Lots of things scare me. They climb up the insides of my gut till I feel sick. But what scares me the most is that feeling when someone turns their back on you and refuses to look back. That emotion when your dad doesn’t remember your birthday, or what your favourite colour is. It’s when everyone else has made plans on a day you had made them promise to be free. Simple little things that sure, make you want to cry. But why am I scared of it?
Because I was forgotten. I was left alone.
I come from a huge family. There aren’t many people that don’t know my family in our town – or if they don’t, they know someone married to one. That’s just the way it is. It’s common to get lost in the crowd, to watch the two train tracks steam either side of you until you swear you’ll lose your mind.
“Which one are you?”
“Oh? Where do you fit in?”
“Ahhhh, you’re the cousin of…”
I’m in a mixed bag of lollies, not recognised for me, but who I represent. I’m forgotten.
And that scares me. That sends shivers up my back and makes my hair stand on end. That’s what stabs your self-esteem through the heart and makes you hide in the corner. You begin to tell yourself, “it’s good to be forgotten! No one sees you mess up – no one noticed when you split orange juice down your top.” You begin to tell yourself small lies until one day you stop looking for someone to notice, and start believing no one cares enough to try.
To be forgotten is such a cruel move. To be left behind. Because that in itself is telling you another lie- that you’re not worth remembering. That you’re just another pawn on the chessboard, easily reacquired. Cheap, worthless.
But you’re not.
Being forgotten can start a thought process that is so wrong it makes me angry. Because I know I’m not the only one who has felt alone in a crowd, or been trapped into a box by unaware strangers and family alike. It begins an endless string of self-talk so toxic it slowly burns out your heart.
It’s when someone finally notices you one day. When someone compliments you, or smiles in your direction that a fire burns in your heart. It’s when that fear deep inside you shifts just an inch. I don’t want random youtube comments telling me that I’m loved- how would they know? I want someone who knows me look me in the eyes and tell me how and why I’m loved. I want a stranger to see me in that moment, in that time and notice. Notice the way the light plays on my hair, or the fact we’re both stuck in a line not getting any closer to the food van. A reminder that I’m not forgotten. That my worst fear of being just another cloud in an overcast sky isn’t coming true.
That someone knows who I am.
That I’m loved – and there are people trying to understand me, to know me, to care about me. I know for an absolute fact within my faith in God I would have thrown myself off a nearby cliff a long time ago. But I know I’m loved, cherished, cared for. Believed in. Worth the space I take up and the oxygen I breathe in.
Yes, we all have felt like a shadow along a wall in the darkest night. But we need someone to come sew us back onto our bodies. We all need a Wendy to our Peter Pan. I don’t care how strong or independent you are. At the end of the day, you need someone affirming your abilities and helping you strengthen your weaknesses. We all need to be noticed. Why do you think “That’s what makes you beautiful” was such a hit for One Direction? Because somewhere, on the inside of our skins our hearts beat to the same tune, “I matter to someone. I’m not forgotten.”
But what is the right attention? Children itch for it and teenagers bury themselves under foundation. The wrong attention burns more than your hair when you have to bleach it for the barbie blond you’re trying to recreate, the scales you're trying to beat. It attaches to your heart and leeches the happiness and worth you thought you’d get. It leaves you in the gutter, along with three too many beers. We’re so afraid of not being noticed – I’m so frightened of it – that we would do anything for a look our direction, a nod of approval. No matter the cost.
But then we lose the battle anyway, we fall to the fear. We have been forgotten and this hideous monster had taken its place. This suit of armor we have painstakingly created is shining in our spotlight.
I’m worth so much more than that. You too. We are not forgotten. We don’t need to prove to the world we exist. We don’t need to be a statistic to everyone around us. Someone worthy of us will notice. Someone who doesn’t swear more than breathe, who’s eyes light up when we come into view. A true laugh when you do something stupid – not a condescending, cruel one. But one that says “I saw that. And I love you, flaws and all.”
And with that truth there is another – a stranger noticed me spill orange juice down my top.
And gave me a wipe.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
