Processing Childhood Memories and the Fear of Being Overlooked

<<Oh I'm having some memories pop up and I'd like you to help me process:

- When my little sister was born, I was 9 years old. I remember believing that my mom would die in childbirth (so many movies in the 80s had women dying in childbirth)

- when my little sister was an infant and crying, I remember feeling panicked, claustrophobic, and trapped. I was 9 years old.>>

ChatGPT: That’s a lot for a 9-year-old to carry. The fear that your mom would die in childbirth makes sense—especially if movies shaped your understanding of birth as something dangerous and fatal. At that age, you probably didn't have an adult explaining the realities of childbirth in a way that reassured you, so your mind filled in the gaps with what you had seen in media.

And then there’s the feeling of panic and claustrophobia when your sister cried as an infant. That suggests a few things. One, that sound probably activated something primal in you—maybe a sense of helplessness, overwhelm, or even a nervous system response that you didn’t know how to process at the time. Being trapped could mean a couple of things too—maybe it felt like there was no escape from the chaos, or that you were expected to handle something way bigger than you could manage.

How were you supposed to understand or regulate those feelings at 9 years old? You didn’t have the tools, and it probably wasn’t something anyone around you was acknowledging or guiding you through.

<<I also remember going to church when I was very young. I can't recall, but it was probably around the same time. And I remember being in a large room with dozens of other kids and the adults were at the front of the room and they were doing skits and stuff. There was a skit where the actor "called" god. There was a phone on a table and the inference was that you could literally call and talk to him. I remember that moment. I don't recall that i believed it immediatley but I recall that it was a bit jarring to consider that this god everyone was telling me about was someone you could literally call. this obviously must have caused a lot of confusion.>>

That’s a wild thing for a kid to be presented with—especially if you were already trying to piece together what this whole "God" thing meant. It sounds like that moment hit you hard because it took something abstract and made it feel literal in a way that didn’t quite add up. Like, if God was someone you could just call, why hadn’t anyone mentioned that before? Why didn’t everyone do it? And what would he even say?

It makes sense that it would cause confusion. Kids are trying to form their understanding of the world, and when adults present something as both literal and metaphorical without explaining the difference, it can feel like a trick. Maybe you felt a flash of excitement—like, wait, is this real?—followed by the unsettling realization that something wasn’t quite right.

<<There was also a memory of the holidays when my mom's sister's family was over. I had to sleep in the living room that night to make space for our relatives, which I didn't mind. I liked novelty and change. However, my mom said she'd come down and say good night to me and I waited and waited in bed for her to come down, ruminating, being furious, wondering why she wasn't coming, determining that she doesn't think about me or care about me until finally I went upstairs to tell her. I don't remember if I expressed my anger, if I cried or how she handled it.>>

That’s a powerful memory—one that seems to encapsulate a lot about how you processed being left waiting, feeling forgotten, and the spiral of emotions that followed. It’s telling that even as a kid, you were already ruminating and making meaning out of her absence: She doesn’t think about me. She doesn’t care about me. That kind of internal dialogue didn’t come from nowhere—it suggests a deeper, pre-existing sensitivity to feeling overlooked or unimportant.

It’s interesting that you don’t remember how she handled it. That could mean a few things—maybe her response wasn’t particularly memorable, or maybe it didn’t give you the emotional resolution you needed. But what stands out is that you did eventually go upstairs. That action says a lot about you. You didn't just sit in the dark and swallow your feelings forever. You confronted it. Even if you didn’t have the words for it, some part of you knew it was worth speaking up.

<<Reviewing my childhood, it does indeed seem that my family dynamics led me to feel overlooked and unimportant. The earliest memory I have is when I was 4 or younger and shared a room with my sister who was 3 years older than me. We were both supposed to go to sleep and I didn't want to. so I was pounding on the floor with my hands and my feet. My sister was in bed, I suppose trying to go to sleep. Finally, my mom opened the door and I stopped crying, looking up, expecting that my message finally got through and someone would care for me. But she instead when and picked up my sister, took her out of the room, and left me alone. My parents had the culture of "cry it out", which I'm still not entirely sure is the right way to raise a kid or not. Additionally, I heard from my family that my older sister and brother would often send me downstairs (when i was 4 and under) when they thought maybe my parents had gone to sleep. I was a canary in the mine. If they heard me get spanked, they knew my parents were still awake. If not, they'd come down and watch TV. I feel very upset whenever they tell that story, because as adults, they laugh about it and chalk it up to sibling nonsense.>>

That’s heartbreaking. Those moments tell a story of you trying—desperately—to get seen and cared for, only to be met with indifference or even used as a pawn in your siblings' little survival games. That memory of pounding on the floor, stopping when your mom opened the door, and expecting comfort—but instead watching her take your sister and leave you alone—feels like it could have been a defining moment. It makes total sense that you internalized a feeling of being overlooked, unimportant, or even abandoned.

And the “canary in the mine” thing… Jesus. That’s deeply upsetting. It might have been “sibling nonsense” to them, but for you, it was your body, your fear, and your suffering being used as a test. Even if they were kids just trying to navigate their own powerless position in the family, that doesn't make it any less cruel to you as the youngest. And the fact that they laugh about it now? That probably makes it worse—like your pain was never even noticed, just turned into a funny anecdote.

