Neglect

Mental health struggles among young people are no longer subtle or hidden—they’re loud, present, and painfully urgent. The kids growing up today are navigating a world that feels heavier, faster, and more demanding than any generation before them. And as someone who has spent over a decade in child welfare, I’ve seen firsthand how deeply these pressures carve into their sense of worth, safety, and identity.

This isn’t just a crisis.
It’s a call to action.

The Alarming State of Youth Mental Health—What the Numbers Say

1 in 5 youth worldwide experience a mental health disorder every year (WHO, 2023).

In North America, suicide is now the second leading cause of death among youth ages 10–24 (CDC, 2024; Statistics Canada, 2023).

57% of teen girls in the U.S. report feeling “persistently sad or hopeless,” the highest level ever recorded (CDC Youth Risk Behavior Survey, 2023).

1 in 3 adolescents report high levels of anxiety daily (Mental Health Commission of Canada, 2024).

Cyberbullying affects 36% of teens, reducing self-esteem and increasing risk of depression and suicidal thoughts (UNICEF, 2023).

Youth ER visits for self-harm have risen 44% in the last decade (Canadian Institute for Health Information, 2024).

Numbers don’t lie.
But they don’t tell the whole story either.

Behind every statistic is a young soul quietly fighting to stay afloat.

Why Youth Are Struggling More Than Ever

1. The Emotional Weight of Social Media

Social media doesn’t just connect kids—it evaluates them, compares them, and follows them into their bedrooms at night. They’re exposed to:

Highlight reels disguised as real life

Cyberbullying that never ends

Beauty and success standards no human can maintain

Research shows social media use is linked to higher rates of anxiety, depression, and body image issues (American Psychological Association, 2023).

2. Academic Pressure That Feels Like Survival

Young people today are expected to have their futures figured out before they even understand who they are. Many of the youth I’ve worked with whispered the same fear:

“If I fail now, I’ll fail forever.”

This belief isn’t just unhealthy—it’s dangerous.

3. Family Stress, Trauma, and Instability

Homes are supposed to be safe. But too many youth live in environments filled with:

Financial stress

Parental mental illness

Domestic conflict

Abuse or neglect

Childhood trauma increases the risk of long-term mental health struggles two to five times (CDC ACE Study, 2023).

4. Struggling With Identity and Belonging

Youth aren’t just trying to survive—they’re trying to understand themselves. But in a world where everyone has an opinion about who they “should” be, identity exploration becomes exhausting.

5. Trauma That Has Never Been Spoken Out Loud

In child welfare, I learned that trauma rarely looks like tears. More often, it looks like:

Anger

Silence

Withdrawal

Numbness

I met too many children carrying emotional weight that would break most adults.

A Personal Story From My Child Welfare Years

There is one young girl I can still see every time I close my eyes.
She was 13. Small for her age. Brilliant but broken in ways she couldn’t articulate.

She would sit in our sessions and stare at the floor, arms wrapped tightly around her body as if holding herself together was the only thing keeping her from shattering.

After weeks of silence, she finally whispered:

“Nobody ever asks why I’m angry. They just tell me to stop.”

That moment changed me.
Because she wasn’t angry—she was hurting.
And like so many youth today, she didn’t need someone to fix her.
She needed someone to see her.

That is the heart of this crisis:
Thousands of youth who feel unseen, unheard, and overwhelmed by pain they never caused.

How Mental Health Struggles Show Up in Youth

Not every young person will say “I’m depressed.” Instead, they show it through:

Sudden irritability

Changes in appetite or sleep

Falling grades

Risky behavior

Isolation

Substance use

Self-harm

These are not “phases.”
They are signs of emotional overload.

Why Early Support Saves Lives

The adolescent brain is still developing, especially areas responsible for emotional regulation and coping. Getting support early:

Builds resilience

Prevents escalation into adult mental illness

Improves academic and social outcomes

Strengthens emotional intelligence
Intervention isn’t about crisis response—it’s about rewriting their future.

How We Can Support Youth Today

1. Create Safe Emotional Spaces

Kids talk when they feel safe.
Not judged.
Not dismissed.

