Feeling invisible, unheard, and pushed into the corner has marked many of my work experiences. Time and again, I’ve found myself pouring my heart into roles that began with promise and purpose, only to slowly realise that I had become unseen — present, yet overlooked.

My last position started beautifully. It felt like a divine appointment — meaningful work, supportive people, and a sense that I could truly contribute. Yet somewhere along the way, something shifted. What began as encouragement turned into silence. For the last six months, it became one of the deepest wounds I’ve had to face, not because of what was said, but because of what wasn’t.

The absence of connection, the unanswered emails, the hollow dortnigjtly check-ins — all of it echoed something far older than that workplace. It reached back into the tender places of my childhood, where being ignored was familiar, where speaking up often felt unsafe, and where invisibility became a form of survival. When this familiar ache resurfaced in adulthood, it brought with it layers of pain I didn’t know were still buried.

There were days I felt I was holding my breath, waiting for the proverbial axe to fall — that silent anticipation of rejection that steals your peace long before any words are spoken. Even now, I still don’t know what went wrong. I’ve replayed the scenes in my mind, asking myself, Was it something I did?🤔 Did I misstep somewhere along the way?🤔

I’ve prayed this through countless times, sometimes with tears that said more than words ever could. Slowly, gently, the Holy Spirit met me in that space — not with answers, but with healing. The pain that once clenched my heart has begun to loosen its grip. The resentment that once flared at the mention of his name has quieted. I no longer feel that urge to withdraw or to flee the room when he appears. The wound is still tender, but it no longer defines me. I can have conversations with him now, but I no longer trust him the way I once did. Perhaps, in time, our friendship will be restored, but for now, I will guard my heart and share only what feels safe..

God has shown me that being unseen by man does not mean being unseen by Him. He has always been the One who notices the unnoticed, who hears the unspoken, and who restores the dignity that silence tries to steal.

In Hagar’s story, I see my own reflection — a woman cast aside, misunderstood, and wandering in the wilderness. Yet even there, she encountered the God who saw her. And like her, I have discovered that God’s sight is not passive; it is redemptive. His seeing heals what invisibility has fractured.

Today, I lead, create, and serve differently because of this. I make it my mission to see people — to listen deeply, to respond with kindness and compassion, and to value hearts over hierarchies. For I know how it feels to be unseen, and I never want to leave anyone standing in that lonely space.

💡 Reflection:

• When have you felt unseen or unheard, and how did God meet you there? 🤔

• How can you be a vessel of His attentive love for someone who feels invisible today? 🤔

🎺 Affirmation:

I am seen, known, and loved by God. My worth is not determined by who overlooks me, but by the One who calls me by name.

🙌 Prayer:

Lord Jesus, thank You for being the God who sees.

You notice the smallest sigh and the deepest wound.

Heal the places in me that still ache from being unseen.

Teach me to lead and love with empathy born from experience,

so that others may feel Your presence through my attentiveness.

Help me walk freely, without bitterness or fear,

knowing that You redeem every chapter — even the painful ones.

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.