Softly Unseen

My therapist gave me a writing assignment this week: to explore how I see myself through my parents’ eyes, and how that’s shaped me. I’m not trying to write anything perfect. I’m just trying to be honest. I agreed to this because I miss writing, and because there are things I’m ready to stop hurting about.

This isn’t about my step-parents (unless I say so). This is about my mom and dad.

My Mom

When I think about my mom, I know she loved me with her whole heart. She was emotionally immature and didn’t trust many people, but her love for me was fierce and overwhelming. I think she saw me as something fragile, something that needed constant protection. And she believed only she could do that. She would go to extreme lengths to do what she thought was best for me. Even taking me from my dad. I don’t think there was any ill intent in it. Just fear. And love. I remember watching her take such good care of us, and my step dad who truthfully didn’t deserve anything she did for him. Somehow, she did it with such joy and intention. I never heard her complain. Every dinner she made, every load of laundry she folded, and every scratch she bandaged was all done with such love. That woman made being a wife and mom look like the most desirable job out there. I wanted to be just like her.

But even with all that love, I remember feeling like a burden. Especially when she had more kids. I felt like I took up too much space. Like I was too much.

It’s strange to say that, because I also had such a full, beautiful childhood with her. She gave us the kind of days most kids only dream of. I don’t want to erase that. Both things are true. I felt safe and loved and I felt unseen.

Looking back, I think I took on this strong role of keeping everyone emotionally in check. My sister was focused on the house; I was focused on the people.

My Dad

My dad carried so much anger toward my mom. He didn’t think she could be a good mother. He believed his way was better. I truly think he loved me and wanted to be the best dad he could. But eventually, he gave up.

When I stopped wanting to go over there, he didn’t ask why. He didn’t push. From what I could tell, he thought I was just off partying and he let me go. I think at times the hurt was too much so it was easier to ignore it. I think he was angry too.

That still stings. He didn’t try to get to the heart of it. He didn’t fight for me.

The Word That Keeps Coming Up

As I write this, one word keeps coming up: invisible.

That’s how I felt a lot of the time. Like I was there, but also… not. Like I could disappear and no one would really notice. Or maybe they would, but they’d be fine.

That feeling didn’t come from nowhere. I think it was just the ripple effect of everything going on around me. My parents’ hurt. Their choices. Their pain. I got swept up in all of that.

And maybe I internalized it in ways I didn’t even realize.

A therapist once asked me why I wore black so much. I told her I just liked the color and I believed that. But now that I’ve lost weight, I find myself wearing more color. Maybe I don’t feel the need to hide as much anymore. Maybe I didn’t realize I was hiding at all.

What It Taught Me About Being Seen

I’ve poured so much energy into my career. I’ve pushed and performed and accomplished, maybe because I thought if I could just be seen, I wouldn’t feel invisible anymore. Awards, success, recognition… all things I thought would finally make me feel real.

And in my relationships, I’m starting to see a pattern. I’ve chased emotionally unavailable men, hoping that this time, someone would choose me fully and finally make that part of me feel whole.

Saying that out loud makes me feel sick. But it’s honest.

In every relationship I’ve been in, I’ve had this constant fear that if I said how I really felt, they’d leave. That if things got hard, they’d walk away. So I didn’t speak up. I tiptoed. I swallowed my needs and told myself, It’s not worth causing problems. I had always had the dream of being a stay at home mom taking care of my family but the truth is I never felt worthy of that. I always felt that I had to out work and out perform everyone else to be valued. That helped my career but not the core woman of who I dreamt of becoming. I do think I have balanced motherhood and my career well though. When I was married I still managed to take good care of my husband and because caring for my family was what truly made me happy, I was ok balancing it all.

But the truth is, I’ve just been afraid. Afraid of being too much. Afraid of being left. Afraid of being invisible all over again.