No More Waiting in the Hallway

Intro:

By Alexa Katharina Waldmann

This is a deeply personal reflection about healing early attachment wounds and reclaiming emotional space. It’s about growing up unseen, about waiting too long for others to show up, and about the quiet decision to stop waiting and begin living. If you’ve ever felt like you had to earn love, perform for attention, or sit patiently in emotional limbo—this piece is for you.

There are pieces of my childhood that live in my body like permanent echoes.Each one is different—age, setting, emotion—but they all speak the same truth:

Help only comes when I fall apart.

Age 3: The Hallway in Munich

We’re sitting near the kitchen in our apartment. I don’t remember what happened before or after—just this frozen frame.

I’m small, overwhelmed, frustrated, and sad.I start hitting my mom. Not because I want to hurt her.Because I’m begging her:

Please help me. Please give me boundaries. I feel out of control. I don’t want to be like this.

But she doesn’t meet me with grounding or clarity. She doesn’t say, “I’ve got you.”She doesn’t offer understanding—only absence in the face of my distress.

I needed containment. I needed someone to kneel down and say, “It’s okay to have big feelings—I’ll help you hold them.”Instead, I learned: Even in chaos, I’m alone.

Age 9: The Hair Dryer at My Grandmother’s

Now I’m at my grandmother’s house. My mom checks out here—sinks into the green chair in the corner and disappears into a book.

She sees it as a vacation. She thinks Grandma is in charge now.But I still need her.

I unplug the hair dryer. Not because I’m dysregulated. I’m playful, reaching, testing.Her whiny “nooo…” and the act of plugging it back in is the closest thing I get to connection.

I do it again. She barely reacts.Until my grandmother gives me a look—and I stop.

What I really wanted was this:

“Come sit with me.”“I see you. Let’s do something together.”

But I got no limits, no invitation, and no engagement.So I learned: attention has to be pulled. And it rarely comes when I need it most.

The Doctor: The Deeper Ache

What cuts the deepest is the pattern I saw around my health.

I had concerns. Real fears about my body. I told her, again and again:

“I’m going to die because you don’t take me to the doctor.”

And she dismissed it. Brushed it off.I didn’t know how to name what I needed—but I knew I needed help.

She only came when I escalated.And when she finally showed up, she was great—loving, nurturing, fully present.But the lesson had already landed:

• Help doesn’t come when I ask softly

• My body’s warning signs don’t matter

• I must get loud, panicked, or broken to be taken seriously

• I cannot trust my own instincts

• My worth is measured by how much I need, not by the simple fact that I exist

And Now, In My Adult Life

I see how this thread continues in my marriage.

My husband can be lovely—fun, charming, full of heart.But it’s always just a matter of time before the next blow-up.And when it comes, I find myself right back in the hallway—watching someone unravel, and no one circling back for me.

My sons are beginning to carry this pattern too.Julian’s stomachaches. My 4-year-old’s headaches. Their little bodies learning what I learned too young:

You’re only seen when you’re in pain.

But I won’t let that continue.

What I Know Now

I didn’t want attention for the sake of drama. I wanted connection.I didn’t want to win arguments. I wanted to be held.I didn’t want to fall apart. I wanted someone to help me stay together.

These memories don’t define me, but they explain me.And now, I get to choose differently.

I will not wait until I break to ask for help.I will not pass this silence on to my children.

I will create a home where calm gets attention—where needs don’t have to scream to be honored.

I will parent myself and my sons in a way that says:

“You’re not too much. You’re already enough.”

No More Waiting in the Hallway

The hallway has always been a theme in my life.

The place in-between. The space where I sat, listening, hoping, bracing—waiting for someone to come find me. Waiting for someone to come back. Waiting for someone to notice that I was hurting.

But now I see it differently.

I’ve turned the hallway into a room. My room.

It’s no longer a place of waiting, but a place of living.

If someone wants to come sit with me in this room, they’re welcome.

But I’m not begging.

I’m not chasing.

I’m not waiting for someone to make my life begin.

I’m no longer contorting myself to become who others want me to be, just to make them stay.

The hallway isn’t a holding place anymore. It’s home.

This is where the story changes.

We are not sitting in the hallway anymore.

We are walking out—or staying in—with our hearts intact, either way.

If this piece speaks to something in you—a memory, a pattern, a quiet ache—I’d love to hear your story too. You’re welcome to reach out, reflect, or simply sit in this room with me. There’s space here for your truth.