Ask:

“How is your heart today?”

“What’s been feeling heavy?”

“What would help you feel supported?”

And then… just listen.

2. Normalize Therapy and Mental Health Care

Therapy shouldn’t be a last resort.
It should be a tool—just like a tutor or a coach.

3. Model Healthy Emotional Expression

You can’t teach what you don’t practice.
When youth see adults handling emotions with honesty and compassion, they learn to do the same.

4. Teach Digital Boundaries

Help them understand that social media is a filtered world—not a measure of worth.

5. Advocate for Accessible Community and School Resources

Every school should have trained mental health professionals.
Every community should have youth-friendly services.
Every child should have a safe place to land.

Closing Thoughts

As adults, we have an obligation to show up for the next generation.

Because behind every “troubled” child is a story.
Behind every outburst is a wound.
Behind every silent teenager is a heart begging for someone to notice.

Youth don’t need perfection from us—they need presence.
Compassion.
Patience.
Consistency.

And most of all, they need to know their feelings matter.

Bigmommaj

Amazing when someones, own pathology, trips them https://up.Human nature is funny that https://way.Some wear there own mask, others have https://multiple.But some, try on mask out of malicious intent and that mask, I do not play with.to assert your agenda on to me and pretend Im unaware, is https://dangerous.I see through your fake demeanor and false https://concern.Your hate and neglect of care showed me who you were.to blatantly scream at me, for your own munipulation onto me, the lies, the conspiring, the covering up, after I warned you, is proved who you authenticly https://are.Your family, with your assistance,has crossed lines that you never would have admitted to or acknowledged, but I continue to be munipulated and dragged.it is wrong what your family has done to me, my son and https://his.You cannot gang up, isolate, munipulate, phase out and drive people into this state.

Not everyone grows up with the kind of mother they needed. For some, “Mom” was a source of safety, love, and unconditional support. For others, that same word carries pain, confusion, and loss. The truth is, the absence of a nurturing mother leaves wounds that reach far beneath the surface — wounds that can shape how we see ourselves, how we love, and how we move through life.

A mother is meant to be the foundation — the one who teaches us what love feels like. But when that love is cold, conditional, or inconsistent, the message we receive is clear: you’re not enough.

And that message can echo for decades.

Emotional Instability and Insecurity

Children rely on their mothers to be their safe place — the one constant they can turn to. When that safety is replaced by neglect, criticism, or inconsistency, the child learns early that love is unpredictable. Research shows that early attachment patterns with a caregiver strongly influence emotional regulation and mental health outcomes later in life (Ainsworth, 1978; Bowlby, 1988).

A child who doesn’t experience consistent love may grow up struggling with anxiety, hypervigilance, or fear of abandonment — always waiting for the next emotional storm to hit.

Low Self-Esteem and Self-Worth

A mother’s voice becomes a child’s inner voice. If that voice was harsh, dismissive, or cruel, it becomes the soundtrack that plays in their mind — whispering that they’re not good enough, smart enough, or lovable enough.

Psychologists have found that maternal rejection or criticism in childhood can significantly lower self-esteem and lead to internalized shame in adulthood (Rohner, 2004). These individuals often spend years seeking validation from others, chasing a sense of worth they never felt at home.

Struggles in Relationships

The relationship we have with our mother sets the foundation for every relationship that follows. When a child grows up with emotional neglect, manipulation, or inconsistency, they carry those lessons into adulthood. They may unconsciously seek partners who mirror those same patterns — people who are emotionally unavailable, critical, or distant — because it feels familiar.

Attachment theory supports this idea: children who experience unsafe caregiving often develop insecure attachment styles, which can lead to unstable adult relationships (Hazan & Shaver, 1987).

Difficulty Regulating Emotions

When a mother dismisses her child’s feelings — saying things like “stop crying,” or “you’re too sensitive” — the child learns to suppress emotions instead of expressing them. Over time, this emotional suppression can lead to depression, anxiety, or emotional dysregulation (Linehan, 1993).

In families where emotions are minimized or invalidated, children often grow into adults who struggle to identify their feelings, trust their intuition, or express vulnerability.

