I’ve always known I was forgettable. You know, the kind of girl that you’re pretty sure you went to high school with but can’t quite put a name to the face. It’s plagued me my whole life – this feeling that I don’t really take up that much space and that as soon as I am gone, you won’t remember that I was there. I suppose I’m not really a lasting impression sort of girl. It was several years ago now at a women’s conference, the kind woman next to me turned to earnestly tell me about the amazing speaker from the day before and asked if I had been there. I was the presenter she spoke of, yet she looked straight into my eyes without an ounce of recognition. “It’s ok,” I told myself, “it’s just that you really are forgettable.”

Recently, I began to consider the flip side of my forgettability. A mom from a baseball team my son was on years ago came up to me in one of those big trampoline parks. She told me how her life had changed dramatically and how I had been part of that journey. She referenced a conversation that we had engaged in on the sideline years ago. To be honest, I don’t know this woman well, haven’t seen her in years, and have no recollection of what we talked about. What I did pick up from her, however, was that she had been touched by an everyday chat that I didn’t count as special. She had been changed because I had been me. I try to be real in all the spaces and places I find myself which means that I talk about my journey – where I’ve been and where I’ve struggled. And somehow that resonated with this woman.

I have a suspicion that I am not alone in my belief that I’m forgettable. I don’t think I am the only woman to feel that they wouldn’t be the first thought of or picked from a group. But what I’m beginning to consider is that maybe I’m not meant to be in that pack. God gave me gifts that might not leave you thinking about me all night long, but they will leave you thinking about you. As a therapist, I have the privilege of listening to the hardest and most difficult stories you can imagine. And it strikes me that I am able to make space for these lives. I do not need to take up the whole room, but I am honored to let you do it. I will be vulnerable and honest and authentic, and will ask the same of you. I will walk alongside you and ask questions and be curious with you and encourage you to move forward into places you never thought possible.

I don’t need you to have visions of me after you go; I want you to have dreams of you.

So perhaps I am forgettable. Perhaps the woman who has met me 900 times will continue to introduce herself to me. But maybe I’m something else altogether. Maybe I’m a listening ear that allows you to speak. Maybe I am the planter of a seed that grows into an amazing dream. Maybe I’m the one that lets you know that life is messy and complex and so far from clear and yet full of hope that there’s a way through.

So to all my sisters who feel forgettable, overlooked, or unseen, I want to tell you I see you. We might forget each other’s names and not recognize each other’s faces, but we will silently hold the space and calmly share our stories and gently ask the questions that will allow others to grow, challenge, and change. We may never be flashy and fabulous, but we will be solid, safe, and grounded. We will use all the gifts God has given us to do this life well. And we will do it quietly and we will graciously agree with the woman next to us at the conference, “Yes, that speaker was amazing.”

—

About Amy

I’ve known the author of this essay, Amy Elliott, since we were 12. We realized we have the exact same birthday, did a History Day Project together on JFK in 7th grade, and the rest, as they say, is history. She’s one of my most overachieving friends, having gone to Princeton for undergrad and then getting Masters degrees in both Theology and Marriage Family Therapy. No big deal.

Today, she’s an amazing Marriage Family Counselor and is one of the regular weekend preachers at her church, Newbreak. And yes, she is great at making space for others, and to her friends, is anything but forgettable.

In her spare time, she spends time with her husband, Ryan, and two kids, Josh and Kate, both who will be taller than me by the time they are teenagers.

You can contact her at amy@amyelliottcounseling.com.

—

[Header image by Brooke Cagle on Unsplash]