When people seek therapy, they often describe symptoms like anxiety, low mood, relationship struggles, or a persistent sense that something is missing. Yet when I ask about childhood, the response is frequently: “Nothing terrible happened, it was fine really.”
This is an important moment, because trauma is not always obvious. It doesn’t always look like violence, abuse, or dramatic events. More often than we realise, trauma is woven into the absence of what we needed: warmth, stability, safety, or someone to turn to when life felt overwhelming.
The Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACE) study first drew widespread attention to this in the late 1990s (Felitti et al., 1998). It showed that a wide range of early experiences — from abuse to neglect to household dysfunction — increase the risk of poor health, mental illness, and relationship problems in adulthood. Later research has confirmed that the accumulation of ACEs correlates with higher rates of depression, anxiety, cardiovascular disease, substance use, and even premature mortality (Hughes et al., 2017).
So while many adults believe they “got through” childhood, their nervous systems may be carrying silent imprints that resurface in adult life. Let’s explore some of the most common ways this shows up.
The Disappearing Act: Learning to Switch Off Feelings
One of the most common patterns I see is emotional disconnection. Adults describe feeling as if they are going through the motions of life but not truly experiencing it. They can work, parent, and socialise — but inside, there is a flatness, a sense that nothing feels real.
This is not indifference. It is often the legacy of emotional numbing, a survival strategy children learn when emotions feel unsafe. If tears were met with ridicule, anger with punishment, or sadness with silence, the child’s best option was to shut those feelings down.
Neurological studies back this up. Chronic stress in childhood has been shown to affect brain structures, including the amygdala (our emotional alarm system), hippocampus (memory and stress regulation), and prefrontal cortex (responsible for impulse control and self-awareness). Over time, these changes can reduce the brain’s ability to process and regulate emotions effectively (Teicher & Samson, 2016).
In adulthood, this can feel like being cut off from oneself. While emotional numbing protects against overwhelming pain, it also mutes the capacity for joy, intimacy, and spontaneity. Clients often tell me they long to feel more alive, but fear that opening the door to feelings might “break” them. Part of therapy is gently showing the nervous system that emotions are survivable — and even enriching.
Always the Strong One: Why Vulnerability Feels Impossible
Another way ACEs live on is through difficulty with vulnerability. Many adults can listen endlessly to others, but when it comes to their own needs, they freeze. They fear being judged, rejected, or worse — dismissed.
This pattern usually begins in families where children were discouraged from expressing their feelings or were told they were “too sensitive.” Others grew up in homes where the adults were overwhelmed, leaving no room for the child’s emotions. Over time, children learn that being open is unsafe. They adopt roles such as the helper, the achiever, or the peacemaker.
The cost of this adaptation is that as adults, they may find it almost impossible to ask for help, say no, or show when they are hurting. They carry an invisible rule: don’t burden anyone, don’t show weakness.
Attachment research helps explain this. Insecure attachment patterns formed in childhood are strongly linked to difficulties with trust and intimacy later in life (Mikulincer & Shaver, 2016). Fear of vulnerability is not about personality — it’s a trauma imprint that can keep people isolated even in relationships that look “successful” from the outside.
In therapy, the task is often to gently test what happens when vulnerability is allowed. For some, speaking honestly and being met with empathy is a completely new experience. That small moment can begin to undo years of silence.
Growing Up Too Soon: The Hidden Weight of Parentification
A particularly heavy but often overlooked legacy of ACEs is parentification — when children step into caregiving roles that are not developmentally appropriate.
This may mean soothing a parent who is distressed, acting as a peacekeeper in conflict, or taking responsibility for siblings. Sometimes the caregiving is practical (cooking, cleaning, managing money); sometimes it is emotional (becoming a parent’s confidant or therapist).
Children in these roles are often praised for being “mature beyond their years.” But this masks the cost: their own needs go unmet, and they learn that love and safety are conditional on performance.
Decades later, this can show up as chronic burnout, difficulty setting boundaries, or a tendency to take on far more responsibility than is healthy. Adults who were parentified often describe feeling guilty for resting, or deeply uncomfortable when others care for them.
