Invisible. Not visible.
It’s being in a crowd of people and you don’t acknowledge those around you.
It is eavesdropping on conversations that aren’t being shared with you.
It’s when you are not recognized by others.
It’s when you shut the door and no one dares to knock.
It’s when people know you, but they don’t know you, because they don’t want to admit they know you.
The act of being invisible is a phenomona. Phenomena is an observable fact or aspect that is observed through the senses; an experience. The tug and war of being noticed and not being noticed. Being invisible has been with me all of my life. Invisibility is a multi-level experience.
In high school I wanted to be invisible. If Harry Potter cloaks were for sale I would’ve sold my soul to buy one. The fear of being made fun of was greater than being noticed, in a nice way. I never wanted to change my hair-do, my style of clothing or class schedule for fear of being noticed. I wanted to slide through and get out. The emotional pain-potential was too high.
As a young adult, I was racked with insecurities. I worried. I wanted to be approved by others. The invisibility cloak I gave myself was added poundage. I hid under the subcutaneous layer of fat. People ignored me. I got approval in other ways.
Then I woke up and discovered who I was without the poundage. I entered the world without it. I was freaked out at the attention I received. People, especially men, looked at me differently. I was sexually attractive. Even attractive women noticed me. I entered the exclusive “Beauty Club”.
Things changed again after marriage and children. People didn’t notice me again because I was a stay-at-home mom with two children. What did I matter to the world? I was a frumpy nobody.
Then I entered the work world again. I was in a high-profile positions and the boss’s prize pet. Then I was the goat of the office whom everyone blamed. I didn’t agree with the boss. I was ostracized.
Being invisible at age 51 yrs. old is much different from being invisible at 17 yrs. old. Life tossed me the ups and downs; the losses and triumphs. I was left a shell at mid-life. I grieved in my cocoon.
I again have emerged. Now, being invisible, is being cloaked in a level of confidence. I watch events fold open before me. I now know why people have wrinkles, grey hair, wear red hats and purple dresses. The hormones are gone. We’ve been through hell and back and we’re older and wiser.
I’m like a squirrel in a tree. My tail is switching back and forth and the dog below can’t see me. I’m invisible. I’m in control.
Invisibility was self-imposed as a teenager to preserve my identity. It is self-imposed now to ensure my air of confidence and spirituality. It is what it is. I am who I am.