The Ones Who Didn’t See - Part 2

Chapter 5: The Art of Disappearing

After that night, I mastered the art of making myself small.
I moved quietly, spoke softly and smiled just enough to avoid suspicion. It felt safer to disappear into the background than to risk anyone noticing what I was carrying.

At school, I played the role that wouldn’t draw attention. I laughed when I was supposed to, joined games when it seemed right, but inside I was exhausted, my ten-year-old version of me, already worn down by secrets far too heavy for my small shoulders. Life went on, homework was handed out and I sat there, feeling like the only person in the room who knew my world had changed forever.

Every shift in someone’s tone felt like a warning. I became an expert at reading people’s moods before they even spoke. I built invisible walls, not of bricks and mortar but of silence and distance to keep danger out.

It kept me alive, but it also kept me alone.

Chapter 6: What They Didn’t See

The adults around me thought they knew me. Teachers, neighbours, even family, they all saw the surface. A quiet girl. A polite girl. A girl who didn’t cause trouble.

They didn’t see the nights I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying moments I didn’t have the words to explain. They didn’t see the way I flinched when someone’s hand lingered too long. They didn’t see when I made my bed into a tent to just feel safe hiding away.

I was a child, but I had already learned the rules of survival: smile, be agreeable, and never let them know. Because when I had spoken before, I’d been silenced, doubted, or punished. So, I kept my pain locked away, where no one could touch it, where no one could twist it into something it wasn’t. That’s the thing about the ones who didn’t see,
They weren’t looking.

Chapter 7: The Moment I Felt Seen

It wasn’t a dramatic rescue. No flashing lights yet, no one swooping in with answers.
It was quieter than that. After running away from home after my sister slammed me into the window. I finally breathed even if it was for five minutes.

A friend’s parent noticed something in me really noticed. She didn’t glance past me like most adults. She looked past the smile I’d perfected and saw the weight I was carrying.

“Tell me” she said, like an invitation, not a demand.

She didn’t pry or ask for my pain in neat sentences. She didn’t treat me like I was damaged. She just showed kindness a steady, quiet kindness. I wasn’t used to that. I’d grown used to side-eyes, silent judgment, adults pretending not to see. My pain had always been treated as my fault, or worse, an inconvenience.

But she listened, not just with her ears, but with her presence. She offered warmth when I braced for cold, a place to sit where I didn’t feel in the way, a patience I didn’t even know I’d needed.

It didn’t fix everything. It didn’t erase the abuse or the abandonment.
But it gave me something I’d never had before. A moment where I felt seen and when you’ve spent your life invisible, that moment can feel like oxygen.

I still remember the calm in her voice, the way she never made me feel like a burden, the way she stayed when she could have walked away. That moment didn’t change the world, but it cracked something open inside me — a whisper:
“Maybe I’m not crazy.”
“Maybe I do matter.”
“Maybe I deserve more than survival.”

That whisper was enough to keep me going. This was the turning point in my life, a shake to my reality. I realised kindness to anyone is more important and detrimental, no matter the past or present experiences, because you could be the breath someone is struggling to take.

Reflection: I Was Just a Kid

I was 12.
Already abandoned.
Already abused.
Already used.

But I was still showing up.
Still surviving.
Still holding on to a hope I didn’t have words for.

Now I look back and I see her, the girl I was.
And I whisper:

“You weren’t wrong for wanting love.”
“You weren’t dirty.”
“You didn’t deserve what happened.”

You were just a kid trying to survive in a world that kept failing you.

Affirmation

I was not responsible for the abuse done to me. I am not broken — I was betrayed. And now, I rise with truth in my hands and healing in my voice.

Prayer

Dear God,
You saw me in every moment I was unseen by others.
You wept when I was hurt and silenced.
You held me in the nights when I didn’t know how to pray.
Thank You for staying when everyone else walked away.
Help me trust again, not just others, but my own worth.
Let me heal without shame, and rise without fear.
Amen.