Chapter 3: The Vanishing Smile

“Go your own way, even if it leads through darkness – only there will you find the light that is yours.”

— Anonymous

A strong, corrosive odor of vomit permeated the musty air, almost to the point of making people around him gag. The smell was so thick you could taste it in your mouth. Under the threadbare blanket, Alex's small body convulsed as fever ravaged him, each muscle drawn taut as a piano wire. Through the splintered holes in his bedroom door came his stepfather's laughter—a sound like breaking glass—harmonizing with Peter's high-pitched cackle. Their cruelty pined against him heavier than the sweat-soaked blankets, each breath drawing their mockery deeper into his lungs. In his delirium, the dream of Palangos swimming pool, cool waters dissolved like sugar in a tea cup. That pool was more than just water and concrete, it was the most well-known destination back then in Soviet Lithuania. For Alex and Dave, it was the source of their shared mythology, spoken to one another on starry evenings. They had depicted it in words: fountains that swirled like liquid starlight, slides that spiraled towards the heavens and crystalline depths offering redemption. In that legendary spa town, their imagination reverberated with laughter from tomorrow and joy that had not yet been experienced.

Alex discovered that reality's sharp edges are capable of easily shattering dreams. The day before the trip, it began with his body—food turning to ash in his mouth, every scent morphing into poison that sent him retching into the rusted pail beside his bed. His grandmother's house, once a sanctuary of fresh bread and safety, now reeked of sickness and surrender. The thermometer does not have that much of the numbers to read against his forehead, telling a story of fire, while his mother's eyes darkened with helpless worry. As family scattered like leaves in the wind—stepfather to work, Peter and grandfather to their separate lives—she remained, her palm cool against his burning skin, an anchor in his fever-tossed world.  The next morning, when they appeared in his doorway—his stepfather and stepbrother, vultures wearing human smiles—the air thickened with malice. 

“Hey, Alex!” Peter's voice dripped honeyed venom, “We're heading to Lina's swimming pool. Wanna join us?”  Each word struck like hail against Alex's fever-added consciousness. His response emerged broken, “Just go away.”

The shared dream of Palangos Linas now mocked him from an unreachable shore, while Dave's laughter, once companionable in starlit conspiracies, transformed into arrows finding their mark.  His stepfather, towering in the doorway like a shadow made flesh, delivered the killing blow, “Oh, Alex, such a shame you can't come! And because of you... your mother can't go either. You know how much she wanted this.”

The door closed with the finality of a tomb being sealed. In the darkness, guilt and shame coiled around Alex like a bucket of serpents. His mother's lost joy became another guilt on his fevered conscience, another failure in a growing collection. Peter's echoing laughter filled every corner, a soundtrack to his worthlessness.

The dream of Palangos Linas died that day, but something else was born—a fierce knowledge that survival sometimes meant learning to swim alone in the darkest waters. The verbal abuse corroded Alexe's self-worth like acid, eating away at identity, beliefs and feelings. Criticism became his daily bread—a wrong, stupid, ignorant failure. The world narrowed to a place of constant threat, where even family meant danger. 

Every cruel laugh, instance of neglect, and every instance of suffering molding Alex's young mind—a tragic illustration of how childhood experiences etch deep channels in the psyche. Although his experience is distinct in its aspects, it reflects a basic reality about human growth that science is just now starting to grasp.

Children are innocent, curious and perpetual learners.  Their minds are sponges, absorbing every detail of their environment. During the first seven years—a period neuroscience now recognizes as the most critical window of brain development—their experiences significantly wire the brain in the neural pathways that will influence their entire lives. Children look up to adults, both literally and metaphorically; and their developing minds are constantly scanning and internalizing every situation, interaction, facial expression and emotional response. These observations and experiences allow them to construct their core beliefs and habits—what psychologists term the “developing self” or what we might call their “little ego”—laying the foundation of their future personality. The mirror neuron system, discovered in recent decades, explains how we adults and children naturally mimic their environment, not just in behavior, but in emotional regulation and stress responses. Their daily experiences are literally wiring their brains, resulting in either resilient, secure attachment patterns or tragically, trauma-based, paranoid and negative survival mechanisms.

Trauma can interfere with this natural learning process in children who have experienced abuse or neglect, leading to what neuroscientists refer to as “toxic stress,” which can change brain structure physically, which will eventually affect everyday function. Cognitively, the impact of childhood oppression and abuse extends far beyond immediate emotional pain. Trauma interferes with the development of the prefrontal cortex—our brain's execution center—hindering essential skills like concentration, decision-making and regulating emotion.

Children of trauma often exist in a state of hypervigilance, their nervous systems stuck in “fight, flight, or freeze” mode, making it nearly impossible to focus on learning or healthy development. This biological adaptation to danger, while protective in the moment, creates a cascade of challenges: their minds become preoccupied with survival rather than growth, leading them to doubt their abilities and often sabotage opportunities for success. 

