Meena was sixteen when she first cut herself.
Her mom saw it first, and after shouting at her and thrashing her for doing it, she tied the bloodied area tight with a cloth. That was it- she let her off with a warning that if Meena ever did it again, she would kill herself. Meena was bemused by the irony of it. Although she expressed only anger, Meena could sense the immense fear beneath her mom's anger. She knew how to read the tightness in her jaw and the weight of her silence. Afterall, she had always been trained to be a sponge, soaking in every tremor and every sigh in her mother's voice.
Their neighbourhood's cool bar guy had told her dad that he had seen Meena laughing and walking with a boy. She was in love, and love, in her world, was an offence.
But Meena’s story did not begin with that boy. It began a generation earlier.
Meena’s mother had been married as a child. She often used to reminisce about her carefree days in her hometown- laughing with friends, running across the fields- until the day a proposal came from a wealthy family. She used to remember how the harvest had failed for them that year, and how her parents talked in hushed tones of the debts that lingered. She was pulled out of school and married off.
At first, she felt relieved to escape exams and studies. She looked forward to a cinematic life ahead. But reality was far from that. She realised that life after marriage is not all a bed of roses. The rules of her new home were strict. She had to wake up early, make food, and help in the kitchen, as well as with their acres of agricultural land, collecting the produce and preparing it for sale. She did not have a choice.
Her husband and new family were used to everything done perfectly and in a particular way different from how she lived at her home. She soon realised that control was her only protection. By managing every detail of the household, she learned to anticipate their moods and keep tension at a distance. The home became a tightly run system, held together by routines she followed with precision — because as long as nothing slipped, she was fine.
Over time, the vigilance became the norm. She woke before everyone else, running through the day in her head before her feet touched the floor. She noticed everything — misplaced objects, unfinished tasks, changes in tone.
When she became a mother to Meena, that vigilance did not soften—it shifted.
She told herself she was preparing her daughter for life. She believed that by sharing her own hardships, she was strengthening Meena. She made Meena her confidante when she was barely five years old. She leaned on her for emotional comfort. She told her it was her responsibility to keep the family together. She told everyone proudly that she was Meena's best friend!!
To her, this was bonding.
To Meena, it was a childhood quietly disappearing.
Meena soon forgot what it was like to be a child. She became an adult in a small physical body. Her psyche craved attention and play, but instead, she was drowned in adult problems.
Meena’s mother had thought all was well. But for Meena, it was hell.
At eighteen, she eloped with the boy she believed was hers forever.
The marriage did not last. She returned home divorced, carrying shame over unresolved trauma. At twenty-four, she remarried, this time through an arrangement chosen by her parents. Everyone believed this would “fix” her.
But trauma does not disappear with a ceremony.
Now thirty-five, Meena lives with the consequences of wounds that began before she was born.
Adverse Childhood Experiences — commonly referred to as ACEs are potentially traumatic events that occur before the age of eighteen and overwhelm a child’s developing nervous system. For Meena’s mother, child marriage functioned as an ACE. She was removed from school, an abrupt loss of peer relationships and attachment. She was placed in an adult role before her brain had fully developed its autonomy. Her survival depended on pleasing, anticipating, and controlling her environment. Her own needs were rarely acknowledged, and she had to put in long hours of work and little rest. Exposure to chronic stress and household conflict became a daily pattern. The loss of choice over her body, education, and relationships doubled the trauma, leaving her with few coping skills. Child marriage robs children of their childhood, forcing them into adult roles and exposing them to chronic stress. Research shows that these experiences profoundly shape emotional regulation, stress responses, attachment patterns, and long-term mental health.
Meena did not experience child marriage herself, but she inherited its emotional and psychological legacy. Growing up, her nervous system learned to anticipate danger before safety. She may feel anxious, cautious, or be constantly alert in relationships—not because of her own experiences, but because of the trauma passed down to her. Her nervous system mirrored her mother’s—always alert, always scanning for danger. Meena’s fragile sense of belonging began to shatter at the slightest hint of disapproval. Self-harm began as a way to “feel” something in the numbness. Later, it became a way to cope with overwhelming emotions like anger, fear, rejection, and abandonment. Pain became something predictable as well as controllable.
This is not the story of one person. It reflects the experiences of many who have been trapped and funnelled into child marriage by circumstances beyond their control—poverty, family pressure, rigid traditions, and coercive environments. The impact does not end with the individual. Even when the next generation does not experience child marriage directly, the consequences can ripple forward.
Clinical Psychologists who work with children and adolescents say that when a child is forced into adult roles too early, it is also known as parentification. Here, there is a role reversal where the child is forced to assume adult responsibilities, be it emotional or physical as taking care of others. It is considered a childhood trauma. Although these children are often described as “good girls/boys” or “mature beyond their age” or “strong and responsible”, inside they carry anxiety, hypervigilance, guilt/shame, difficulties with boundaries and fear of abandonment. Besides, early trauma teaches children that their feelings don’t matter or that expressing themselves is unsafe. All these carry on to their adulthood, and they might have difficulties in emotional regulation since they were never allowed to be children themselves. Trauma can also influence parenting practices and attachment. The higher the presence of adverse childhood experiences, such as emotional and physical neglect, physical abuse, divorce/separation, poverty, discrimination, lack of opportunity, and racism, the higher the chances of developing anxiety, depression, PTSD and even chronic illnesses, such as cardiovascular diseases and diabetes.
In this way, child marriage can contribute to intergenerational cycles of disadvantage—affecting futures well beyond those who found themselves in it without real choice. Recognising it is not just about laws or statistics; it is about seeing the silent, enduring impact of early trauma and taking responsibility—not to punish, but to prevent. Thus, recognising child marriage as an ACE transforms prevention into an intergenerational intervention. It acknowledges hidden suffering, disrupts cycles of trauma, and creates pathways for long-term psychological wellbeing—for survivors, their children, and future generations.
For Meena, her mood swings intensified, and her fear of abandonment deepened. She oscillated between clinging and withdrawal, between hope and despair. Hospital visits became frequent, though always far from home, since seeking psychiatric care locally carries stigma. Although Kerala has seen huge strides with technology, mental health was something which is still talked in hushed tones.
Meena's husband, once steady and patient, now feels anxious most of the time, never quite sure what mood he will come home to. Their nine-year-old child has begun bedwetting again after years of dryness. When Meena locks herself in her room during an emotional meltdown, her child experiences panic attacks- curling up on the floor, trembling and refusing to go to school for days.
The cycle has become visible.
Disclaimer: This report was filed under Population First's Laadli Media Fellowship 2026. This story may include events or experiences inspired by real people, but all identifying details have been changed to protect privacy and confidentiality