Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

Abstract

ay, not realizing that for a few seconds, he was in the presence of another being.Maybe he felt a chill, or he noticed a disturbance in the air but attributed it to the wind. And maybe, just maybe, in the darkest corners of his mind, he conjured the idea of an apparition. But those do not exist in his world. Everyone pales in his universe. So, they are just called the “others”, those that are not him.That was not surprising.I already knew as a child that people would never look at me and see…me. They had already decided what they wanted and anything else did not meet their expectations.“Look at me! I dare you to. I plead with you, look at me.” But their gaze splits through me, above me, to my left and then to my right, but their eyes never graze upon the space where I stand and seeme.I can forgive the world for not seeing me, but I cannot forgive that it does not hear me either.I have known since I was a child that most people will never hear my voice. Not because I don’t have one, but because they have already decided that it’s not good enough, so why bother to listen to what I have to say?That's why my earliest frustration was of not having a voice. I could feel the words bubbled up inside a guarded chamber within me, waiting to be released. Somewhere along the line, before I’d even realized I had them, I lost the keys, and the words were stuck inside. However, the words only grew stronger, unaware, uncaring that they could not be freed. Their pounding against the walls caused my chest to constrict and my lungs to desperately seek out more air to relieve the tension. But no matter how wide I told my mouth to open, my lips stayed perfectly pinched, and the words remained lodged insid

Options

e. Never forgotten, but carefully muffled to cover their frantic sounds. And as the story goes, an illusion was cast to mask the chest bearer’s attempts to search for the keys. The world had forgotten a time when I could speak because it had never existed. Hence — unsurprisingly — , it didn’t help me in my search.***Adult me interjecting:Don’t give time to people who don’t respect you or what you’re giving them. That means the hours worrying about how you can make them see you, and the years shrinking yourself into oblivion because you don’t think you deserve the bare minimum.The day that I could look at myself and not see myself as lacking, and the day that I made it through a full 5 minute conversation — leading and taking up 4 of those minutes to fully go into depth about my opinions, unapologetically, without stumbling, without forcing myself to stop because of that self-derisive feeling telling me that what I was saying didn’t matter — that’s when I realized that I had a voice, and I had a right to use it too. No one can tell me otherwise.For everyone who’s ever doubted what they had to say, SPEAK. To yourself, to somebody else. I don’t care. Just speak and, like Forrest Gump minus the running, continue speaking until you’re tired of your own voice. I can’t teach you how to attain self-worth, but I can assure you that after speaking for a while, you’ll start to listen to what you have to say, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll like what you’re hearing and understand that there’s some worth to it. And maybe, just maybe, after a few more conversations, you’ll know that what you have to say is worth it. Then the next time someone tries to drown you out (even if, especially if, that person is you), you won’t let them.</article></body>

Do I Have To Flash You For You To See Me?

Do I Have To Shout In Your Ear For You To Hear Me?

Differences a photograph by author — Lady Teabird

My first post on Medium was about not having a voice, not feeling seen. So, it only makes sense that that piece had only been viewed 3 times before I deleted it.

Now, are you telling me that all of you know what it’s like to be seen? To have someone acknowledge your presence, acknowledge your heart, your soul, your intentions?

Are you telling me that you’ve never once held your voice, danced around a topic, or not even tried because you knew that, either way, you wouldn’t be heard?

I don’t believe you.

All my life I’ve been the listener, and not once have I been heard.

I was the child that secretly cried because I didn’t understand why I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know why the words eluded me, why my nerves conquered me, let alone comprehend how the silence that came with not being seen defeated my will to want to be heard.

You see…

It all started when he--or perhaps she? Or whoever your antogonist growing up was. Maybe you were the hero and villain in your story? I don’t know. I’m just throwing out ideas.

It all started when he was born. A spoon encrusted with gold and filled with eternal abundance landed in his mouth. From then on, the world was his and him a product of its choice.

That is why we came to the day when he looked through me and saw nothing. I spoke, but the words bounced before they could reach him. Then he walked away, not realizing that for a few seconds, he was in the presence of another being.

Maybe he felt a chill, or he noticed a disturbance in the air but attributed it to the wind. And maybe, just maybe, in the darkest corners of his mind, he conjured the idea of an apparition. But those do not exist in his world. Everyone pales in his universe. So, they are just called the “others”, those that are not him.

That was not surprising.

I already knew as a child that people would never look at me and see…me. They had already decided what they wanted and anything else did not meet their expectations.

“Look at me! I dare you to. I plead with you, look at me.” But their gaze splits through me, above me, to my left and then to my right, but their eyes never graze upon the space where I stand and see

me.

I can forgive the world for not seeing me, but I cannot forgive that it does not hear me either.

I have known since I was a child that most people will never hear my voice. Not because I don’t have one, but because they have already decided that it’s not good enough, so why bother to listen to what I have to say?

That's why my earliest frustration was of not having a voice. I could feel the words bubbled up inside a guarded chamber within me, waiting to be released. Somewhere along the line, before I’d even realized I had them, I lost the keys, and the words were stuck inside. However, the words only grew stronger, unaware, uncaring that they could not be freed. Their pounding against the walls caused my chest to constrict and my lungs to desperately seek out more air to relieve the tension. But no matter how wide I told my mouth to open, my lips stayed perfectly pinched, and the words remained lodged inside. Never forgotten, but carefully muffled to cover their frantic sounds. And as the story goes, an illusion was cast to mask the chest bearer’s attempts to search for the keys. The world had forgotten a time when I could speak because it had never existed. Hence — unsurprisingly — , it didn’t help me in my search.

***

Adult me interjecting:

Don’t give time to people who don’t respect you or what you’re giving them. That means the hours worrying about how you can make them see you, and the years shrinking yourself into oblivion because you don’t think you deserve the bare minimum.

The day that I could look at myself and not see myself as lacking, and the day that I made it through a full 5 minute conversation — leading and taking up 4 of those minutes to fully go into depth about my opinions, unapologetically, without stumbling, without forcing myself to stop because of that self-derisive feeling telling me that what I was saying didn’t matter — that’s when I realized that I had a voice, and I had a right to use it too. No one can tell me otherwise.

For everyone who’s ever doubted what they had to say, SPEAK. To yourself, to somebody else. I don’t care. Just speak and, like Forrest Gump minus the running, continue speaking until you’re tired of your own voice. I can’t teach you how to attain self-worth, but I can assure you that after speaking for a while, you’ll start to listen to what you have to say, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll like what you’re hearing and understand that there’s some worth to it. And maybe, just maybe, after a few more conversations, you’ll know that what you have to say is worth it. Then the next time someone tries to drown you out (even if, especially if, that person is you), you won’t let them.