The tragic irony is that they may rebel against or avoid the very experiences that could help them heal and thrive. The social impact of childhood trauma creates a complex web of challenges. Children who experience abuse or neglect develop what attachment theorists call “insecure attachment patterns”—and their ability to trust and form healthy relationships becomes fundamentally altered. They learn to view the world through a lens of danger and unpredictability, making it difficult to establish and maintain meaningful connections with peers and adults. Their minds are constantly questioning and evaluating the connections. The boundaries they develop are either rigid and defensive or virtually non-existent, reflecting their traumatic experiences of having their own boundaries violated. Without intervention and healing, these early trauma patterns can echo through the generations.

The ACE (Adverse Childhood Experiences) studies have shown us that unresolved childhood trauma significantly increases the risk of not just mental health issues, but also physical health problems, addiction and the perpetuation of abusive patterns in future relationships. However, the human spirit's capacity for healing and transformation is remarkable. With the right people, insight, self-awareness, support and therapeutic intervention, the cycle can be broken. As we delve into the profound effects of childhood trauma, we also uncover the immense significance of establishing secure and supportive spaces for every child, as well as the potential for individuals to recover from these wounds. 

When the news came from school that Alex would repeat third grade for another year, it merely confirmed what the family members had already taught him: he was less than, broken and unworthy. Years of neglect had left their mark, not just on his spirit, but on his smile.  Rotten teeth forced him to develop a peculiar way of speaking, lips barely parting and his words carefully measured to hide the decay. Through innumerable moments of embarrassment, this dance of concealment evolved into an art form. The humiliation of being held back a grade seemed to be the last confirmation of all the nasty things that had been said to him. Alex, being the eldest in his new class, felt the burden of attention on his shoulders and had to plan his every move to keep his dyslexia, and the inability to concentrate, from being a distraction. Destiny had a strange sense of humor, placing an empty seat beside the new girl with captivating brown eyes and sleek obsidian hair. Alex's heart thundered against his ribs as he approached, palms slick with anxiety. This wasn't just a seat—it was the precipice of a new chapter, terrifying in its possibility. Her presence enveloped him like a gentle sunbeam, her subtle, nice smelling black hair making his head spin. The sound of his own heart drumming drowned out Mrs. Lenktal's introduction. When he tried to speak, his carefully practiced movements betrayed him. “Hi, uh, nice to meet you... um...” The words died in his throat as he fought to keep his lips closed, desperate to hide his shame. That first day stretched like an eternity, spent in careful silence, eyes scanning the classroom for friendly faces. By day's end, courage found him, and he made connections that would later become lifelines. Yet the shadow of his old class lingered, along with the crushing significance of dyslexia and attention deficit—unnamed monsters that made every lesson a battlefield.

As the weeks melted into months, something unexpected began to grow in the soil of his displacement. The warmth of new friendships and strong affection for the girl grew like wildflowers in spring and gradually replaced his longing for his former class. In this new world, where his stepbrother's shadow couldn't reach, Alex discovered pieces of himself he never knew existed. Mrs. Lenktal, his grammar teacher, saw what others missed. Though not naturally patient, she recognized the puzzle of his mind—how his thoughts flitted like hummingbirds among galaxies of ideas. She tailored a toolbox of unconventional methods, turning his differences into strengths only to learn how temporary it was. Their relationship was a delicate balancing act of strengths and weaknesses; her perfectionist expectations were not fully informed about Alex's battles in the house, which clashed with his lack of self-awareness about his own inadequacy, while his disorganized focus fostered an environment conducive to development.

Homework remained his fiercest enemy, but Alex developed a cunning strategy. His surname's position at the end of the roll call became his secret weapon. While classmates presented at the chalkboard, his focus would sharpen to laser precision, absorbing entire lessons in moments and completing assignments on borrowed time. In these moments of hyper-focus, his mind's chaos transformed into brilliant clarity. But strategies, like secrets, have a way of unravelling. When teachers discovered his method, forcing him to present first, his carefully constructed world began to crumble. Grades slipped through his fingers like water, each failure adding fuel to the fires of home torment.

In the USSR back in those days, words like dyslexia and ADHD didn't exist. There was only success and failure, normal and broken—along with reems of embarrassment you were forced to carry if someone in your family had psychological problems. Afterschool, homework sessions became battlegrounds with the evening atmosphere thick with frustration, tears and shouting. “Retarded!” the word flew like a dagger and was especially cutting as his stepbrother's star continued to rise. “Look at your brother!  He can understand the topic. Why can't you!?”  Alex’s stepfather shouted in frustration while hitting the tabletop. “Useless!” 

The criticism was a shadow that followed his every step, a wound refusing to heal. Yet in his new class, Alex slowly became known as the truth-seeker, the one who dared to challenge anyone and question everything. Without his stepbrother's constant comparison and free from old expectations, he found his voice. His self-esteem began to rebuild as he realized that sometimes being held back meant finding a better path forward. The wounds didn't vanish—his teeth still kept his smile hidden, his thoughts still scattered like startled birds—but in this new space, being different slowly transformed from curse to characteristic.