Some of my earliest — and happiest — memories are of time spent with my paternal grandmother.

For the first five years of my life, I was the proverbial apple of her eye. Every photo seemed to show Grandma kissing me and I would run to her for cuddles.

She even gave me the nickname Sonu, which means gold in Hindu. And like gold, I glowed in the light of her unconditional love. Then, abruptly, the light went out.

My younger cousin was born and overnight, it seemed, my grandmother very publicly transferred her attentions, going so far as to bestow that precious nickname on her.

I was devastated. As a five-year-old, I didn't understand how her feelings could change so dramatically — to be honest, I still don't — and it left me wondering what I had done wrong.

Today, I'm 36 and a manifestation life coach. To the outside world, I live a charmed life in the Cotswolds with my partner and our French bulldog. But, inside, the hurt it caused is very much still with me.

Which is why I was horrified to read Emma Parsons-Reid announce to the world in last week's Femail magazine that she has a favourite grandchild — and, what's more, her four other grandchildren know it.

I'm not alone. One of the hundreds of people who commented on Emma's piece noted: 'Having not been the 'favourite' child or grandchild myself, I know how cruel and unkind it is to show this and, yes, we feel it often quite acutely.' I'd go even further; that kind of favouritism leaves a life-long scar on your psyche.

'With friends and my partner I can be needy, constantly seeking their approval,' Sonali Saujani writes, 'It doesn't take Freud to trace it all back to Grandma'

Throughout my life I have suffered anxiety, low self-esteem and rebelled to get attention. My biggest fear is that no one likes me and no one loves me.

My first marriage was to someone entirely inappropriate — a 'bad boy' — which I now believe was partly motivated by a desire just to be noticed.

Even today with friends and my partner I can be needy, constantly seeking their approval. I detest myself for behaving this way and yet it doesn't take Freud to trace it all back to Grandma.

My dad's mum was the matriarch, very much in charge. She was the type of person you'd turn to if something awful happened. Nothing fazed her.

She was also, in practice, the only grandparent I had. My maternal grandmother lived in another country and both my grandfathers died before I was born.

But as Grandma lived nearby with my uncle, she was a constant presence in my life. I'm an only child. While I was eventually conceived naturally, my parents — my father was an accountant and mum worked for his company — had already spent ten years trying to start a family.

I never got the chance to ask why she'd rejected me 

When I was born, Grandma moved in for six weeks to help. She already had six other grandchildren and there was a five-year age gap between the youngest of them and me. For five years, I had her undivided attention.

Then my cousin, born to the uncle who Grandma lived with, arrived and everything changed. I should make it clear that I've never held any grudges against my cousin, now 30 and a successful lawyer.

As a baby she was indescribably cute and even I loved cuddling her. But when Grandma gave her my nickname and started calling me by my full name, I was heartbroken.

Even Mum was upset about the blatant demotion and while she would still call me Sonu, Grandma would correct her.

My little cousin was swiftly followed by a younger brother and it was as though I no longer existed. I felt pushed to the back of the grandchild pecking order. If I doubt my memories, I only have to look at photos from family functions. In any group photographs of Grandma with her grandchildren, I'm the one firmly pushed to one side.

Grandma also regularly began reprimanding my mum for spoiling me, once telling her not to dress me in pretty dresses because of the attention I'd attract.

I even found Mum crying because Grandma had told her off for fussing over my food and sitting with me to make sure I ate everything. Apparently, I should have been left to fend for myself.

As for spending quality time together, it just never happened again. Friends would get taken out by their grandmas to the shops or for treats — not me.

Then, around the time I was 12, Grandma was involved in an accident and paralysed from the waist down.

Whenever my uncle and his family were away, Dad or his other siblings would stay with her. I would dread those visits because when it was our turn I had to listen to her tell story after story about how incredible my younger cousins were, leaving me feeling useless.

READ MORE: I admit it, I have a favourite grandchild. And I tell all the others because it's good for them to learn early: life isn't fair

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It didn't help that school was hard for me. Eventually, I was diagnosed with dyslexia and dyspraxia, but not performing well in class only underlined why I felt I didn't deserve to be loved by her.

Grandma died just before my 16th birthday and in my culture you can't have big celebrations for the following 12 months. I blamed her for putting the brakes on the one day I would have been centre of attention.

It also meant I never got the chance to ask why she'd 'rejected' me, or to forge a relationship with her as an adult — one that may have been different.

Unfortunately, even though Grandma wasn't in my life any more, my feelings of inadequacy didn't go away. In my teens I started to rebel. I was the child about whom everyone asked: 'What has she done now?!'

On one memorable occasion, I ran up a three-figure phone bill. At 18, I wanted to get a tattoo. Unheard of in my family!

When I was 19, I met my ex-husband, who was totally unsuitable — slick, rude and often disrespectful — but we were together for ten years before I finished it, believing it was all I deserved.

Throughout my 20s, at the behest of my father, I'd grudgingly attend family get-togethers. But I didn't talk to anyone. They were all so supremely successful and my self-esteem was so low I convinced myself no one was interested in anything I had to say. Mum had always been my unswerving support on these occasions, and when she died in 2019, I made the decision to move away from my family in London to live in the Cotswolds.

Her death also reignited feelings of abandonment and that no one cared about me.

Four years later, I finally started to address those feelings and heal thanks to my loving partner, who I met online three years ago.

I can see now that whatever issue Grandma had, it reflected her inadequacies, not mine. As a result, I have become slightly closer to some members of my family.

While I'd like to have two or three children, I've made my views crystal clear on favouritism. As a mother, I will ensure that they will be loved equally.

My partner's mum has three children and she's my role model because she ensures they all feel special, equally loved and she never favours any of them.

And my dad, even though he says he'd like me to have a son, knows I won't accept him favouring any future grandchildren.

I think there will always be a part of me that's a rejected five-year-old.

But now I know that little girl isn't to blame and I wish I could give her a hug and tell her: 'It was never your fault that Grandma loved you less.'

•  As told to Samantha Brick