Healing Childhood Abandonment - Fight for Me!

Lately, after long and exhausting days at school, I’ve been unwinding by watching Parenthood on Netflix. It’s a family drama—nothing groundbreaking, just something easy to switch off to.

Or so I thought.

One storyline, in particular, hit me hard. A couple—the one you’d never expect to fall apart—separated. What struck me wasn’t just the separation itself, but how it happened. One moment, the husband was devoted—committed to his wife, his family, their life together. The next, he had completely shut her out.

No explanation, no hesitation.

From hot to cold overnight.

I felt my body tense up.

Then, anger.

Not just mild frustration, but real, visceral anger. I was swearing at the TV, physically reacting as if I was in the scene myself. It took me a moment to step back and ask—why am I so angry?

Then it hit me.

Because I had lived it.

This was almost exactly how my marriage ended. But it wasn’t just about that. It ran deeper. It pulled at the old wounds of my childhood—the familiar ache of abandonment that I had convinced myself I had healed.

Recognising the Patterns

The next day, I walked into my classroom, still carrying the weight of that realisation. It had been one of those days where my students pushed every single boundary. No matter what I said or did, they challenged me. Every inch of my patience was tested.

At the end of the lesson, as I tidied up, one student lingered.

"We’ve had so many teachers," they said. "You’re the only one that has stayed."

That one sentence stopped me in my tracks.

Not because I had actually stayed—I had only been at the school for seven weeks. Hardly long enough to claim any kind of lasting impact. But because their words revealed something deeper.

These kids expect people to leave.

They push, they test, they challenge—not just for the sake of it, but because they need to know: Are you really here? Are you going to stay, or are you just another person passing through?

For children who have personal experiences of people leaving, of not being fought for, these moments of uncertainty are even more frightening.

And suddenly, I understood.

Because I knew that feeling.

I had spent so much of my own life expecting people to leave, bracing myself for the inevitable moment they would walk away. I had become so used to people not fighting for me that I stopped expecting it. Worse, I stopped fighting for myself when I should have.

Breaking the Cycle

That moment at school, much like the scene from Parenthood, was more than just an experience—it was a mirror, reflecting something I needed to see.

In my book, How Did I Get Here? A Guide to Letting Go of Your Past & Living in Alignment with Your True Self, I talk about how the stories we tell ourselves about our past shape the way we see the world. For so long, my story was one of abandonment. It was the lens through which I saw everything—relationships, work, even my own sense of self-worth.

But here’s what I’m learning:

We don’t have to be prisoners of our past.

We don’t have to keep repeating the same patterns just because they feel familiar.

Just because people have left us doesn’t mean everyone will.

Just because we have been let down doesn’t mean we have to let ourselves down.

And just because we weren’t fought for doesn’t mean we can’t learn to fight for ourselves.

Choosing to Stay

That student’s words reminded me of something important. It’s not just about whether others stay—it’s about whether I do. Whether I keep showing up, not just for my students, but for myself.

I’ve spent too long accepting that people leave.

Now, I choose to be the one who stays.

For my students.

For the people I love.

For myself.

So to those kids who have learned not to expect much, I say this:

I see you.

And to myself?

It’s time to fight for me, too.