You know how sometimes you have feelings that keep popping up but that you can’t quite put into words? The emotions of them are so distinct because you’ve felt this way before, but you’re not really sure what it is you’re feeling – the more you try to put them into words, the more their true form eludes you, and the less you can seem to pinpoint what is bothering you or what it is that hurts specifically. Usually they’re not pleasant feelings, at least for me, and they seem to be a recurring event. As someone who believes themselves to have a very good understanding and relationship with their own feelings, nothing frustrates me more than when something is bothersome, but I don’t know what it is or why.

I felt like that this week, and it’s taken ahold over my mind which has been frantically searching nonstop for the answer. It’s tiresome work; my mind can’t rest until it knows why, but that doesn’t always come easily, or sometimes even at all which frustrates me more than anything else. This week was supposed to be special. Why? I can’t really say, but it was supposed to be. I had plans. Not big plans, but ones I was excited about, nonetheless. This weekend would be about me, it should have been. But not too much; I didn’t want to feel like an inconvenience. Not anyone else’s fault that I would – that is a problem I need to work out some other way. But I was excited to let it be about me, even for a little bit. I have spent most of my life so far not living for me, and lately, I’ve been trying to live for me more in a healthy way. It’s been baby steps, but I feel like I’m getting somewhere.

But this weekend, should have been about me. I had plans for me, for us (my roommates). I was excited to be a little selfish, and happy to finally feel okay about being a bit selfish. But then they called, wanting to do something else. Not my roommates. Someone else who loves me very much, and just wanted to spend time with me because of the special weekend. How could I say no? I love them so much, and they just want to see me. They asked to come out, not asking if I already had plans, but I guess assuming that I wouldn’t (which could be a fair assumption based on my more introverted track record). But they didn’t even consider asking about that first before proposing their plans. It’s not like this weekend was a surprise to anyone – anything they wanted to do could have been planned in advance, but that’s just not their style so much. So I said yes, come visit. Sure, I’ll cancel my plans I was feeling good about, and I’ll rearrange my weekend, the only time I can get any chores done, to cater to their suggestion. No problem – I’ve done it plenty of times before. And that’s when it hit – I felt the feeling I couldn’t describe.

When Friday rolled around, I had already mentally prepared myself for the change of plans for the weekend. This is a challenge in and of itself, as I am not a flexible person despite my best efforts to be. It causes me great stress and anxiety when plans change, either something getting added to the schedule that wasn’t there previously, or things changing entirely to new plans. Things getting cancelled never seems to bother me as much, and actually causes some relief from time to time. But I had worked hard this time to not be upset at the plan change and be excited for new plans. I took so much time to mentally prepare, and then it was Friday evening and my roommate mentioned something about the other people not coming. Said there was a message explaining why. I hadn’t read it all day as work was busy. When I did look at it, I felt a mix of slight relief, and then disappointment. It wasn’t even their fault; it was an uncontrollable and completely valid reason. But I felt disappointed still.

I tried to play it off, but now my whole weekend was thrown off. I couldn’t go back to my original plans as my roommates already had a third set of plans in place. They said we could go do something Sunday after they got back. It could still be a fun day they said, just after. Just after. I politely declined, saying I’d rather stay home and chill out before the work week on Sunday night, and everyone seemed okay with it, myself included. Only I wasn’t.

Most of the weekend I spent in pain. A deep ache that told me that this was a wound that’s old in my heart and mind; one that’s been opened many times before. I couldn’t even manage tears for it, just a mesmerizing, consistent sadness that was so familiar yet so unplaceable. So specific, yet somehow clouded in a way that I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I kept thinking back to all the conversations about this weekend that I had. I thought back to when my roommates suggested we do something after they get on Sunday. I thought back to the conversation I had with the other people who said they’d love to come up and still hang out after, when they could. One of my roommates had plans with their friends. This friend invited me to their plans, after what I suspect was my roommate relating to their friend about the setting and cancelling of plans this weekend. It was a kind gesture of course, and had I been in a better mood, I probably would have considered it at least. It was nice. But I declined again.

I didn’t want to be invited only after what I actually wanted fell through and someone might have felt bad for me. I didn’t want to go out after they all got back from their third set of plans were complete, in the last few hours of the weekend. I didn’t want to push off the original plans I had until after everyone else got what they wanted. I didn’t want to put myself first only after other things inserted themselves into my weekend. I didn’t want to be just after everything else.

Then I felt it again. The pain rose in my chest from deep within as the word ‘after’ kept echoing in my mind. It rose so quickly to the surface, I felt as though I could reach my hand right into my chest and rip it out through my skin. And then I could finally place a feeling to this pain. The pain of being an afterthought. The pain of being the person that was more or less not worried about until after other things happened first. The pain of someone who had learned through the years in many different times, in many different ways, that they were not important enough to take first priority. The pain that they could wait – there were other things to deal with.

