INVISIBLE: The Deep Ache of Not Being Seen – Have you ever felt invisible—like you’re moving through life unseen, unnoticed, and unacknowledged?
For some, this experience is fleeting. But for others, it’s an emotional undercurrent that defines entire chapters of their lives. And when this feeling lingers, the message that quietly settles in is, “I don’t matter.” Or worse: “I’m not important.”
It’s especially devastating when this invisibility is experienced in childhood. At such a tender age, when our sense of self is still forming, being overlooked isn’t just painful—it feels like truth. I remember it vividly. I was one of three children, the youngest, with two older brothers who seemed to receive all the attention, particularly from our mother.
One night when I was about eight, I decided to run an experiment. I decided that at dinner, I would say nothing and see how long it took before someone noticed.
I sat quietly, ate my food, and waited. As the meal continued, conversations circled around me, salt and pepper were passed over me, and occasional laughter skipped across the table—none of it included me. Time moved so slowly because of the worsening pain.
I thought, surely someone would notice… eventually. But they didn’t. Even after we cleared the table for dessert and resumed our places, I remained unspoken to.
Then, dinner was over. I silently folded my napkin, pushed my chair back, and quickly walked to my room so no one would see the tears streaming down my face.
Thankfully, I didn’t feel this way for the rest of my life. At school, I was chosen first for teams, invited to all parties, and included in dances. I had lots of friends. I felt seen. But because I knew what it was like to not be seen, I made it a point to notice others who might be slipping through the cracks. It was no longer about me—it became about us. Inclusion. Recognition. Kindness.
Life has a way of circling back to old lessons, sometimes dressed in new forms.
Years later, after a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis, I began navigating the world in a wheelchair and eventually with a walker. And once again, invisibility crept back in—but this time, in a way I never anticipated.
In public, people stopped making eye contact. If I were in a group discussion standing in a circle, I noticed how eye contact during conversations often flowed above me, bypassing my presence. It was as if the sight of an assistive device somehow diminished me. I was no longer the vibrant woman with intellect and insights—I was simply “the person in the wheelchair.”
Even subtle changes mattered. When I use hiking poles, people treat me one way. When I use a walker, the dynamic changes completely. The walker seems to be more psychologically contaminating for many able-bodied people. I’ve attended professional conventions where people filled every table at lunch before choosing the one where I sat with my walker.
These aren’t isolated incidents. The experience of being treated differently because you don’t fit the expected mold—whether that mold is about age, ability, appearance, or identity—is far too common. And it doesn’t take a disability to feel the sting of invisibility. Anyone can find themselves on the outskirts of social recognition simply by deviating from an unwritten norm.
This is not just about disability. It’s about dignity. It’s about how we, as a society, decide who is worthy of attention and who we silently overlook.
But here’s the truth: we can all be part of the solution. Every single one of us.
When you pass someone on the street—especially someone using an assistive device or who looks different than you—don’t look away. Look into their eyes. Offer a smile. Say hello. Let your presence be the mirror that affirms they exist. They matter.
Because here’s the deeper truth: we’ve all felt invisible at some point. Left out of a conversation. Unnoticed in a crowd. Forgotten by a loved one. And we know how deeply that hurts.
It doesn’t take grand gestures to change this narrative. It takes small acts repeated often. Conscious acknowledgments. Kind words. Inclusive actions.
These may seem small, but they echo loudly.
So the next time you’re in a room, a line, or a meeting—or even just walking down the street—look around. Who’s sitting quietly? Who’s being overlooked? Who might be wondering if they matter?
And then do what only a truly aware human being can do: see them.
As Gandhi so beautifully said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” And let that change begin with something as simple as eye contact… and kindness.
It’s okay. I am unfolding, evolving, and worthy of every step I take toward wholeness and fulfillment.”
Want help navigating your next chapter?
Virginia Oman, LCMHC, is a licensed therapist and mindset coach with 36+ years of experience helping women thrive through life transitions.
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