Dear Friends,
I used to sit among you and laugh until my cheeks hurt. I played along, joined the conversations, and matched your energy as best as I could. You probably thought I was fine. You probably thought I was happy.
The truth is, I wasn’t. I was breaking quietly while everyone else kept talking. I hoped someone would notice the way my smile looked tired, or how my eyes went blank for a moment too long. But no one did. Maybe I hid it too well. Maybe you were too busy. Maybe it just never crossed your minds that the one making jokes might be the one barely holding on.
I do not blame you, not entirely. We were young, distracted, and wrapped up in our own chaos. Still, a small part of me resented how invisible my pain was to people who claimed to know me best. I wanted someone to ask, even once, “Are you okay?” and actually wait for the answer.
Over time, I learned to stop expecting that kind of attention. I learned that sometimes friendship means laughter more than understanding. It still hurts, though knowing that I was surrounded by people and still felt unseen.
If I could tell you anything now, it would be this: check on your loud friends, your busy friends, your funny friends. We hide behind noise because silence exposes too much.
I hope you’ve grown since then. I have too. I no longer beg to be noticed. But a part of me will always remember that season of invisibility, sitting in a room full of people who thought I was fine.
With quiet honesty,
The one you didn’t see.