The Self-Sabotaging of an Invisible Caretaker

And how I am coming to terms with not being in the spotlight

I get slapped with reality checks when I least expect them.

A whirlwind of conflicting emotions kicks up all sorts of dust in my mind with the simple word choice by another. What was to be a normal morning of reading evoked a visceral reaction that I wasn’t prepared to address ~ invisible.

It was difficult for me to process a mere title as my heart and soul were laden with an immediate sadness and curiosity.

It was a personal essay that I came across equating invisibility with a superpower,

“My Superpower is Invisibility and It’s Saved Me From Many Bad Decisions” ~ by Lindsay Rae Brown

I was immediately torn. The author’s treasure was absolutely my downfall.

You can read how she was saved from sticky situations and potentially ill-begotten decisions due to her superpower of invisibility.

Her “superpower.”

Lindsay’s story is insightful, spirited, and runs the gamut of self-reflection sprinkled with humor. I readily agreed with her assessment of how invisibility worked in her favor.

My story is the opposite.

Her superpower is my kryptonite.

Invisibility has reduced me to tears of frustration and questions of my existence at times.

I am invisible. I know it.

I feel it.

I taste it in the bile that rises warmly to the back of my throat on the worst of days.

Who Cares for the Caretaker?

It’s programmed in me to be a caretaker. My happiness is directly tied to giving. Time, talent, treasures, you can have it all. I give freely. I love to help. To put a smile on someone’s face by giving them comfort fuels me.

It can be an exhausting role both physically and mentally. The emotional drain comes without replenishment. Sometimes, a mere thanks or shout-out rejuvenates me. Most times, I am forsaken. Regardless, I expect nothing and I am learning how to recharge myself.

Being an invisible caretaker comes with a price.

I have no desire to change the caretaker aspect of me. I have contemplated the creation of a steely exterior with stronger boundaries. Each time I feel determined and resolved to pull back on the efforts I extend to others, I am invigorated with a fresh new focus.

I can do this, I think.

Unfortunately, it only lasts as long as the lull in requests. As soon as that next need is presented by a friend, family, or even a stranger, I crumble and assist.

And yet, reciprocation is scant. I have a long threshold before I concede that caretakers can be easily, wantonly, turned aside when they no longer serve another’s purpose. Caretakers become invisible and are either pushed away or simply forgotten. They don’t matter unless they are in service to someone.

Personally, I am finally learning that you can’t make people return care with the same energy and vigor. They may be wired differently, or they actually never cared.

It doesn’t matter why I become part of the background. Invisibility is painful, regardless.

Let the self-sabotaging continue as the caretaker sucks it up.

Selective Invisibility

Like sharks in bloodied water, narcissists circle me. They are intuitively drawn to my space because my energy sends out signals of being an easy mark. I trust before I verify.

Smooth talkers, those who say all the right things, are hard to immediately identify as users for me. Because I don’t think like those with hidden or nefarious agendas, it takes a bit for me to realize there’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

They can clearly see me when they need something.

Once I look for a small piece of recognition of my existence, I see that I have been reduced to inconsequential. Invisible. Most quickly show their hand and reveal self-focussed priorities.

Taking is on the top of their list; giving back, no matter how small, may not even be on their list at all.

I have reached a point where I simply don’t ask for help now. This further solidifies my ill-fated image that people believe I am so strong that I don’t need assistance. Maybe I don’t need it, but I would relish company while I do whatever task is in front of me.

I don’t want to be invisible.

I am invisible. I know it.

I feel it. I don’t enjoy it.

In my frustration, my retreat from requesting help because it’s pointless, I am single-handedly responsible for further erasing my presence.

Let the self-sabotaging continue? I think not.

Coming to Terms and Creating a Solution

Did I lower my bar?

Possibly.

Or, maybe I have come to terms with what my real purpose is in life and that my approach needed an adjustment. From a very young age, I knew I was put on earth with a purpose.

I was comfortable knowing that I was here to spread a message to the people of America, maybe even to a grander scope of listeners. This was preprogrammed. It was one of love, harmony, and peace. It was my destiny, so I thought, to deliver the good word.

No one invisible can meet that demand, can they?

Maybe they can.

I lost my original priorities for a bit. When I returned to realize my truth, I was hit with a dose of reality. An invisible caretaker with a message is no more than the bemoaned “always a bridesmaid, never the bride” role.

A caretaker doesn’t feel comfortable with people fawning all over them, seeing to every detail. They take care of business and button up loose ends after thorough preparation is complete, all for someone else.

Therefore, I realized that after seeing to the business of others, such as a bride, they’re off to their fairy tale lives, and I will clean up. Reciprocation cannot be expected because disappointment will surely follow. When people are done with the caretaker, they don’t look back.

I can redefine the meaning of invisible, though, and so I shall.

My kryptonite will be rendered powerless now. Being invisible has been simply reworked to ‘one who is not in the spotlight.’

I am not invisible; I never was.

Yes, I believe I was looking at my kryptonite all wrong. I do serve a purpose and will continue to deliver my message. The dynamics are not as I imagined.

Does that matter?

The good word is being instilled in my grandson, and at 4 years old, he is already filled with more compassion and love than many adults I know. Impacting one person at a time may be the tortoise versus the hare, and success will be longer-lasting.

Maybe I am not shouting to the masses as I imagined, but I am affecting change, after all.

I am not invisible.

Or, better yet, maybe invisibility can be my superpower, too.

I am simply behind the curtain, taking care of details and whispering the good word to all in my reach.

That matters.

I matter, not the spotlight.

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