Being the Odd One Out Due to a Difficult Toddlerhood

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For as long as I can remember, something set me apart from other people. I became the oddball. Teachers wrote in my school reports that I “seemed to lead an intense inner life.” I often drifted out of conversations, losing minutes. Words dissolved before I could grasp their meaning. People repeated themselves. I pretended to follow along so I wouldn’t look stupid.

It wasn’t shyness. It was a kind of dissociation that made ordinary interaction feel like wading through fog.


Drawing of a split self from toddlerhood Madeleine Watson
My split self goes back to my toddlerhood. My book Mirror Image Shattered tells the whole story.

My Aural Dyslexia No One Could See

I seemed to suffer a form of dyslexia, but in listening — an aural processing disorder. Music lyrics slipped past me. Spoken words tangled up. I asked Mum for a hearing test, convinced my hearing had gone awry. She whispered, “Would you like some sweets?” I answered instantly “Yes please!”. She smiled and assured me there was nothing wrong with my hearing.

Okay, so my hearing was fine. But the difficulty stuck.

Reading wasn’t much easier. I’d get halfway down a page before realising I’d drifted from the meaning. But at least the printed word allowed me to go back and reread until comprehension clicked in. Listening didn’t offer that luxury.

The Shame of Being Different

As my self‑awareness grew, and so did my embarrassment. I withdrew in class, hoping to melt into the background. I longed for home — not just physically, but emotionally. A grief for childhood, and home scoured through my heart. I felt as though something precious had slipped away.

School magnified my grief. I couldn’t stand up for myself. My phobias, my identity, the chaos of our household — all blurred my sense of identity. I tried to mimic other children, echoing their attitudes to fit in.

I had self-deserted; living a lie.

For this reason, bullying escalated. Children followed me home, catcalled, and stole my things. I ran away from school a few times. Mum met with the headteacher, and nothing changed. I began to believe I deserved it. I’m ‘pathetic’, a sad-case who can’t stick up for myself. My home environment had shaped me long before I ever stepped through the school gates.

Learning to be Normal

By my teens, I had learned how to behave in groups — not naturally, but through careful observation. At art college, meeting new people gave me a chance to start again. I perfected ways of hiding my defects. I made fair‑weather friends, went to parties, had a couple of boyfriends. I even lost my virginity at twenty, relieved to escape the fear of being “a forever virgin.”

People saw me as pretty, arty, a bit of a laugh. My large jungle paintings drew attention. I became one of the most productive art students in my year. On the outside, I looked confident, creative, and socially capable.

But inside, I was a mess.

Only my twin knew about the secret world taking shape inside me — a world fuelled by another self, living in my head. A presence. A force. A shadow identity that coloured my thoughts and feelings long before I understood its origin.

The Hidden Self That Would Not Let Go

This inner world wasn’t imagination. It wasn’t teenage angst. It was the early formation of another self that would soon dominate my writing, my artwork and my adolescence.

My head has concealed a burial ground so deeply that it shaped my identity without my awareness. I only knew that something inside me was creating boundaries between me and the rest of the world. Now, decades later, I can see the pattern:

  • The dissociation
  • Listening difficulties
  • Zoning out
  • Social confusion
  • Target of bullies
  • Hidden grief

And my secret inner world

These weren’t quirks. They were symptoms. And the cause was a horrible toddlerhood.

This blog is where I unravel these threads — the oddity, the dissociation, the twin identity, and the hidden self that shaped my life long before I understood why.

Relevant Links on this Blog

Home About this blog and popular posts.
About me
Start here How I learned the truth about my past in 10 parts
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Themes in my work

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Intro

Welcome — I’m Madeleine Watson, a writer, artist, diarist and researcher. For almost 50 years I’ve lived a lie. I have documented my journey to the dark truth about my toddlerhood through research. This blog brings together my findings at the age of 51 — a discovery that reshaped everything I believed about myself.

My work spans childhood trauma, identity, memory, twinhood and how early experiences echo through adult life. Here you’ll find reflections drawn from decades of personal documentation.

If you’re new, the best place to begin is the Start Here page, which introduces the prologue and the 10‑part series that leads to the moment I learned the truth about my past. You can also visit About Me to learn more about my background and the purpose behind this project.

Thank you for reading.

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