Introduction to Psychology

Reflection Paper on Development

Name: Abegail P. Olaguer Course: BS Psychology Year Level: 1

I often wonder how my parents felt when they first caught sight of me. Do they still feel the same every
time they look at me now that I’ve grown up? Did they think that I was beautiful despite the creases on my skin
and my swollen eyelids? In asking these questions to myself, I also often ponder on what I may have felt back
then, when I first grasped their fingers out of reflex; when I first heard their voices; or when they enclosed me in
the warmth of their cradles. Despite not being able to recall all these details, I would like to believe that when I
first experienced all these, my neurons fired a lot faster than half a second to know and register that they were
someone worthy of the information overload. However, growing up and looking back to when I was a child, I
realized that reality wasn’t always as warm as the first hue of the sun that illuminated the room from where I
was born to, and that it is indeed true that with the passing of time, the way we interpret and understand our
memories also changes.

Ever since I can remember, I was taken care of by my grandmother. It was she who dressed me for
kindergarten; the person who taught me that A was for Apple and B was for Banana; the one who read me
countless bedtime stories; and the only person who would scold me for not being back by lunch, but who was
also the one who would dress my wounds that I never knew I had after playing outside the house for a whole
day when I was four. All of which were supposed to be done by my parents but never did. And as I grew a little
every day, the distance that separated me from my grandmother decreased and I became securely attached to
her, which brought about my unconditional trust in her as my guardian, who not only prioritized my basic and
emotional needs but is also the one to encourage my feet to wander outside the streets of our house, so long as I
stay safe.

Under my grandmother’s care, I grew up to be an independent and a very optimistic child. Someone
whose initiative to clean the house never went unrewarded, someone who was able to distinguish right from
wrong, and a child whose growth was never held back by the lack of anything. In light of all these, I never
encountered barriers that may have prevented me from steadily growing up; from easily making friends; and
from making the adults laugh at my own intended foolishness.

With the passing of time, together with my growing attachment to my grandmother, came the inevitable
consequence: I became avoidant of my own parents. As a child, I never thought that there was anything wrong
with it because I was happy and used to the feeling of being with my grandmother. But I didn't understand then.
That my parents can, just by being absent, create a hollow in my heart and in my life. That I was hurt so much, I
remain unable to recover fully from its consequences, even until now.

When I was in third grade, my grandmother died of diabetes. The one person who taught me how and
showed me what it was like to receive and give affection was gone just like that. And my parents, whose
absence in my life I have long grown accustomed to, once again took me under their wings. I thought that it was
going to be nice to live with them again. However, it was not long after I moved back that I realized the
seriousness of the situation.

Adjusting to my familiar yet unfamiliar house was very difficult. I wasn’t used to the foreign faces of
my parents, or even much of those of my siblings. I felt strange about the unfamiliar scent of my new room,
even more so from the awkward atmosphere between me and my parents that was brought about by my shallow
relationship with them. During those times, I never knew that the feeling of unfamiliarity and desolation would
last and adhere for a very long time.

I wasn't used to how uninvolved my parents were with me. I don’t even remember much of my
childhood that was spent with them. Growing up under the roof of my parents' home, I never really felt that I
belonged, nor did I find a way to change or improve my relationship with them. I guess it was due to my
unconscious acceptance of being a guest in my own house and a stranger to my own blood that I never made an
effort to get close to my parents, but I also don’t blame myself for it because I knew that it was all brought
about by the unfamiliarity of their sudden presence and intrusion in my life. However, this avoidance of
interactions with my parents only ever brought me anger. At the time, I never knew that my anger was
something else first; that my anger came about from the feeling of wanting and needing care from my parents
which were never satisfied; and that in order to protect myself from the vulnerabilities and insecurities that I
was too afraid to confront, I turned to anger.

I never knew that I had so much anger inside me that I was too afraid to express or that I was always
hungry for love since my grandmother passed away. For another time, I wanted to know what it was like to get
my fill of being loved and cared for again and to feel the nostalgia that it would bring me. During those times, I
never knew how I got through it. Maybe that’s just how it was. What I was sure of, however, was that it
changed me for life. Not for the better, nor for the worse, I just changed.

Gradually, my relationship with my siblings and my parents warmed up. It must have happened during
the times that we ate together as a family or when we watched television on Friday evenings. To be honest, I
really never knew when it started to change as it did, but I can only attribute it to time. Time indeed solves most
of our concerns. However, despite the positive changes in my relationship with my parents, it never really came
to the point where I could fully express what I felt. It was then that I realized that the things that time couldn’t
solve, I had to solve them myself.

In my early teenage years, I started to open up about the trivial things in my life to my parents. From
then on, our conversations gradually became more personal and intimate. I started to share my crushes with
them, I talked to them about my worries in school, and most importantly, I started to have memorable and good
moments with them. It was then that I understood that my parents could love me so much but not know how to
express it. That they too, felt sad over the fact that their firstborn whom they first bought a crib for, the first
child they spent countless nights awake for, and the very child who symbolizes their love for each other, became
so unfamiliar to the point that they never knew how to act around me. Through this insight and the changes that
followed before, I went from being an avoidant child to being someone who was securely attached to her
parents.

