Three years ago, over lunch at someone’s home in Spain, a moment unfolded that etched itself deeply into memory. Relatives were present, and among them was a person who decided to bring up a private and deeply distressing part of my past. They shared it openly with the group, without sensitivity, as if my pain were theirs to pass around.
In that moment, I shrank with humiliation. My husband sat beside me, silent. No intervention. No protective words. No comfort. Just a blank stare and empty eyes, as though my distress didn’t register.
This wasn’t an isolated incident. It was part of a long pattern: decades of indifference, absence of empathy, and an emotional void that left me carrying everything alone. What struck me most that day wasn’t only the betrayal of the relative who exposed my private history—it was my husband’s nothingness. His inability to feel with me, stand by me, or even acknowledge the wound. That day was another reminder of something I had already sensed for years: he felt nothing.
The Psychology of Emotional Abandonment
Psychologists call this kind of response emotional abandonment. It’s not always about someone physically leaving—it can be about their consistent absence even while sitting right next to you. To suffer in front of someone who is supposed to love you, and to meet only a blank stare, is profoundly disorienting.
Humans are wired for co-regulation. When we feel shame, distress, or fear, our nervous system automatically looks to trusted others for signals of safety—a comforting touch, a kind word, even a look of solidarity. When those signals never come, the nervous system experiences what researchers call relational trauma: the repeated experience of needing comfort but being met with coldness or emptiness.
Over time, the body learns to expect nothing. We stop turning toward the person. We stop hoping. We stop asking. This withdrawal protects us, but it also leaves us deeply lonely.
The Neuroscience of “Nothingness”
Neuroscience shows us why these experiences feel so devastating. The brain’s amygdala, responsible for detecting threat, becomes highly activated when we’re shamed or exposed. In that moment three years ago, my amygdala was likely firing intensely, flooding my body with stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline.
Normally, a loved one’s comfort would activate the prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain that calms the amygdala by reminding us, You’re safe now, you’re not alone. But in the absence of comfort, the amygdala keeps firing, and the nervous system remains in a state of alarm.
Decades of this pattern can create what trauma researchers call learned helplessness—a nervous system conditioned to expect no help, no defense, no love. This is why emotional neglect can sometimes cut even deeper than overt cruelty.
Coming to Terms With the Void
Looking back, that lunch table in Spain was one of many moments where the silence spoke louder than words. But what I see now is something different: it wasn’t my shame that defined me, it was his emptiness. His nothingness said everything about the absence of love in that marriage, and nothing about my worth.
Coming to terms with that “nothing” was painful, but also freeing. It allowed me to stop expecting something from someone who could not give it. It allowed me to stop shrinking, stop waiting, and start living.
The Brain’s Capacity for Renewal
The hopeful truth is that the brain is not fixed in trauma. Through a process known as neuroplasticity, our nervous systems can rewire when we are met with warmth, safety, and joy. When we step into environments where people seeus, care for us, and respond to us, the amygdala begins to quiet down, and the prefrontal cortex grows stronger.
Oxytocin, the “bonding hormone,” rises when we experience trust and affection. Dopamine and serotonin increase when joy and playfulness return to daily life. Over time, these neurochemical shifts reshape not just our emotions but our whole sense of identity.
Three years later, my life is different. It is filled with warmth, joy, and caring. I no longer live inside the coldness of another person’s nothingness. I live inside my own capacity to welcome love, to laugh again, and to create a safe life for myself.
A Message for Others
If you’ve been in that dark place—shrinking at a table while someone else sits silently beside you—know this: the nothingness does not last forever. It feels endless while you’re inside it, but healing is always possible.
No matter how many years you’ve lived in emotional neglect, the nervous system can learn safety again. The heart can open again. And joy—real joy—waits on the other side if you let it in.
Because even after decades of nothing, the brain, the body, and the soul are built for connection. And when it finally comes, it feels like stepping into the sunlight after a very long night.
