Childhood Traumas are like a rainbow colored onion, allowing you to peel back colorful layers of dysfunction and agony. Let’s see what damage you’re still recovering from.
Your parents not picking you up from school/camp/ a party on time. This one is tough for boys and girls alike—being the last one at the fair after all the rides have been shut down. In those situations, you feel like the wayward, forgotten child. If this has never happened to you, feel good, your parents were able to complete rock bottom responsibilities and tasks as adults. If this happened to you once, you then know the sting of abandonment and the smarting fear that you were going to have to forge a new life, find a box car, dig some potatoes. If this happened to you MULTIPLE TIMES (like it did to me) then you are barely hanging on. You are the Macaulay Culkin of your generation. Buckle up. See a shrink or buy a fifth of vodka. You choose.
Getting Lost or Separated from Your Family and Friends on an Outing. Oh, this is indeed a little gem of childhood. Even if you wandered off, chasing a white rabbit, it’s still the responsibility of the adult in charge to look after you. What does it mean if you’ve ever been separated from your mom or dad on an outing? It means the parent in charge was not doing their basic job. That job is called, “know where your kid is.” Kind of like when driving the most basic rule is “don’t drive into other cars.” If this happened to you as a kid, I’m willing to bet that a lot worse has happened as well, and you’re barely keeping it together.
You had an older sibling who threatened to pound you if you coughed or sang along with the radio. What a treat. I had an older sibling who was ready to choke me out if I coughed—I could’ve been choking on my own trachea and she still would smacked me sideways. If you grew up with an older sibling who was ready to “equalize” you if your bodily functions got too robust, you know all about trauma. And don’t get me started on singing along with the radio. If you grew up in a household where an older sibling would sit on you or stuff their fist in your mouth if you dared hummed along with the chorus—you my dear compadre, know what repression is. And that’s why you cry if you ever fart in public.