Feeling Alone
Sometimes you feel forgotten even when you're surrounded by other people
The three of us started shaking in the gym at McKelvie Middle School in New Hampshire and that shaking needed to stop, but gyms are places that make vibrations, rumbling, and forever-lasting. And that happens even when intentions are good sometimes.
BACK IN SEVENTH GRADE
Jen Fonteyn, Erik Noyes and I stood in front of all of seventh grade. Jen’s lips trembled. Erik’s sneakers twitched, and I had shudders rumbling up and down my whole body.
Back then we were the three seventh graders whose parents were divorced and we’d sort of cluster together most days in Bedford, New Hampshire, surrounded by McMansions filled with families where there were two parents and normalcy. This was made super obvious during an assembly in seventh grade where a counselor made all of us kids with divorced parents stand up in front of everyone else.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” she told us while everyone else stared. “Erik. Jen. Carrie. Get up here.”
The world smelled of old sneakers, wet and nasty from the puddles on the playground that hot June day. It smelled of gym bleach, lemon and Clorox, and that soft rose pink deodorant Jen wore. She was standing too, defiantly though. Her black feathered hair was perfectly sprayed. A helmet over her head that seemed to really actually protect her heart. She moved towards me and hooked her elbow into mine. Someone in the background coughed into the smelly, still air and we waited for the counselor to say something else.
Nothing to be ashamed of.
Except there we were feeling ashamed.
I’d never actually felt ashamed about it before.
Erik stood next to me and muttered the f-word under his breath. He never swore, was one of those good boys with LL Bean clothes and ski passes. This swearing suddenly made him ridiculously cool, but also made me feel better because I knew he thought it was ridiculous, too. I hooked my elbow into his. We stood there, a line of three kids facing the whole grade, our counselor, and principal.
Together, we stood arm in arm, but shaking in a smelly gym full of stares and sneakers, too much deodorant and too many eyes.
But even compared to them, I knew I stood out, because everyone else went to their dad’s for the whole weekend and their dads never actually forgot about them. Not like my dad. When I was a little kid, my dad would sometimes to pick me up on Sundays, which was the day he was supposed to see me according to court papers. He’d forget a lot.
I’d stare out the bedroom window at the long driveway. He was always supposed to pick me up at 10. He rarely picked me up at 10. Sometimes Mom would have to call to remind him.
“He’s a forgetful man,” she’d say.
I just wanted to be remembered. But not this way. Not in front of everyone else in seventh grade, arms locked, shaking
He was. He rarely knew the day of the week or people’s phone numbers. But their stories? He would remember those perfectly.
I’d climb into his beige Ford Escort, horrified that my rich friends might see me in such an uncool car and he’d hand me the check for my mom and apologize for being late.
“I didn’t forget you,” he’d say, tearing up. “I’m so sorry. Time got away from me.”
Or sometimes it was, “I didn’t forget you. I forgot it was Sunday!”
Or sometimes it was, “I didn’t forget you. I got to talking to your uncle, Kilton.”
My almost-always response was, “Mm. Hm.”
“I don’t want you to feel forgotten.” He always said this, and I knew he meant it, but I did feel forgotten a lot of the time, my poor dad. But forgotten felt better than ashamed to me. I think it still does?
Dealing with our kid and their life and school and the lack of systemic support for kids like them in our state? It hurts sometimes. And sometimes, you feel ashamed.
I’ll never forget when we brought our kid to Disney and tourists from another continent pointed at them, took pictures, and laughed.
Shame.
It’s pretty normal to feel forgotten or looked over sometimes. And as our kid misses all their eighth grade activities because their autism created a massive blow-up at school a couple of months ago, Shaun is missing a lot of things too, things we sort of expect to have as parents—experiences that we hope our kid gets to enjoy.
There’s no class trips for our kid.
No rafting adventures.
No step-up promotion day for high school.
Just Zoom meetings for one-hour blocks on days when everyone remembers them.
Sometimes Feeling Overwhelmed Feels Like Feeling Alone
Sometimes I’m not brilliant enough to know quite where loneliness begins and shame ends and just being overwhelmed is making me think I’m one of the other two. Does this ever happen to you?
Last night in bed, I couldn’t sleep even though I felt pretty comfortable there, nestled between a puppy, an ancient dog and a husband. All of them snore. That probably didn’t help.
But as I tried to sleep, I started crying for Shaun, for our kid, and all the things they won’t get to experience if they want to. I’m pretty sure the kid would definitely not want to go on that rafting trip. But I also cried because I felt (even there surrounded by the snoring beasts) so alone.
I’m not the kind of person people check up on. I’m the kind of person who checks in on others. I’m not the kind of person people make Meal Trains for. I’m not the kind of person that my own surviving family members remember.
And it was kind of getting to me.
There are things to remember for me and maybe for you if you’re feeling forgotten or like an afterthought.
Expand Your Social Circle
If your friends fail to invite you to things enough to feel forgotten, find new ones. They are missing out on your fabulousness. Honestly, my poor dad. When this kept happening to me when I was little, I found about eight-hundred father figures to fill in.
Tell People You Miss Them
Seriously, if you’re missing your friends, tell them. They might be clueless. I’m often the clueless friend, too.
Realize That Your Important in This World
Yep. You are. You matter to your dog, to your cat, to your ferret. You matter and it’s good to remember that, but sometimes it’s so hard.
What do you do to make a difference in this world? Do you volunteer? Help your parents? Help your kids?
I bet there are more ways that you matter than you realize and when you remember those ways? It’s easier to not feel so forgotten.
And if you need someone to remember you? Reach out. I’ll be here.
OMG Carrie, I wish I had hugged seventh-grade you. I wish I could hug seventh-grade you, and Erik and Jen. I wish I had known you a little better back then. You are not alone, although I completely understanding feeling alone anyway. ❤