When You Start to Disappear

There’s this moment that comes, quietly and without warning. It’s not a crisis. It doesn’t scream or demand attention. It’s more of a whisper. A slow, subtle noticing.

You walk into a room and realize you’re no longer the one being looked at. Not really. Not the way you used to be.

Middle age has a strange way of arriving. One day, you’re needed constantly—by your kids, your family, your clients, your community. You’re woven into everyone’s lives, holding things together. And then, gradually, the calls slow down. The kids become more independent. Your reflection shifts. Your presence becomes… less requested.

And at first, you don’t quite have the words for it. You just feel it. That quiet ache. That growing sense that you are becoming less visible.

We don’t talk about this much—what it feels like as a woman to age in a world that prizes youth, productivity, and beauty. When your usefulness begins to shift, when your body changes, when your energy softens. When the parts of you that were once celebrated are now just… expected. Or ignored.

And it’s not just about appearance. It’s about being seen. Being recognized. Being valued beyond what you do for others.

There is a grief in this. A very real one.

But there is something else here too.

There is space.

There is permission.

There is the beginning of a different kind of seeing—not from the outside, but from the inside. And it can be disorienting. Because when you’ve spent your whole life being shaped by what others need from you, or expect of you, it takes time to remember what you want. What you like. Who you are when nobody is watching.

This life transition can be disorienting—but it’s also an invitation. A turning point. For many women, it’s a time to pause, to reflect, and to begin to re-author the stories we've been told—or the ones we’ve had to tell ourselves just to get by. Therapy can be a helpful space for this work. For asking the harder questions. For grieving what’s changing. And for imagining what might come next.

This is the season where many of us begin coming home to ourselves. Where we let go of the performance. Where we become more rooted, less rushed. Where we claim the kind of visibility that isn’t about being watched—but about being whole.

I’m not interested in disappearing. Not really.

I’m interested in reappearing.
On my terms.
In my time.
As I am.