Our first experience of rejection often occurs in childhood — and it can be lethal.

We might find ourselves shunned, ignored, or even abused by those who are supposed to love and protect us. We don’t understand what is occurring because we’re young and vulnerable, so we assume that we must be stupid, ugly, or unlovable. We must be the cause of our guardian’s unhappiness and anger. We blame ourselves, becoming painfully self-conscious. And the sad fact is that none of that ever really leaves us. We grow in body and we become adults — but the damage caused by those who were probably scarred by childhood rejection themselves (whilst lacking the awareness required NOT to visit what they suffered on another) has been done.

Every day, billions of people are struggling to navigate their way through life, wondering why they feel the way they do — thinking “I should be happier, what is wrong with me?” or “Why do I feel so second-rate compared to others?” or “Why do I take criticism to heart and feel the need to defend and justify myself all the time?” 

It’s because, during their most formative years, someone programmed them to believe that they weren’t good enough. They weren’t worth loving, nurturing, or being proud of. For a soul who is fairly new to this experience called life on Earth, that’s a devastating message. They, the others, must be right. After all, they’re the authority figures — if they deem us to be less than we ought to be, then it’s true.

Make no bones about it, the pain of rejection lodges in the soul like a carelessly fired bullet that doesn’t pass through. It remains stuck within, becoming part of us — something that cannot be seen but can be felt. It creates infection, poisoning our perceptions and beliefs — especially those connected to ourselves. Serious neglect and abuse will even neurologically alter a person from what they originally were and therefore change who they become.

Of course, rejection in life is unavoidable. And it has its role to play because we exist in a relative dimension. We can only know what anything is relative to something else. We can’t know the light without also knowing the dark. Happiness would be meaningless to us if we hadn’t experienced unhappiness. We only recognise square relative to round. If there was only square in the world and no other shape, we wouldn’t know what square is. It would just be. On that basis, acceptance and approval would hold no value to us if we hadn’t known the hurt of rejection.

However, extremes of any experience, especially over a prolonged period, upset our operating system. Because we are continuously transmitting and receiving, energetically, we are often (unconsciously) drawn to people and situations that match our old, familiar patterns… and vice versa. I have done it myself, many times. Especially romantically and financially. For a good portion of my life, I habitually placed myself in positions that were only ever going to end in rejection. I was accustomed to it… maybe even addicted.

Until one day, travelling home from a women’s seminar in Liverpool, sobbing my heart out because one of the speakers had publicly humiliated me for enthusiastically joining in (when asked to give an example of a time we’d gotten mad and how we handled it) — leaving the rest of the attendees in embarrassed silence. I had been so looking forward to the event, especially as I was completely broke and the tickets had been gifted to me. I’d recently left my ex-husband, after many dark years, and was solely responsible for financially supporting myself and our three children. Life was hard, but I was hopeful that a seminar for women, run by women, would be an uplifting experience. Instead, once again, I felt idiotic, less than, ‘too much’, and an outsider.

However, the patronising woman with the superior attitude did me a huge favour, because something within me clicked. I had continually allowed other people to judge and reject me. I expected nothing less. However, the person who rejected me the most was myself. And I reasoned that, if I stopped rejecting myself and stopped accepting rejection (I should have stood up and torn that b***h a new one), no one else could. And even if they did I wouldn’t care anymore. That was a turning point… and maybe God, the Universe, or my higher self, had been trying to help me with those free tickets. Maybe it was an ideal opportunity to deliver the wake-up call I needed.

Throughout the years, I have become increasingly interested in the impact that rejection has on people. There is so much I could write on the topic but there’s far too much to squeeze into an article (I do intend to include at least one chapter on the subject in my forthcoming book… maybe even dedicate an entire book to the subject). I believe that, at the core of much human mental and emotional pain, lies the seeping wound of unacknowledged and unhealed rejection. And the more rejection we experience as a child, the more sensitive we are likely to be to it as adults. We’re also more likely to unconsciously place ourselves in situations that will deliver it. It feels uncomfortably comfortable to us!

But what does childhood rejection look like? 

Well, it takes many forms, some of which don’t have to be obvious or particularly cruel to deeply affect us.