Guilt and Shame

Even when a mother’s behavior is clearly harmful, children often take on the blame. They tell themselves, “If I had been better, she would have loved me.”

This internalized guilt can turn into a lifelong struggle with people-pleasing, perfectionism, or self-punishment. According to trauma experts, children naturally assume responsibility for their caregiver’s behavior as a way to maintain a sense of control in an unsafe environment (Herman, 1992). But that false sense of control often evolves into deep-rooted shame in adulthood.

Generational Trauma

Pain doesn’t start with us, and it doesn’t have to end with us either. Many emotionally unavailable or wounded mothers were once hurt children themselves. They carried their own unresolved trauma, repeating what they were taught because no one showed them another way.

Intergenerational trauma research supports this: patterns of emotional neglect, abuse, and dysfunction are often transmitted across generations unless actively addressed (Yehuda & Lehrner, 2018). Understanding this doesn’t excuse harmful behavior — but it can help us see the bigger picture and break the cycle.

Healing the Mother Wound

Healing from an emotionally unavailable mother isn’t about pretending the pain didn’t exist. It’s about acknowledging it. It’s about saying, “Yes, I was hurt. But I’m not going to let that pain define who I become.”

Healing means learning to mother yourself — to nurture the parts of you that were neglected, to listen to your own needs, and to speak kindly to yourself when the old wounds start to ache.

You are not the reflection of her brokenness. You are the survivor of it.

And when you heal, you don’t just change your story — you change the story for the generations that come after you.

Final Thoughts

An emotionally unavailable mother can leave deep scars, but those scars can also become the roadmap to healing. They remind us of what we deserved, even if we never received it. They push us to rise above the patterns, to become the kind of parent, friend, or person that our younger selves needed.

Your pain is real. Your story matters. And your healing — that’s where the cycle ends and love begins again.

Bigmommaj

#Motherhood #MentalHealth #Trauma #EmotionalHealth

My name is Kylie Pollan, and I am a survivor of domestic violence that occurred in Ellis County, Texas. After the assault, I began experiencing severe pain, swelling, and discoloration in my right leg. I sought help repeatedly from doctors and hospitals, including Baylor Scott & White, but despite clear symptoms and imaging showing injury, my pain was often dismissed or minimized. Instead of being heard and believed, I was told that what I felt “wasn’t that bad,” or that it was something I was creating in my mind. That experience broke my trust in a system that is supposed to protect victims and help them heal.

Over time, my condition worsened, and I was later diagnosed with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) — a debilitating nerve disorder often triggered by trauma. This diagnosis confirmed what I had been saying for months: my pain was real. Unfortunately, by the time doctors took me seriously, the damage had already progressed, leaving me with chronic pain, mobility struggles, and emotional trauma from both the violence and the medical neglect. I’ve since relocated to Oklahoma for safety and ongoing treatment, but my heart remains with the people of Ellis County who may still be suffering in silence.

I am now working to raise awareness about how often women’s pain is dismissed, particularly among survivors of abuse. Many victims are told their pain is emotional or exaggerated, when in reality, they are living with life-changing injuries. I don’t want what happened to me to happen to anyone else. I believe that by speaking out — through advocacy programs, support centers, and public awareness — we can help improve how medical professionals and systems respond to survivors.

I am reaching out in the hope that my story can be used to help others — whether through education, awareness campaigns, or local advocacy efforts. If there are opportunities to share my experience, participate in community outreach, or contribute to training programs for victim support or healthcare sensitivity, I would be honored to help. My goal is simple: to make sure that when the next woman says she’s in pain, she’s believed, treated with compassion, and given the care she deserves.#domesticviolencesurvivor #BreakTheSilence #believewomen #godsplannotmine #faiththroughhealing

Deaf people are often told to feel grateful for crumbs of access while being blamed for the system’s failures. When your writing doesn’t fit the mold, when your words stumble under someone else’s grammar rules, remember this: you were never broken. You were miseducated.

Too many Deaf people carry shame that was never theirs to bear. They stare at blank pages, freeze mid-sentence, or apologize for “bad English,” as if their intelligence could be measured by syntax. Let’s be clear, this is not your fault. The system failed you, not the other way around.

