This is for those who were made to feel invisible in school.
Not just bullied, but excluded, misunderstood, and silenced.
I was born in Malaysia but spent 15 years growing up in India, believing that the country I called home would one day embrace me. But it didn't. Not fully. My childhood was shadowed by more than cultural confusion; it was fraught with emotional weight.
At just 11 years old, I became a caregiver to my sister, who was diagnosed with schizophrenia. I adored her, but the role of caregiver wasn’t something any child should be forced into. It was a role that required me to grow up too fast.
At the same time, something about me felt different but I didn’t know what it was. I only found out much later that I had profound hearing loss in my left ear, something neither I nor my parents were aware of back then. I don’t blame them. They were already fighting their own battle emotionally and physically consumed by caring for my sister.
Between the ages of 6 and 15, I switched schools three times. One of them left a mark so deep that it changed the way I saw myself and the world. The teachers and students at this school knew about my family’s struggles. And yet, instead of kindness, I met with cruelty.
“Go back to Malaysia.”
“Can’t you hear?”
“Your sister is mad.”
Yes, these words were thrown at me by people who came from well-educated families. But even worse than the words was being excluded. Not being picked for teams. Not being invited to birthdays. Not having anyone to sit with at lunch.
At home, things weren’t any better. My parents were doing their best, but they were exhausted. There was no space left for me, not emotionally, not mentally. I felt invisible. That pain pushed me to start writing. My diary became my only friend. An avenue where I could express myself when no one wanted to listen.
Years passed. When I was finally diagnosed with hearing loss at 19, things began to make sense. And I began to heal.
I chose to study psychology, driven by a quiet but fierce passion to understand the human mind especially what happens to a mind touched by trauma, neglect, or mental illness. My sister was my first teacher in this space. She was the reason I wanted to help others like her and like me.
In 2018, I went to the UK to study neuroscience. I wanted to know what exactly happens in the brain when we feel joy, sadness, shame, or fear. That’s when I came across something that stopped me cold:
A study published in Molecular Psychiatry found that bullying doesn’t just hurt emotionally, it changes the brain.
Teens who are regularly bullied show reduced volume in two key brain regions: the caudate and the putamen. These areas are involved in how we process emotions, make decisions, and respond to social situations. The study also found that these changes are linked to increased anxiety by the age of 19.
And it hit me, I had anxiety as a kid. I just didn’t know it. I remembered the tears. The fake fevers. The mornings I begged not to go to school. The stomachaches. The silence.
This isn’t just my story. It’s the story of so many kids and adults who are suffering in silence. Because yes, bullying doesn’t stop in childhood. It happens at work. In families. Online. In subtle and overt ways.
So how can you as a parent, a sibling, a friend, or a colleague support someone who may be going through this?
1. Validate Their Experience
Avoid phrases like “just ignore them” or “toughen up.” Instead, say:
“I believe you. That must be really hard.”
Research shows that emotional validation helps reduce feelings of shame and loneliness, especially in victims of bullying. Your belief in them is the first step in healing.
2. Create Safe Spaces
Make room for them to express themselves. This could be through journaling, therapy, art, or simply having regular check-ins. Neuroscience shows that emotional expression helps regulate the brain’s stress response, reducing long-term harm.
3. Know the Signs and Act Early
Be aware of behavioral changes: withdrawal, frequent illnesses, low self-esteem, or sudden anger. These could be signs of distress. Early intervention, whether through school counselors, therapy, or supportive conversations can prevent long-term mental health consequences.
Today, I use both my personal story and my neuroscience background to advocate for brain and mental health. Because no child or adult should feel invisible.
If you're reading this and you see even a small part of yourself in my story, know this:
You are not alone. You matter. And your brain and your heart deserve kindness.
