The First Time I Felt Invisible

 

There’s something shattering about not being seen. I remember the moment like a bruise that never faded. I was in a room full of people, yet somehow, I didn’t exist. My voice didn’t echo. My presence didn’t register. I was there—but I wasn’t.

That moment taught me how easy it is to disappear when the world decides you’re too much, too quiet, too different, too Black, too broken, too anything.

But here’s the truth: I am not invisible. I am not a shadow. I am not a whisper.

I am a story worth hearing. And so are you.

Unseen

There’s a particular ache in being unseen. Not just overlooked—but unacknowledged. Like your existence is background noise. Like your voice is too loud, too soft, too angry, too emotional, too much—and somehow not enough.

As a Black woman, it’s a complex issue. You show up with grace, with grit, with brilliance. And still, they look past you. Still, they take your labor but not your leadership. Still, they love your culture but not your truth.

You learn to shrink. To smile when it hurts. To carry the weight of invisibility like it’s your birthright.

But here’s the truth they won’t tell you: You are not invisible. You are not too much. You are not a shadow.

You are the center. You are the story. You are the light they refuse to see—but cannot dim.

Prompt for readers: Have you ever felt invisible? What did that moment teach you about your worth?