The worst-case scenario is not knowing who one or both of our parents are. Or why they didn’t want us.

Other forms of rejection include:

Being consistently neglected and/or abused.

Being only conditionally approved of. Having to meet unreasonable expectations. Being ridiculed or punished for being ourselves… never good enough as we are.

Being aware that a sibling is favoured over us, receiving the most attention, care, and praise. Even being given more in a practical sense, such as money, clothes, or holidays.

Being deprived of affection, encouragement, and comforting words and actions.

Feeling publicly humiliated, as your supposed caregiver happily shames you in front of others, listing your wrong-doings and faults.

Being excluded from your family unit over a decision or a mistake you made.

This list is by no means exhaustive. I’m sure you could add to it, based on your own past experiences. However, the purpose of this article is to provide reassurance and insight, particularly for those who are suffering in silence. The ones who believe that this pain is unique to them. 

At this very second, billions of human souls are coping with the same kind of emotional injury that you are. Damaged, unconscious, or even plain nasty souls screw other — innocent, vulnerable souls — over. Most of it is not intentional. It largely comes down to a woeful lack of emotional intelligence. Let’s face it, for most people at least, having sex and conceiving a child is the easiest thing to do in this world. It requires no skill, talent, or qualification. Being a grown-up, loving, nurturing parent is another matter altogether. Flawed and inexperienced is forgivable — parenthood is a massive, life-changing journey, often a learning curve for both adult and child, on pathways that run parallel. The cheated, neglected, let-down child within us can be at least partly healed if we recognise that those who raised us were just human beings who did what they are biologically wired to do — produce other human beings. If they failed to be the mother or father we believed they should be (because we’re all entitled to a happy childhood, right? Because that’s how it should be, right?), it might be because they simply didn’t have it within them. They could be products of their own upbringing, or they might be lacking in intelligence, natural caring, or the willingness to put another person’s needs ahead of their own. We can become stuck as that rejected child forever — or we can (genuinely) accept that that was just the way it was for us. The oldest adult-child I have worked with was a beautiful lady of 68, whose mother was ninety-something and still alive — and her ongoing pain was caused by the fact that her mother had never told her she loved her. Every time she came to see me she swore she’d gotten over it… only to sob her heart out once again. Eventually, she developed such severe osteoporosis she was prescribed morphine. I believe that her all-consuming feelings of vulnerability and lack of support eventually seeped into and weakened her body. I am not saying that we should simply forgive those who rejected us in childhood — only that we need to recognise when we are continuing to allow it to negatively impact our adult lives.

Some guardians, looking back, realise that they did far more harm than good and are deeply remorseful. They may have been struggling with poor mental health. They might have been broke and stressed. They might not have been mature enough to raise a child. Maybe they were alone, with no support. In hindsight, they genuinely regret the past and are desperate to make amends. I have seen this happen — and the adult child often does their best to trust their rejector again and give them a second chance. However, I have also seen the adult child refuse to do so, continuing to be consumed by bitterness and blame.

What is more common, though, is that the guardian becomes defensive when questioned about the past. They turn it around, immediately finding a way to make it the rejected child’s fault. They portray themselves as the victim… which is a horrible, wretched response. It is weak, cowardly, and all about self-preservation. There is absolutely no hope when this is the reaction. Blood is not, as the saying goes, automatically thicker than water. Sometimes you just have to draw that line in the concrete and walk away. Without continuing to emotionally drag it behind you.

A cold, hard fact about life is that we aren’t entitled to a perfect, picture-book childhood, and most human souls are not going to experience it. Who we choose to become, as a result of and despite our early experiences, ends up being our own responsibility. Even the most well intentioned among us screw up our children to one degree or another. The kindest and most loving thing we can do is our best, at any given moment in time — and be willing to accept responsibility for ourselves, our behaviour, and our actions toward those who depend on us. We can afford to admit to our human frailty — as long as we endeavour to learn from it and do better. And what I know to be true is that, even when the situation appears irretrievable, the most healing, transformative words can be: “I’m truly sorry. I love you, and I never intended to hurt you. I hope you can forgive me.”