Chapter One
Now You See Me . . . Now You Don’t

It started to happen gradually . . .

I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family, like, “Turn the TV down, please.” And nothing would happen. Nobody would get up or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, “Would someone turn the TV down?” Nothing. Finally, in frustration, I would go over and turn it down myself.

One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand, and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, “Who is that with you, young fella?”

“Nobody,” he shrugged.

Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only five, but as we crossed the street I thought, Oh my goodness, nobody?

Then I began to notice these kinds of things more and more, because it wasn’t only with the kids. I was in the grocery store looking for Fruity Pebbles. A clerk from the store walked by and I said, “Excuse me, but could you . . .” and he was gone. He walked right past me to help a woman further down the aisle, who was having trouble finding extra-fine sugar. She looked about twenty-two and just so happened to be extra fine herself. I was left on my own with the cereal hunt.

Another night my husband and I were at a party. We’d been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, “I’m ready to go when you are.” He just kept right on talking, and he didn’t even turn toward me or notice that anyone was standing there.

That’s when I started to put all the pieces together. I don’t think he can see me. I don’t think anyone can see me.

I’m invisible.

It all began to make sense—the blank stares, the lack of response, the way someone will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, Can’t you see I’m on the phone? Obviously not. No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even resting, because no one can see me at all. I could stand on my head in the corner and inevitably someone would wonder, out loud, “Is my soccer jersey clean?”
I’m invisible.

. . .

I knew Janice would understand, even if she couldn’t relate to my particular situation. I didn’t think she would see me as spoiled or self-centered, but I was hoping she would tell me if she did. Instead, she told me that I was just putting into words the feelings we’ve all felt so many times. I was describing the sadness we all feel in the deepest parts of our hearts, she explained. The isolation. The alienation. The aloneness.
Then she said, “Charlotte, you are asking a question that only you can answer for yourself. The question is Do I matter? No one can answer for you. Your kids cannot give you meaning; your husband cannot make your life count. Only you can find where the meaning comes from?no one else can do it for you. It’s a deep question that has to be settled in the core of who you are, not by what is going on around you. You have doubts about yourself, so you think that everyone else must have doubts about you too.”

I should have offered to write her a check for two hours of therapy, but I bought her lunch instead. Driving home, so many questions rattled around in my head.
Is this fear of invisibility really all about some kind of confusion with my identity as a woman?

Does every woman wonder, Am I really doing the right thing?

Am I spending my life well?

Does this come from complex changes in our culture? Or has it been this way since that dumb apple?

I really didn’t know.

. . .

It’s good just being able to articulate my feelings and to laugh and cry about the tension. Besides, deep inside, I know that Janice is right. I know that I’m going to have to answer for myself that deep question — Do I matter?