The Devastating Power Of Neglect

by Anna

When I was a child my parents and my siblings and I used to fly to Florida for vacations. My father worked for a large commercial air lines, so we could all travel for free as long as we didn't mind being on stand-by.

One memory of being in Florida sticks out the most and I don't think that I will ever forget it. It has found a place in my mind and my body where it runs around frantic, waiting to be told. It resurfaces every time I go to the ocean and watch the waves coming in one after the other. I can walk on the beach and feel the wet sand beneath my bare feet, but I dare not go into the water. My husband and I went into the water one time and I spent weeks afterward having panic attacks about it.

I remember that it was a very hot day in Florida. My parents decided to take us children to the ocean. All of us children were so excited. We loved the ocean. I put on my swim suit, my bathing cap, got in the car and went off for a day in the sun. When we got to the ocean my mother told my older brothers that they could go in the water, but not for long. She had brought along a picnic lunch and she wanted the boys to be dried off before lunch time. My father lay on a towel and started to read the newspaper. My mother told me not to go into the water and to just play in the sand. I was very young at the time.

After about half an hour of playing in the sand, I looked over at my mother. She was holding my little brother's hands and letting his feet dangle in the shallow part of the water. I looked back at my father and he had the newspaper over his face. He was snoring. Then I looked out at my brothers who were laughing and dancing around in the ocean as if it were the best part of heaven that a young child could ever know.

I left my pail of sand and my sand castle and walked over to the edge of the water. I felt my little feet sinking into the sand every time the waves would come in and out. It felt like the ocean was pulling me into it. I walked out a little ways. The waves rushed against my legs and I had to lean side to side to keep my balance. My brothers' laughter came riding on the wind like an invitation to go out further, so I did. Soon, I was in the water up to my neck. I could taste the salty sea as the waves lapped my chin and mouth. I felt the ocean surrounding me like a huge whale, enticing me to be a part of it.

All of a sudden, I heard one of my brothers yell, "Here it comes!" I looked to see what he was talking about and saw a huge wave coming towards me. There was nothing that I could do. My brothers did not see me there, my father was sleeping and my mother was busy with my little brother.

The wave took me as if my body was a limp rag doll. I felt myself becoming a part of it's fury as it engulfed me. It threw me forward. The next thing I knew, I was being dragged on the ocean floor. I was swallowing water, sand, and anything else that made its way into my mouth. I struggled to come up for air. I took a deep gulp of air and then another huge wave hit. Again, I was thrown forward and then again, I was dragged on the ocean floor. I could feel the skin on my body being scraped mercilessly. Even as a small child, I thought that my life was going to end. I just knew that this was the last day I had on the planet Earth.

Just when I had lost hope that I would ever see dry land again, it seemed as if a huge current came along, lifted my body up, and then another wave pushed me to shore. I was saved. I dragged myself onto the wet sand. I crawled to where my father was laying and just lay there, choking. My father shifted, took the newspaper off of his face and looked at me. He said, "You can go out now, just not too far."

I did not go out in the ocean again.

Response from Dr. DeFoore

Thanks for this powerful story, Anna. As you demonstrate here, neglect is one of the most dangerous types of abuse there is. Hopefully telling this story will take you a little further toward feeling safe around the ocean, while respecting its tremendous power. A lot of people will appreciate what you've written here.