This blog post is dedicated to a special woman who has been one of the people in my life to consistently ‘see’ me – from her ability to make me feel included and special even as a young child among grown-ups, her cards and letters to me every week my first year of college, her daily emails to me during one of the most difficult times of darkness in my adult life, and her ongoing generosity, patience and love for me and my growing family – she has truly helped me to feel worthy and contributed to my courage and desire to let my light shine. I owe her all my thanks, and I wish her a very happy birthday!
When I had kids it became a running joke in my family for me to enter with the wee ones and have everyone shout “yea, the baby’s here” or “Hello little ones,” and not acknowledge my being with them. Unfortunately, as the joke died out, the pattern of greetings and acknowledgement continued. Recently I entered a family event, walking into a room of near a dozen people, all of whom have known me since birth (either mine or theirs, depending on who’s older), and after the chorus of greetings to my little ones, only one person said hello to me. But this time, they weren’t trying to be funny. Apparently I continue to be the invisible hand that carries my children.
Unfortunately, sometimes my children are invisible too. It was later that same week when I was playing with my son at a park, and a gaggle of other kids literally ran right into us, as if we weren’t even there. The confused look on my little boy’s face was enough to make my heart sink and make me want to be one of those parents I detest, you know, the kind who cusses in front of little kids. How do you explain to a 20 month old that some people just don’t see you, even if there’s nothing wrong with their eyes; and more importantly, that even if some people don’t see you, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you?
A while later I went to a party, a party I left in tears. After the door was opened for us, the welcome seemed to stop. Not intentionally, but stopped nonetheless. It was a party where no one greeted me as I entered the hang-out room, where I was left alone in the kitchen (assuming I could help myself to the spread on the counter, but not really knowing for sure, and feeling like an awkward idiot when I asked), where vegetarian-and-nursing-mother diets were not provided for so my hungry tummy stayed hungry while others stated they were full, and where despite others being offered “another one” I was only offered something to drink as I was putting on my coat to leave, in case I needed something for the ride home – the most generous and thoughtful expression I’d felt all night. It was a gathering in which the toddlers paid the most attention to me. And as I said, I left in tears. Tears not for any of these gestures on their own, but for the over-all sense I had throughout the evening – feeling as if it would not have mattered if I was never there at all. I felt invisible; and it felt horrible!
I am certain that no one meant to be rude or belittling by any means; in fact I was in the home of some of the most kind and friendly people I know. But nonetheless, on this “off night,” I didn’t feel noticed. It was a yucky, empty feeling, that still carried over the next day. I kept thinking about how un-welcomed I felt, but more so how it felt to be so un-acknowledged and ignored. My heart gave the same confused “I don’t understand what just happened” look that my baby’s face had made in the park. And as the tears started forming again, I prayed, “Lord, please just let this remind me of how I treat others.”
How do I treat others? When I answer the phone, is it a person on the other line, or do I treat the call as just that – an empty call that’s dismiss-able (or even grumble-able)? Do I smile, thank and see the person behind the check-out counter, appreciating that they’re there, or do I just grab my groceries and run without so much as recognizing another’s presence amidst my hustle and bustle? When I pass the homeless man or woman on the street, do I look them in the eyes, or at least look at them, or do I choose to ignore them, treating them as an invisible someone, someone unworthy of being acknowledged? When someone comes or leaves my home, do I acknowledge their presence and that their presence will be missed? How many people do I pass in a day without giving so much as a glance of recognition? Do I see, truly see, each person I encounter? Or do I ask others to play small through my words and actions and how I choose to see them, or choose to ignore their presence? As far as I know, Harry Potter is the only one who has invisibility at his disposal; so why then is it that we often don’t see people?
In a beautiful prayer by Marianne Williamson, which Nelson Mandela used in his 1994 inaugural address as president of South Africa, it is stated:
I have often thought of this, not only in terms of how I am acting and whether or not I am allowing my own light to shine, but in terms of how I treat others and whether or not my acceptance of their presence and beauty gives them permission to shine also.
My prayer today is that anyone out there who feels invisible, who feels they have to shrink to others, DOESN’T! I pray that I can help my children see themselves as all that God intended them to be, and that I help them see and treat others as such also. And I pray that I can use the memory of that horrible feeling of being invisible to remind me each and every day to treat others, no matter who they are, as they truly are – brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous, powerful beyond measure!
Just imagine what the world could be like if we truly began to see one another in this way – if we just began to see each other?!