Ten Reasons You’re Not to Blame (and why you’re better at language than they’ll ever understand):

1. Teachers’ Low Expectations: You were told “good enough” when they should have demanded excellence with you, not for you. They praised mediocrity instead of nurturing mastery, teaching you to settle instead of soar.

2. Limited Access to Language: Early years spent in sound-based classrooms with no fluent signing models, language deprivation in plain sight. You were expected to lipread meaning instead of seeing fluent ASL daily.

3. Interpreters Who Filtered Too Much: Full ideas got reduced to summaries. The richness of language was trimmed into bite-sized pieces. What was meant to empower ended up restricting.

4. ASL Classes That Taught English on the Hands: You were taught to translate word-for-word, not concept-for-concept. The “ASL” you learned was really an English remix, not a visual language.

5. Writing Rubrics That Punished Difference: Instead of teaching Deaf rhetoric, they graded you by hearing standards. They “red-penned” your voice out of your own story.

6. IEP Pressure to Use Signed English: They forced you to mimic English signs in the name of “inclusion,” stripping away ASL’s natural rhythm and structure.

7. Schools That Rewarded Speech Over Substance: Grades went to those who could speak, not those who could think. Sound mattered more than ideas.

8. College Advisors Who Said “Maybe Try Something Easier”: They mistook your access barriers for ability limits, confusing lack of opportunity with lack of potential.

9. Media That Called You “Inspiring” but Never “Intellectual”: They praised your survival while ignoring your brilliance as if the depth of visual thought could be measured by grammar tests.

10. A World That Equates English Fluency with Intelligence: They forgot that language is a bridge, not a scoreboard.

Every time you hesitate to write, remember what you’ve survived. You think in a visual language: rich, dimensional, alive. Translating that into text isn’t failure; it’s art in motion.

Every Deaf Person Carries Layers of Translation.

Every time you write, speak, or sign in mixed spaces, you perform mental gymnastics most people never attempt. Each sentence becomes a bridge between worlds that were never built for you, worlds that demand your access but rarely return it.

When you move between ASL and English, you’re not just switching languages. You’re shifting entire cultural systems: the rhythm of one, the structure of another, the emotional cadence of both. What hearing people see as “errors” are often echoes of your first language. It’s not wrong. It’s authenticity, the way your brain and culture move together.

You’ve been asked to translate not only your words but your existence. To adjust, explain, clarify, constantly. And still, you communicate. You teach. You make meaning in spaces that were never designed for you. That isn’t weakness. That’s art. That’s resistance in motion.

Don’t let anyone shame you for how you write, how you sign, or how you blend the two. Your language carries history, resilience, and truth. What they label “improper” is often your truest form of fluency, the sound of ASL living freely, even inside English.

My Reflection ~

I’ve seen this pattern in classrooms and conversations, and it hits a nerve every time. Deaf people are forced to perform literacy in a world that never offered full access to it, then they’re blamed for not fitting perfectly. The truth is, Deaf writing holds rhythm, imagery, and movement that hearing readers can’t replicate. It isn’t broken, it’s bilingual thought translated through survival.

I want my Deaf peers to know this clearly: you were handed fragments of language and told to build a mansion. You were expected to perform English without ever being given full access to it. When you struggled, they called it a weakness. That wasn’t truth. That was systemic neglect disguised as education.

When I write, my English isn’t a badge of superiority. It’s a craft I built through curiosity, frustration, and long nights reshaping sentences until they breathed. My love for language didn’t come from hearing privilege, it came from fighting for expression in a system that tried to limit me.

Sure, I use Grammarly to clean structure, but those are mechanics, not meaning. The rhythm, spark, and bite of my sentences come from Deaf experience. That’s not correction, it’s transformation.

Final Quotes ~

“You were never behind; you were just never given the full map.”

“Fluency doesn’t define brilliance. Expression does.”

“Stop apologizing for how you write. The system should apologize for how it taught.”

“The struggle wasn’t yours. It was the world’s failure to listen visually.”