The moment I see the image, the bottom drops out from a place deep inside me. Five friends smile back, only one is missing — me. I too was there that day. I too sat drinking coffee on the patio, laughing and talking about life and writing. But somehow, I did not make the picture.
Maybe I was in the bathroom. I console myself. Perhaps the picture with me was blurry and not worth posting. They were not intending to hurt me.
All of it is true. But no matter how hard I try to rationalize the fact I am missing, the feeling of being left out surfaces like an all-too-familiar grief. Belonging has not come easily. My heart bears the scars of a thousand paper cuts, most of them unintended and yet they sting. The wounds remain tender, and as much I wish I were not so sensitive to feeling on the outside, I cannot ignore the ache inside me. The desire for connection is in my veins.
A few months ago, I told a friend of my tendency to feel left out or left behind. Tenderly, she observed, “It’s like you’re standing on a sidewalk outside a restaurant. You can see your friends sitting at a booth right next to the window, drinking coffee and laughing, while you look on through the glass. You are close, and yet not quite.”
As she spoke, the same old ache welled up within me, as if it had been waiting and watching for its cue. Tears blurred my vision as thirty-something years of clunky relationships passed through my mind. I was that woman on the sidewalk, the one wanting to be on the other side of the glass but unsure how to get there. I was the one doing all she could to fit in, but questioning if she really belonged. And despite how much I have learned about connection, pieces of that woman remain, haunting me.
Scarcity loves to lurk in the corners of the mind, whispering through gritted teeth,
You are the odd person out.
You are the outlier, the wallflower, the one-off who can’t figure out how to have friends.
Your desire is nothing more than a flimsy dream.
Looking at the picture of my friends, I once again shirk and shrink back, wondering if I am doomed to a life looking through the glass. Because in that window, I don’t just see longing; I see lack. A picture of everything I am not. Standing there, I wonder: Am I the outlier? Does everyone else intuitively know how to navigate the relational waters? Because paddle as I may, all I seem to do is spin in circles, which leads me to conclude the problem is in me. Or worse, the problem is me.
Longing without the light of hope bends toward despair, but longing in and of itself is not a deficit. Desires are signposts, avenues into something good. We do not want without reason, which leads me to question: What if I am looking at my desire to belong all wrong? What if what I perceive as void is vastness — a divine welcoming into so much more?
Maybe the window is not a reminder of our lack, but a way to see the longing.
That’s the funny thing about windows and other things made of glass, isn’t it? While on one hand they allow us to peek at what is on the other side, they also offer a reflection, a way to see ourselves a little more clearly. Windows reveal what we so often ignore. Perhaps what we need, instead of moving on by, is to gaze at what we see a little longer.
Holding my phone, the picture staring back at me, I pause. I look a little longer at the screen, and as I pay attention to the pain that wells up, I speak my longing out loud. I let the words pass through my lips like a prayer:
I want to belong.
I want to feel safe and seen.
I want to be known.
I want to be wanted.
I say the words over and over, knowing my desire does not fall on deaf ears but into the hands of the One who wove us all together in the first place. The One who crafted us from dirt and the warmth of His breath and pulls us to His chest like a mother gathering her young. The One who saw beyond our fractured state and let His prayer echo over us for generations, “May they all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I am in you” (John 17:21 CSB).
As I name the ache out loud, I remember this holy wanting embedded in my bones. I am not on the outside looking in; I am simply still on the way. This knowing frees me. I take a deep breath and feel my face stretch into a smile as the power lack once held over me diminishes. Grace softens my once-fragile edges enough for me to forgive, to make room for a world where I am wanted, even if I am not in the picture. There in the longing, the hollowness transforms into hope. Because what I see in the glass is no longer an outsider, but a person wrapped in the promise of more — a people of a Bigger Picture, framed in the goodness of the Father’s love.
Leave a Comment
Melissa Ens says
Wow, Sarah. What a powerful testimony and practice… to look a little longer at the longing and then speak it out loud in the presence of God. I’m taking this to heart and going to practice taking my thoughts AND my longings captive this way, trusting Jesus to carry them with me. Thank you.
Sarah E. Westfall says
Looking at any sort of pain can be…well…painful. But whether it’s loneliness or grief or shame, we cannot get beneath what the feelings are telling us if we don’t look at them and give them a name. It’s a lesson I have to continue to learn and relearn.
