The Greatest Disappearing Act
Something happens when you have kids. The world sees you through different eyes. Or maybe we see ourselves with a specific pair of glasses that we willingly place upon our noses.
When my kids were little, I felt invisible. All eyes were on them as they were the cutest things ever. And I loved it. I fell comfortably into a role I enjoyed immensely. But then my kids started to grow up … and away from me. And suddenly I was left naked, standing in the middle of the room without that invisibility I had placed upon myself like a cloak.
I was no longer an apparition. And I had to take a good long look in the mirror to remember who I was.
Even if you don’t have children, you have certainly felt invisible before. Maybe you hid behind a job title, a role as brother, sister, friend. Perhaps you ran for cover by loading on more assignments in your civic life ~ all in the name of making meaning out of your days. But somewhere along the way you lost yourself. You spent a lot of time serving others’ needs. And it felt so right. For a while.
It isn’t easy to wake up out of a coma, especially if it’s been self-inflicted. We tend to numb ourselves with constant activity, never really wanting to stand in the buff while staring at that mirror for fear of what we will see.
But what really disappears when we finally decelerate is the frenzy that placed us far away from ourselves. We free up all that energy we expended trying to prove something to ourselves. We may not even know what we were trying to prove. That we were the best mothers ever? That we were okay if just baked enough cookies, said yes enough and smoothed ruffled feathers/egos/moods?
Today I am no longer invisible. I don’t know what the outside world sees, but that’s not important. For once in my life, I finally see myself.