The Invisible Gworl
I’ve been doing bad like leftover hotdog water. I haven’t been taking care of myself, doing my skincare, or taking my medication. I know these things are important, but it feels like there are so many demands on my attention that I just can’t be bothered.
I feel guilty for not being productive, but I literally can’t. And sometimes, that makes it hard to keep up with my relationships. I want to find a balance between being social and taking care of myself. I try to show up for everyone, but most days, all I have the energy to do is lie on my couch. When I’m doing well in one area, it always feels like I’m slipping somewhere else. Keeping up is exhausting. One relationship I know I’ve been neglecting, is the one with my grandma.
I visited my grandma recently. It had been a while, and I missed her. Still, I couldn’t shake the dread. Her house carries this heavy air of misery and stagnation, and our conversations always circle back to ailments and the weather. Before I go, I pray for my spirit to be protected from negativity and carefully avoid anything that might spark her criticism.
For example, I never mention upcoming trips—only after I’ve already returned. How did I learn that lesson? Once, I told her about a solo trip to DC. She called me, begging me not to go, urging me instead to go to church and get right with God. She even offered to refund any non-refundable expenses if I promised to cancel the trip. And I’m one for signs, so I thought, Chile, is this a sign???
I seriously considered canceling but I went anyway. The trip was amazing, and everything turned out fine. It wasn’t my paranoia—it was hers.
I want her to feel involved in my life, but I’ve learned I can only share the parts that fit into her idea of what my life should be. I carefully choose what to say and what to show. I hate that it’s that way, and I wish that I could share all of myself with her, but it is what it is. It’s hard not being able to be your whole self with family. Maybe that’s why, as an adult, I’ve come to value friendship over family.
With my friends, I don’t have to edit myself; I can show up as my whole, authentic self. Maybe that’s not a common experience, but it should be. It’s interesting that I place so much stock in friendship now, it wasn’t always that way.
Growing up, my social anxiety told me people didn’t really want me around. When they invited me to join, I thought it was a joke. Now, it’s a different story. My friends make sure I don’t sneak off to bed too early. Once shy and socially awkward, I’ve transformed into someone who can accidentally make an entire room laugh—and not just once, but on multiple occasions. I used to avoid the spotlight, but now I’m not afraid to claim my space.
It feels like a superpower—to command a room with laughter or vanish into the background when I need to recharge. What I value most are the friends who let me take up as much—or as little—space as I need.
That said, the superpower comes with a shadow. There are times I feel invisible, like no one truly notices me. And then there are moments when I take command of a room and feel like the center of attention. It’s a strange duality to live in, but I’m learning to appreciate both sides of myself.
Still, there are days when I feel like I don’t want to exist as myself at all. Thoughts creep in—about letting the wheel go while doing 80 on the highway, about being the person people reference when they say, “Check on your strong friends.” But then I think about everything I’d miss: the laughter, the experiences, the friends who make space for me. And just like that, I snap out of it.
Even when I feel invisible or like I don’t have the strength to keep going, I’m trying to trust that I am enough and that things will get better. All I can do is keep showing up, one day at a time. And really, what more can I ask of myself than to keep trying?