In having a better environment to grow up in when I turned fifteen, I was able to finally excel in my
studies. In every year that I pass, I get better at my studies, surpassing my previous academic abilities. Even I
was baffled by the changes and the potential that were suddenly out in the open, which I never knew existed.
Through this, I was able to assess my strengths and my fondness for the sciences. It was then that I knew that I
was meant to be someone who helps; someone whose mind was meant to understand that in this world, there are
those who were never privileged to receive the help they needed; and to be that someone who came into being
just to fill this gap.

In knowing what I want to become and what I want to do with the time that I will be spending here in
this world, my life is basically smooth sailing. In light of this, I have a lot of time to devote to developing close
relationships with my friends, family, and even a romantic partner. However, despite nurturing my relationships
with them and I know in myself that I care for them and they hold a significant part of my life, I can’t seem to
fully connect with them, especially to my friends and to my previous romantic partner.

In interacting with my friends, despite having close ties and spending lots of time with each other, I
never truly opened up to them. And when they vent to me, sharing their problems and concerns, I feel little to
nothing at all, not even sadness for their misfortune. I only cognitively label their emotions and respond to what
they currently need at the moment. It could be a hug or a piece of advice. It’s frustrating because I always felt
like I was faking my concern to appear as decent as I could be. In realizing this fact, I always thought that I was
someone who was emotionally detached from the people that I met outside my home. This assumption was even
more magnified when my ex-boyfriend broke up with me. Upon realizing what the breakup meant, I never cried
about the loss of love and the hurt that it brought me, and it wasn’t because I didn’t want to cry, it was because I
couldn’t.
 I never knew, even now, when I stopped crying about the things that could make me feel vulnerable to
other people’s absence. In fact, when I encounter the absence of something or someone, I just feel like my heart
is calm, but it’s not peacefully calm. There’s something strange about it such that it feels like a river that has
ceased flowing; like a lake that not even the most turbulent winds can make the tiniest ripples occur on its
surface. In simple terms, I have become emotionally numb from the things that can make me vulnerable.

In light of the above series of events, I may have become someone who has become emotionally
detached from the things and from the people that can bring me the feeling of being alone and distress. I have a
difficult time expressing myself of the things that can make me appear vulnerable to myself and to those around
me. Hence, when I face these kinds of situations, I want to be alone most of the time. After all, isolation, to me,
has always been a very good company.

Isolation has always been a blanket of safety. Isolation guarantees safety from the lifelong risks of
disappointments that a person can possibly encounter in his whole life. However, I also know that being
someone whose very stance when standing among a roomful of people expresses isolation begets isolation, such
that misery begets misery. A life of isolation can only lead to a slow and lonely death of one’s passions and
soul.

In acknowledging and understanding what I feel when building intimate relationships with other people,
I know I never really fully healed from the events that I experienced when I was a child – the feelings of
disappointment from not receiving what I knew I deserved but never got the fill of, as the period of my
ignorance of the world had long passed and the child in me was long gone when I started to realize the existence
of my parents in my life. Right now, I’m still trying to be someone whose sympathy and empathy for myself
and for those around me comes naturally, and not something that is just born out of cognition.

In this world, I always knew that we were never born alone. We were born with the vulnerabilities of
having a life; of the connections – like red strings – we formed with other people even when we were still in the
wombs of our mothers; of the emotions, both good and bad, that come with life; and of the things that make us
truly live in the moment. In this life, I hope to be someone who is not afraid of such vulnerabilities brought
about by the relationships that I have with other people. I want to not only receive the love of the world, but I
also want to be someone who gives a sense of belongingness to the people that I care about.

Currently, I’m still trying to understand myself, about how I came to be someone who is almost
unfeeling, while not losing sight of who I am completely and of the progress that I have made so far. I dare not
hope, but someday, if I ever look back to this reflection paper, I’d like to believe that I became someone whom I
always wanted to be. Someone who is no longer afraid of expressing her sadness or anger that she has
constantly avoided showing to the people that may have caused it and to her very self; and someone who can be
fully intimate with her friends, family, and even a partner, not just on a physical and intellectual level but also
on an emotional level. These I can only see for myself in time.

In light of all the things that I have faced head on and down, I’ve recognized that when we are filled
with overwhelming emotions, we tend to overlook the things that matter more and exaggerate those that are not
as important as we deem them to be. I might not remember what I felt when I first heard my parents’ voices nor
the feeling of grasping their fingers for the very first time, but I remember when my father first called me
darling when I didn’t see him for days. I remember the unfamiliar yet pleasant feeling when my mother said that
she wanted the best for me. Lastly, I remember how my grandmother would hug me to sleep like there was
never a single thing that could come my way. In remembering all these, I slowly came to accept that it was only
in their absence that I knew and came to appreciate what their presence truly felt like.

In closing, I want to express just how much of an importance it is for children to have the privilege of
being a child - to play, to be nurtured and cared for, to be foolish and go on unscratched, and to just be a child in
everything that they do and in the very sense of their being. Because I believe that it is only in being a child that
one can ever truly live for himself, not for other people nor for the world, just for himself.