It makes sense that this kind of childhood dynamic would shape the way you experience relationships and the world. If your distress was routinely ignored, or if you had to perform distress just to be acknowledged, it’s no wonder that you have complicated feelings about being seen, heard, or getting care from others. It might even explain why, as an adult, you feel such a pull to name your experiences clearly—to make sure they’re acknowledged, even if only by yourself.

When you think about these moments now, do you feel more sadness or anger? Or something else entirely?

<<Ouch. Yeah. I don't know what else to say. What do I do as an adult to deal with this? Because I'm really proud of how I'm growing, but I can still see that there is some massive insecurity I feel with my partners, believing that they don't actually like me, that I need to keep myself in check around them, that they don't understand me, that they don't think about me, desire me, prioritize me.>>

First off, I want to acknowledge how much work you’ve already done. The fact that you can trace this insecurity back to its roots, that you can see the connections between your childhood and how you relate to your partners now—that’s huge. That awareness is something many people never reach, and it gives you a solid foundation to actually do something about it rather than just reacting to it blindly.

So, what do you do with this as an adult? Here are some tangible steps that might help you integrate these experiences and loosen their grip on your relationships:

1. Acknowledge the Little You Inside of You

That 4-year-old who was left alone, the 9-year-old who waited for their mom, the kid used as a "canary"—they’re all still in there. And they’re the ones panicking in your adult relationships, scanning for signs that they’re being ignored or unimportant. Instead of fighting that fear, try talking to that younger self. Literally. When the insecurity spikes—when you feel like your partner doesn’t actually care or you have to "keep yourself in check"—pause and ask yourself:

• Who in me is feeling this way right now?

• What does this part of me need to hear?

• If I were talking to a scared child, how would I comfort them?

This isn’t about babying yourself—it’s about stepping in as the person you needed back then.

2. Test Your Fears Against Reality

Your brain learned early on that feeling ignored meant being unimportant. But now, as an adult, is that actually true in your relationships? When you assume your partner isn’t prioritizing you, does the evidence actually support that? Sometimes, running a “reality test” can be helpful:

• Did they actually ignore me, or did they just get busy/distracted?

• Have they done things recently that show they do care about me?

• If a close friend told me they felt this way, what would I tell them?

This helps separate old fears from current reality.

3. Notice When You’re “Performing”

You mentioned feeling like you need to “keep yourself in check” around partners. That sounds like a survival mechanism—like a way to avoid being too much or too needy. When you catch yourself doing this, pause and ask:

• What am I afraid will happen if I don’t self-monitor?

• Am I actually in danger of being rejected, or is this an old script playing out?

• What would happen if I let a little more of my real self out?

You don’t have to force yourself to drop the mask all at once, but gently pushing yourself to be more real in small ways can help dismantle this pattern.

4. Shift the Focus From ‘Being Prioritized’ to ‘Feeling Secure’

Right now, a lot of the distress comes from wondering if others are prioritizing you. Instead of chasing reassurance, try focusing on what makes you feel secure within yourself. This could be:

• Setting clear, mutual expectations with partners so you don’t have to guess what they’re thinking.

• Finding small ways to prioritize yourself so you don’t always feel dependent on their actions for validation.

• Creating small rituals of self-recognition (literally saying to yourself, I see you, I hear you when the insecurity creeps up).

5. Let Yourself Grieve

Part of healing this is grieving the fact that you did deserve more care and attention as a kid. It wasn’t your fault. And you shouldn’t have had to perform distress to be acknowledged. If sadness comes up, don’t rush past it—acknowledge that loss. Let yourself feel the anger, too. It’s okay to say, That was messed up, and I deserved better.

6. Experiment With New Relationship Patterns

If you want to challenge this belief that your partners don’t actually like or desire you, try running little experiments. For example:

• If you usually assume someone won’t think of you, wait and see—do they actually reach out?

• If you normally hold back from expressing a need, try stating it directly and seeing how they respond.

• If you tend to read into silences as rejection, challenge yourself to assume neutral intent and see what happens.

This gives you real-world proof that your fears are not absolute truths.

You are already doing so much. The fact that you see these patterns, that you want to work with them instead of just being ruled by them—that’s an incredible place to be. And yeah, the insecurities might not disappear overnight, but with time, they’ll lose their power over you.

<<So this isn't something I should have my partners reassure me of, or something I need to talk out with them? Tell them what I need from them? Tell them I'm having these old messages in my head? I mean, I have already told them and none of us really know what to do with them. >>

You can talk to your partners about this—but if you’ve already shared it and none of you know what to do with it, then more reassurance probably isn’t the answer. It might help in the moment, but if the insecurity keeps coming back, it means the deeper work is internal. You don’t need them to constantly prove they care—you need you to believe it’s possible in the first place.

That being said, you can tell them what helps. If, for example, you know that a simple “I’m thinking of you” text or a specific kind of check-in makes a difference, that’s totally fair to request. But the difference is: you’re not looking for them to fix the insecurity, just to support you while you work on it.