i believe everything i experience is an aspect of myself being reflected back to me through a moment. once i acknowledged that, my entire existence became a house of mirrors.

what stares back at me now is the memory of how i felt when i believed i was overlooked.

i used to think being overlooked meant i wasn’t chosen. the irony is, i’ve always chosen myself. never have i ever had an issue with that. and that’s what confused me. the conditioning; the belief that as a woman, i needed to perform my worth in order to be selected. to be palatable. to be claimed. to be seen.

where would i be if eye couldn’t see? where would i be without clarity and discernment? where would i be if i didn’t know who i am and what i want for myself? who would i be if i wasn’t me? who would i be if i didn’t have this inkling of who i’m called to be? where would i be without true understanding? oh, thank god, i get it now.

now i understand it meant i wasn’t consumed. not that i ever gave a fuck about being digestible anyway. by all means, choke. i just finally truly have a clear understanding of the difference between being “unseen” and being untouched.

but wait, let’s be clear, i don’t blame the ones that came before me. the ones that taught me how to play the game that no one wins. i sincerely pity the cost it took for them to feel visible. and i pity everyone else when they mistake my quiet for lack. my restraint for disinterest. my patience for absence of opportunity. i let them then. i still do now. with the same sentiments, actually.

was it my fault then that they assumed if something big was happening for me, i’d be louder? shinier? making a huge deal? more frantic? is it my problem now? tuh. it ain’t even in me to move like that. when people ain’t used to shit, you can tell. i’m not people.

however, i do believe that’s why i’m expected to perform elevation instead of embody it. because i don’t look rushed. because my head stays down when nobody’s watching. no audience needed. i put the work in without needing witnesses. and in a world addicted to glitz and glam… show and tell… coming like me is to come rare. glamourous, nonetheless. but i ain’t gotta prove that.

bitch, you feel it.

the gag is, when you come from old money, and i’m talking real energetic currency right now, that spirit rich, ancestry heavy, alignment deep type shit— you leave the little fish to the little ponds. you don’t shrink in order to fit in rooms. the old saying “birds of a feather flock together” starts to hit different and directly. you understand that if something or someone doesn’t move you in a way that can’t be explained with words, then it ain’t for you. and then you start to understand the power that comes with that. to know what really, really moves you? that’s power. to only move when you feel moved? that’s restraint. you start to truly realize why god got you put up. only a few understand that being hidden in plain sight is one of the highest forms of protection.

i mean, we all know the story of christ, so that’s who i’ll use as an example outside of myself. jesus christ, a historically “perfect” being, was overlooked long before he was ever revered. he was minimized. belittled. reduced to what people could rationalize. written off as just the carpenter’s son. too ordinary. too quiet. they wanted spectacle before belief. proof before faith. a performance instead of presence.

nonetheless, he maintained true harmony within (what we now acknowledge as christ consciousness) because he didn’t move loud, argue his divinity, or rush to reveal god’s promise to him. being underestimated gave him mobility. being overlooked kept the mission intact.

truth doesn’t announce itself. it lets reality speak for it.

being overlooked was never a lack of favor. it still isn’t. in fact, it is favor disguised as obscurity. protection disguised as invisibility. i’m unplugged. untainted. untouched. unconsumed. undistorted by people who confuse access with entitlement.

being overlooked gave me cover. while attention chased spectacle, i learned myself without interference. i watched patterns without being watched back. i listened more than i spoke… not because i was timid, look around, that’s clearly not the case. it’s because information is currency and silence compounds interest. fuck the noise.

some doors didn’t open because i wasn’t meant to be consumed by rooms that confuse access with intimacy. what people called delay was protection. what they called rejection was redirection.

nobody praises the woman who refuses shortcuts. nobody throws roses at restraint. but discipline ages better than applause, and i will never be interested in looking like success if that means i’m spiritually, emotionally, and mentally bankrupt.

when you’re overlooked, you learn how people move when they don’t think you matter. you hear the truth unfiltered. you see who confuses opportunity with ownership. that kind of knowledge changes how you choose. it gives you even more inclination to choose you.

i’ve come to a time in my life where people are finally looking twice, (as am i) and what they see is the result of me not being a fucking sell-out. they don’t realize i’ve already been living with intention. they think they’re discovering me, and that’s ok. i prefer they see the me that has been curated by time and embodied wisdom, not by public scrutiny and unwarranted opinion.

lets give being overlooked for so long some credit.

it’s not all bad.