Cheyla says
Thank you for your post Sarah! I feel left out quite often, never feeling good enough to be a part of anything. I recognize that a lot of that is me holding back because I’m gun shy. I liked the reminder about the reflection.
Sarah E. Westfall says
I resonate with that “not good enough” sentiment. Truly. I hope in some way (even if it’s small) that makes you feel a little less on the outside. And it makes me wonder how many people are feeling this way. Like…does anyone actually feel on the INSIDE?
Dawn Ferguson-Little says
Sarah thank you from the bottom of my heart for this post today. I often even with my Sister’s and my Dad feel left out and the one looking from the outside in. Yes it does hurt at times and get to me. As they my sister’s tell either everything and sometimes don’t tell me. Then they tell my Dad. He say did you hear this or this. I say no as my sister’s have not told me and it hurts. Then we go out for coffee sometimes. Me and my sister’s. I am the eldest and the only one saved in my family. They will the two of start taking to either. I say what about me I am hear too. I say it to myself not them. Then they stop and ask are you ok. For peace sake I just say yes. But I feel like a wall flower looking for a drink of water. Say what am I doing here. But if I don’t go with them for coffee. They ask why. I never said to them as it nice to see them and spend the time with them. As rest of time they busy with work and kids. But I do feel why didn’t I say no and just say at home especially if they are going to talk among either. Talk to now and them. If you get them one at time by themselves yes they put the time into me and talk to me. So I enjoyed that. I say even though not talking to me that often if together all us. It just nice to be in there company and see them. I think they just don’t think or see what their doing. God has shown me often in times like this you go and shine for me. Just in those moments they when both together with you pray for them as they are not saved. Then God says Dawn your not alone in those times I am right beside you. So don’t feel like a wall flower waiting for a drink of water. You are a beautiful flower that blooms for me. You are like flowers to hold you head high and not be a dooped wall flower and smell of my love for you as flowers smell nice. So as they will hopefully see you shinning for me and have that nice Godly smell about you as you are a beautiful flower that shines for me where ever you go in life. Hopefully they will see that one day want it. That is to me the Lord said the way you do. That has helped me alot. I do that now. Love Dawn Ferguson-Little xx
Sarah E. Westfall says
“You are a beautiful flower that blooms for me.” Knowing we are beloved changes everything, doesn’t it? Thank you for sharing some of your story with me, Dawn. In doing so, you have also made me feel a little less alone in these emotions, and that is a gift.
Donna says
WOW! How this spoke to me. I never lived anywhere long enough to fit in with any group. I learned really early to go it alone. How I long to fit somewhere. This gives me hope and something to think about. I am in my 60’s and will choose to believe I am still on the way to something better that God has for me.
Sarah E. Westfall says
My husband and I moved 13 times in our first 15 years of marriage, and not be settled in a place certainly impacts our ability to “people well.” Thank you for sharing part of your story with us. I remain hopeful God will be present with us where we are as he continues to move us as human people closer to each other. 🙂
Twyla Franz says
Sarah, you describe this so eloquently! I’ve felt it too—the longing for deeper friendships, the wondering if it’s me that keeps getting in the way. I love your perspective that we are ON the way, and that gives us space to fill with grace and freely forgive. We can be gentle with others, and gentle with ourselves too, when we see that life is more of a direction than a destination.
Sarah E. Westfall says
Yes – gentle and generous with ourselves and others. So well said.
karyn j says
“I am not on the outside looking in; I am simply still on the way.” so perfectly said!
Jamie says
Oh this screams to my heart.
Sarah E. Westfall says
Sarah E. Westfall says
My previous comment showed up blank. *palm to face* So sorry. I just wanted you to know I am glad we can be in it together.
Beth Williams says
Sarah,
Everyone wants to belong, be seen, known & loved. We must remember that we are a work in progress. Like you said we are on our way. Great post.
Blessings 🙂
Beth Williams says
Sarah,
Praying everyone feels loved by God & me. May I shower you with His love!!
Blessings 🙂
Erica Baldwin says
I’ve had this open on my laptop for over a week to read. Glad I finally did. Thank you, Sarah, for putting to words what many of us feel. It’s so strange to make friends as adults. Even as an extrovert, sometimes I feel on the outside. Thanks for pointing our longing toward grace, forgiveness, and always belonging in Him.
Sarah E. Westfall says
“always belonging in Him” So well said. And I think it’s helpful to hear that feeling out of place is not isolated to us introverts. 🙂