Like the fights – the kid could wait because we had more important words to say to each other than to pay attention to how they were being effected. The children’s feelings could wait until after I’ve spoken things to them that no child should hear or bear the weight of. They’re sick? Well, everyone around them is sad about that, so their feelings about what was happening to them or why could wait until after they all were feeling a little better. They’re sad? Well, the reason they’re sad can’t be shared because of the damage it would do to others, so we’ll just wait until they start to feel happier. They’re leaving because of what is happening? The real reason they have to leave can wait until after we’ve blamed each other and added more fuel to an already out of control wildfire spanning the length of 30 or so years. They are still having issues with everything that’s happened to them in their life, and it’s left them with permanent damage to their body and mind? Well, that can wait because I have to consult with them about more things they should definitely not be hearing or carrying around with them.

The pain could wait, because they’re a loving, selfless, compassionate, and patient partner? Better take advantage of that and do the bare minimum in the relationship. They’re not feeling loved or cared for in the partnership? Better provide for them the absolute bare minimum effort and verbal/physical signs of love they crave to keep them around. They’re in pain and feeling lonely all the time? That’s irrational, because we live together so there’s no reason to feel lonely. They often cry at night, alone in bed wondering why they aren’t enough to keep me interested? Better tell them I’ll work on it and promise to change – not actually do anything, but just say I will so they have a small amount of hope left that maybe they won’t be stuck unhappy the rest of their life.  They’re breaking up with me after years of emotional abuse and being tired of not being happy? Their pain can wait because I feel totally blindsided somehow, and this isn’t fair to me.

Their pain can wait because more important things are happening.

My pain can wait until after everything else is taken care of.

That was when I named the pain: the pain of being an afterthought. The pain of being second place to other things happening. The pain of not feeling important enough to take priority. The pain of being the person who people looked at and didn’t worry about because, “Oh, they’ll understand,” or “they’re strong; they can handle it until we have a second to deal with them and lend an ear.” The pain of being the person who others took priority over, so now I spend my life making sure I’m not put first. The pain of hating being the center of attention in any way, even if I deserve it. The pain of letting things happen that upset me or affect me negatively, because I don’t feel important enough to stand up for myself. The pain of getting the short end of the deal every time, because I volunteer to. The pain of feeling not worth being put first, so I let myself fall behind others. Just like I did this weekend. I let my original plans that I wanted go, so I could make room for new plans that fell through anyway. I didn’t say anything when my roommates already had other plans, or when I was offered to tag along on one of theirs. I didn’t say anything about feeling like an afterthought when they got back in the evening and asked, “there’s still some time, do you want to go out and do something?” No. I don’t, because on a weekend that should have been about me from the start, now I feel like an inconvenience – a wrench that could wreck their plans they made 2 seconds ago. A hurt animal they had to drag along somewhere because they felt like they should.

That’s too harsh of course; they love me so much and I’m sure they felt bad about having other plans on the one day we could have done my plans. They say we can do the plans another weekend, which is true. But I still feel betrayed. I feel the hurt of all the other times when I was pushed to the side come flooding up all at once. And sure, you could say, “Well, you could have still gone out Sunday night,” and that’s true. I’m sure we would have had fun, and maybe drank a little too much. I’m sure that could have been nice, if it wasn’t for the fact that saying we could go out after everyone else gets home from their plans felt like saying, “well, there’s technically still some time left in the day – let’s go do something you didn’t pick out to do, and only have a couple of hours left to do it as the other things today took up so much time.”

It feels sad how familiar this pain feels to me, but it feels nice to finally have a name for it. I feel bad for being moody towards people this weekend over how the events turned out. I feel bad for letting these things get to me so much. But mostly, I hate that it keeps happening. Or maybe I just feel like it keeps happening, since I know I sometimes misread situations. But even so, even if it’s just me feeling like this constantly happens, there must be a reason that feeling keeps popping up, right? It still means something, and I don’t like what it points to.

None of these people ever meant to hurt me this way, and I know that. But that doesn’t take the sting out of the pain. I don’t put myself first because I have always felt like an afterthought in someone else’s story. I don’t share my feelings as easily, because I have always been conditioned to sit and listen to other people’s feelings while mine were made out to be less significant than they were. I stopped really offering how my day was, as I always get interrupted and am unable to finish my story because their stories are crazier, and more interesting. Half the time, I’m not even asked how my day was – I just sit and listen and ask about everyone else’s day until we’re all too mentally exhausted to carry on any more in depth. I let myself stay in a bad relationship for too long, because occasionally, I felt like a priority, or wanted, or heard.

I have always felt like an afterthought, and I grew to be the perfect person to push to the side. I found it easier than asking for people to pay attention to me, or to prioritize me. I found it easier to put other people above myself in every situation rather than open up and trust them to put me first. I will always turn the spotlight to anyone else, because now that I’ve spent so much time not being the priority, I don’t know how to handle or even process that kind of attention. It makes me uncomfortable. But I don’t want it to. I don’t want to feel any of these things.

I don’t know how to move on from this, but I want to. I want to be able to enjoy the spotlight when it’s given to me and not get so nervous when sometimes the attention is on me. I want to be able to do the things I want to do for myself and no one else. I want to be able to feel like I deserve to feel important sometimes.

I don’t want to be too selfish; I still want to keep my compassion, patience, and caring traits among other things. I still want other people to come before me when appropriate. I just don’t want to keep feeling like an afterthought, while trying to convince myself that no, I am important. It’s hard to move on and heal when the same wounds keep getting reopened, so I want to learn how to seal them permanently. That feeling of being an afterthought is definitely one of them.