The Child Who Wasn’t Chosen

Chapter 1: Not Drawn to Her

Most little girls are drawn to their mothers. They run into their arms after falling down. They curl into bed beside them when nightmares come. They seek out their scent, their comfort, their approval.

But not me.

There was no draw. No safety. No pull toward her arms, because I learned early… she wasn’t emotionally available. I wasn’t nurtured. I wasn’t cradled. I wasn’t wanted in the way a child needs to be wanted.

I was just a little girl in her world, a prop she could show off. A doll to take out during errands. An accessory she dressed up in cute clothes to parade around. People saw us and assumed we were close. But they didn’t see what happened when the front door shut. At home, but I didn’t exist. She didn’t talk to me unless I was in the way. I didn’t receive warmth or interest or softness. I was a task. An obligation. A burden to be managed. She never really looked at me, not as a person, nor as a daughter. Just a body in the room. There. But unnecessary.

Chapter 2: One Question, No Context

I was five years old when the fighting between my parents started changing shape, there was yelling. Tension. Quiet tears I wasn’t supposed to notice. Then, one day, I was called into their bedroom.

It felt heavy, like something was wrong, but I didn’t know how to name it. My mother sat on the bed. I remember how still she was, my dad sat in the dinning room nearby. My sister was already there. Then came the question. No warm-up. No explanation.

Just this:

"Who do you want to live with? Me or your father?"

That was it. A sentence that would decide everything. I didn’t understand the weight of it. I didn’t know it was about custody. Divorce. Permanency. I was 5

To me, it was just another question. Like, do you want milk or water? My sister answered quickly. She said “Mum.” So, I did too. Not because I understood. But because I didn’t want to be different. Because I felt like I had to say it. Because I wanted to be good. But that one moment sealed something. It decided where I would live. What kind of life I would step into. And what parts of me would begin to fade away.

Chapter 3: A New Home, A New Version of Her

We moved shortly after that. To a townhouse in the next suburb over. I was five and a half. Almost six. It was a strange space. Unfamiliar walls. New routines. A bedroom that didn’t feel like mine. I was expected to adjust without question.

We started visiting Dad every second weekend. But weekdays and school nights were with her and that’s when I saw her change. That’s when her real self began to show.

She began drinking more. Smoking constantly. Spending hours locked away in her room. I’d knock on the door sometimes only. To receive her snaping at me, Or tell me she was “busy” or say absolutely nothing at all.

I began to realize she didn’t want company, she wanted escape. Then came the money. The divorce money arrived and with it… came the noise. She bought herself a Ford Falcon flashy, shiny and then men.

Strangers came through the front door like a rotating cast. Sometimes one a week. Sometimes more. She never introduced them. She didn’t ask how I felt. She didn’t care if we were home. My sister escaped most of it, she stayed with family/school friends. She had places to go.

But I stayed. Because I thought I was supposed to. Because I thought maybe, if I was helpful enough, she’d finally see me.

Chapter 4: The Invisible Witness

I saw everything. I heard everything, but no one ever saw me. I watched her disappear into alcohol, and resurface only when she wanted something, attention, sex and validation.

She didn’t want connection. She wanted stimulation. She wanted to fill her emptiness with whoever or whatever walked in. I was just there. Quiet. Present. Watching. I cleaned up after her. I fetched her cigarettes; catching her smoking in the doorway of the back door. I folded the blankets on the couch or hid under them. She never said thank you. She never looked into my eyes and asked how I was. I don’t think she even noticed I never left and slowly, something inside me stopped growing. Stopped expecting. Stopped hoping. I became the invisible witness to my own childhood.

Chapter 5: The Couch Bed and the Shame

Then came the night that burned it all into my memory forever. I invited a friend over. My only childhood neighbor, my only safe person, friend that I had from my childhood.

We were excited. We made a fort with the couch cushions, pushed them together downstairs into a cozy little bed. It was supposed to be innocent; it was supposed to be fun.
But right above us, her bedroom and in it another man. The walls weren’t thick enough to protect us from the sounds. We could hear it all, the Dirty talk. The Bouncing bed. The Moans and laughter. We could hear everything. We lay there in silence, two little girls. Listening to a mother who didn’t care who was beneath her.

I froze.
I was filled with shame. For myself. For my friend. For her.
I knew even then, this wasn’t okay. That this wasn’t just careless. It was cruel. That this wasn’t just embarrassing. It was scarring.

I never invited anyone over again.

Chapter 6: The Girl Left Uncovered

She never asked what we heard, never checked in and never apologized.

She was too busy getting what she wanted, too preoccupied with her next thrill and too detached to see the damage she caused, and I just tucked it away. Another secret. Another moment I wasn’t allowed to react to.

I was the girl left uncovered, unprotected and unspoken for. I learned that love didn’t come with boundaries, that being close to someone meant learning how to disappear, I grew up with a mother who didn’t choose me and I had to learn how to survive without ever being held.

And this was the next secret I kept for someone I loved.
Another silence added to the pile.
Another truth buried so others could remain comfortable.
But it was never mine to protect.
And I am slowly learning… I don’t have to carry it anymore.

✍️ Reflection Prompt

What part of your childhood did you have to hide just to survive?
What role did you take on to feel useful, even when it hurt you?
If you could speak to the little girl you were then, what would you tell her she never deserved to carry?

🙏 Healing Prayer

God, I bring You the little girl left in the shadows.
The one who longed to be seen and was shown only emptiness.
The one who stood quietly in rooms where she should’ve been protected.
Heal her shame. Remove what was never hers to carry.
Redeem every sleepover lost, every night filled with noise, every silence she swallowed.
Let her know she was never the mistake.
Wrap her in the comfort her mother never gave.
And speak life back into the pieces that were ignored.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.