
This year I had an idea to help my struggling couples. In anticipation of the potentially spikey day, I thought, how about if we head it off with a conversation or two about “what makes me feel loved.” I still feel shame about my ungracious response to a beautiful gift my husband had picked out and bought for me over 25 years ago. I was convinced he bought that instead of the printer I wanted for my computer out of stinginess. It was only much later that I learned that the gift he had bought me, a set of Italian ceramic canisters for my baking ingredients, cost at least five times as much as the lowly printer I had requested. I still have the canisters, and besides being a lovely home for my various flours, they are a ready reminder that I do have the power to inflict great hurt.
The child of neglect can readily believe that only someone who “matters” has the power to inflict harm, to be mean. Someone inconsequential is not important enough to injure another. Not! It is a myth essential to be corrected and healed for the sake of all involved!
For many, it is a hard question to answer, even about oneself. What makes me feel loved? And if I don’t know, I certainly can’t communicate it intelligibly to my partner, who may be “trying,” failing, and lapsing into hopelessness, impatience, frustration, and even ultimately anger. If pleasing me is enough of a moving target, of course, they will give up in fatigue and despair. Then I can insist I was “right!” I am simply not worth the trouble. I have the insidious power to fulfill my own bitter prophecy.
For many, it is a hard question to answer, even about oneself. What makes me feel loved?
Rejecting
At the core of childhood neglect is the often unremembered and nonetheless indelible experience or perception of rejection. It is a ready and “logical” interpretation for a seemingly chronic lack of attention or priority: I am unwanted, unworthy, undesirable, unlovable. And it is a “handy” default that can readily slide, often before they even know it, into withdrawal, sulkiness, or even unwitting rejection of others.
I remember years ago, my therapist saying to me, with that sledgehammer voice she sometimes used to get through my thick cloud of triggered mud, “YOU’RE the rejector!” I did not get it – when I shut down as impenetrably as Fort Knox after a perceived a slight, a whiff of dislike, complaint, or judgment towards me, I am. I did not recognize that what I thought of as my “self-protection” or quiet scream of “leave me alone!” could even be experienced as harshness or even hostility. Frankly, it simply did not occur to me that I could have an impact. Again, that is the mark of neglect. Whatever the child might do to attract or garner the loving attention they crave does not work. I never imagined that I could be mean or rejecting. Not me!
Valentine’s Day can indeed pose special challenges for the child of neglect of any age. The core dilemma surrounding neglect is the gnawing ambivalence about interpersonal connection. There is, to a varying degree, the quaking ache of longing for closeness in a fierce tug of war with the terror and even rage around abandonment and loss. It can be a persisting plague that might feel or seem unresolvable. I used to berate myself with, “I simply can’t get along with humans.” And many survivors of neglect tend to “people” their relationship world with animals instead. I have (long) since joyfully and gratefully proven myself wrong. It is not an easy journey, but imminently possible and definitely worth it. I have also learned that when neglect survivor clients seem viciously rejecting of me, they may really be wishing I might “find them in their hiding place.” Or perhaps unwittingly showing me how it was.
Another of Valentine’s challenges has to do with gifts, as in the case of my canister set. It may be a day when we hope or wish for a particular gift from that special person: flowers, chocolates, or something personal. Again, gifts can embody the dilemma. If I permit you to get it “right,” do I run the risk of puncturing my wall of solitude and self-reliance? Without realizing it, one may become the rejector. I always say, “It takes humility to receive a gift, to let the other know what would indeed hit the mark, and make me feel loved.”
There is no one “right,” “normal” or “best” expression of love. I encourage us all to examine our own “not me,” let others know what makes us feel loved, and give love a chance!
There is no one “right,” “normal” or “best” expression of love.
Renaming
In 1988, the renowned author and playwright Eve Ensler had the idea of rebranding February 14 as V Day. In conjunction with her historic theater piece that rocked the world, the Vagina Monologues, it was to be a day devoted to ending violence against women, girls, and the planet, V being for vulva or vagina. Ensler subsequently changed her name to “V.”
Transforming or expanding the focus and intent of Valentine’s Day is a fine idea! To teach our loved ones how they can effectively communicate love to us and thereby break the chain of rejection is a greater or lesser form of eradicating at least some measure of “violence.” Betty Dodson, champion of the female orgasm, was known for saying, “Viva la Vulva!”
Thanks, Betty! Thanks, V! And Happy V Day to all!
Today’s song articulates the complexity of love, and is in honor of David Crosby, who left us on January 18, 2023.
My book “Working with the Developmental Trauma of Childhood Neglect: Using Psychotherapy and Attachment Theory Techniques in Clinical Practice” was published on August 31st. It provides psychotherapists with a multidimensional view of childhood neglect and a practical roadmap for facilitating survivors’ healing.