Research confirms the long-term impact: Hooper et al. (2011) found strong links between parentification and adult mental health difficulties including anxiety, depression, and codependent relationships. What was once an act of survival can become a pattern of self-neglect.
The Wounds We Don’t See: Trauma in the Absence of Care
Perhaps the most challenging truth is that trauma does not always come from what was done to us — sometimes it comes from what was missing.
Children need comfort when they are distressed, encouragement when they try, and safety when they fail. When these things are absent, children may not have a dramatic story of abuse, but they carry an emptiness that shapes self-esteem and relationships for years to come.
Neglect, inconsistency, or emotional absence are just as harmful as overt abuse. The ACEs framework recognises this: both abuse and neglect are strongly correlated with adult health outcomes (Felitti et al., 1998). Hughes et al. (2017) emphasise that cumulative exposure — whether active harm or silent absence — increases risks across almost every domain of wellbeing.
The difficulty is that many adults dismiss these experiences as “nothing” because there was no single traumatic event. But the nervous system remembers what the mind minimises. Recognising this is often the first step in self-compassion and healing.
Breaking the Cycle: What Healing Can Look Like
The most important message I can share is that early trauma does not have to dictate the rest of a person’s life. The nervous system is not fixed. With the right support, it can learn safety again.
Healing often involves more than talking — because trauma is stored not only in memory but also in the body. Approaches such as EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing), somatic experiencing, and mindfulness-based practices help release the physiological stress patterns linked to ACEs (van der Kolk, 2014).
Just as vital is the role of safe, consistent relationships. Studies of resilience have found that even one caring adult in childhood can buffer against the worst outcomes of adversity (Werner & Smith, 2001). For adults, new secure relationships — whether with friends, partners, therapists, or communities — can offer reparative experiences that reshape internal expectations of safety and trust.
Healing is rarely quick or linear. It is a process of teaching the body and mind that the world can be different now. But every step toward connection and self-compassion is evidence that we are not doomed to repeat the past.
A Gentle Closing Thought
If you recognise yourself in any of these patterns — the emotional disconnection, the fear of vulnerability, the exhaustion of always being “the strong one” — it may not be because you are failing. It may be because you are carrying the protective strategies of a child who did their best to survive.
Acknowledging this is not about blaming parents or reliving the past. It is about understanding the present. With awareness, compassion, and support, those old strategies can soften. We can learn to feel again, to risk connection, to rest, and to accept care.
Our childhoods may shape us, but they do not define us forever. Healing is always possible.
References
- Chapman, D. P., Whitfield, C. L., Felitti, V. J., Dube, S. R., Edwards, V. J., & Anda, R. F. (2004). Adverse childhood experiences and the risk of depressive disorders in adulthood. Journal of Affective Disorders, 82(2), 217–225.
- Felitti, V. J., Anda, R. F., Nordenberg, D., Williamson, D. F., Spitz, A. M., Edwards, V., … & Marks, J. S. (1998). Relationship of childhood abuse and household dysfunction to many of the leading causes of death in adults. American Journal of Preventive Medicine, 14(4), 245–258.
- Hooper, L. M., Doehler, K., Wallace, S. A., & Hannah, N. J. (2011). The parentification inventory: Development, validation, and cross-validation. American Journal of Family Therapy, 39(3), 226–241.
- Hughes, K., Bellis, M. A., Hardcastle, K. A., Sethi, D., Butchart, A., Mikton, C., … & Dunne, M. P. (2017). The effect of multiple adverse childhood experiences on health: a systematic review and meta-analysis. The Lancet Public Health, 2(8), e356–e366.
- Mikulincer, M., & Shaver, P. R. (2016). Attachment in adulthood: Structure, dynamics, and change. Guilford Publications.
- Teicher, M. H., & Samson, J. A. (2016). Annual research review: Enduring neurobiological effects of childhood abuse and neglect. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 57(3), 241–266.
- van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking.
- Werner, E. E., & Smith, R. S. (2001). Journeys from childhood to midlife: Risk, resilience, and recovery. Cornell University Press.
Dr M’s thoughts 