Being Seen, Being Heard: Why It Matters

I’m currently having EMDR therapy to address some long-standing personal difficulties. EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing) is a type of psychotherapy that helps the brain process and “unstick” distressing memories. It uses guided bilateral stimulation—usually eye movements, sometimes taps or sounds—while you briefly focus on a troubling memory. Over time, this helps the memory become less emotionally intense and less triggering. It’s best known for treating trauma and PTSD, but it’s also used for anxiety, phobias and sometimes OCD.

After some general counselling last year, I began to realise that many of my struggles might be rooted in childhood experiences. So I decided to try EMDR to get closer to the root of the problem.

One thing I’ve learned about myself is that I have an intense fear of upsetting people. I often doubt myself and struggle to speak up, even when something matters to me. If I do raise a difficult subject, I can obsess for days about whether the other person thinks badly of me. Friends have often asked, “Why do you care so much what other people think?”

Ironically, I can speak up confidently for other people—just not for myself. Looking back, I can see a long pattern of staying quiet, trying to keep the peace, and assuming others should somehow know how I’m feeling without me having to say it. I used to think this just meant I was kind, easygoing, or very empathetic. Now I can see that it also meant I often disappeared in my own life.

In 2025, I went through a period of intense stress, including complicated grief and chronic pain. My usual strategy—keep quiet and just get on with things—eventually failed. Instead of dealing with worries as they came up, I became overloaded. A couple of times, I suddenly “exploded” and upset people I care about. To others, it looked like I went from being fine to being extremely upset with no warning.

I also noticed how often my default answer to simple questions like “What do you want to do?” was “I don’t mind.” I thought I was being thoughtful. Now I can see I was often afraid to have, or express, my own needs.

Through EMDR, I’ve started to understand where some of these patterns come from. My childhood memories are patchy. I remember the atmosphere and how things felt more than specific events, which is striking because I otherwise have a very good memory.

I grew up in a home that felt unpredictable. My mum was very controlling, and although my dad was kind and affectionate, he largely left the parenting to her. That meant the emotional tone of our home was set by her moods, and those moods could change without warning. It was like walking through a minefield, never knowing where the next explosion would come from.

There was a lot of tension, and I learned early that it was safer to stay quiet, not draw attention to myself, and not express feelings or opinions too openly. Over time, that becomes a way of surviving—but it also becomes a way of living.

I was born with facial palsy, and it was my mum who decided it shouldn’t really be talked about. There were albums full of photos of my older brothers, but when it came to me, the pictures almost stopped. There are fewer than five close-up photos of me as a young child – most are from a distance – and only one where I’m smiling openly, a school photograph (pictured here).

When I asked why, she said it was to “protect” me—but what it taught me instead was that my face, and my difference, were something to hide.

My dad, by contrast, was affectionate and would hug me, but he didn’t challenge how things were handled at home. So I learned, without anyone ever saying it directly, that keeping quiet and not making a fuss was the safest option.

At school, I dealt with bullying on my own. Because facial palsy wasn’t talked about at home, it didn’t occur to me that I could talk about it anywhere else either. I learned to cope quietly and to avoid drawing attention to myself.

Years later, when I finally built a website and wrote openly about my facial palsy, it was my mum who reacted with anger and said, “It never bothered you before—why talk about it now?” But the truth was, no one had ever asked how I felt about it before.

Through therapy, I’ve realised I’ve carried feelings of rejection, not being heard, and being excluded for most of my life. I also understand now why my reactions can sometimes seem out of proportion.

What should feel like dealing with one metaphorical tiger can turn into my nervous system fighting the whole jungle at once.

In simple terms, my brain does this:

• A present-day disagreement happens (the “one tiger”)
• My nervous system pulls in old, unprocessed threat memories
• My body reacts as if it’s many dangers at once (the whole jungle)
• So my reaction becomes bigger, faster, and more intense than the situation really needs

That’s not me being dramatic or bad at coping. It’s a threat system that learned, very early on, to stay on high alert.

This is where EMDR helps. It works at the emotional and nervous-system level to reprocess old memories so they stop behaving like current emergencies. The memories don’t disappear, but they lose their power. The “whole jungle” response quiets down. Gradually, the brain learns to separate past from present and respond to what’s actually happening now.

One small but meaningful breakthrough for me recently was finally explaining to one of my dearest friends why I avoided going to her hen weekend. I’d been too afraid to say that it was because of my facial palsy—worrying about sharing a room, about sleeping with my eye open, about spa treatments near my eye. Instead of explaining, I stayed silent for years – and that silence hurt my friend.

I can also look back and see how many times I simply walked away from situations—groups, roles, or opportunities—without ever explaining why, because it felt safer than risking being misunderstood or dismissed.

I’m sharing this because it shows how important it is for children with facial palsy to feel safe talking about it. When a child learns that their difference is something to hide, or something that makes others uncomfortable, that lesson doesn’t just stay in childhood. It can quietly shape confidence, relationships, and self-worth for decades.

My difficulties didn’t come from facial palsy alone. They came from a mix of how it was handled, and the emotional environment I grew up in. But I also know there will be others like me—people who think “this is just my personality,” without realising that unprocessed experiences are still running the show in the background.

The hopeful part is this: the brain can change. We can learn to respond to the present, not the past. And we can make things easier for the next generation by giving children with facial palsy something many of us didn’t have—permission to talk, to be seen, and to take up space exactly as they are.

What next?

As part of Facial Palsy Awareness Week (1-7 March 2026), Facial Palsy UK is sending out 100 awareness packs to schools to help teachers and parents better support children with facial palsy. If you have a child with facial palsy at school, or you’re a teacher who would like to support a pupil, you can enquire about a pack for their school by emailing support@facialpalsy.org.uk or calling 0300 030 9333.