Dear No One,
At lunch today, something small happened—but it kind of lingered.
We were just talking, laughing even, and then one of my lunch buddies mentioned that a coworker—someone I’m not super close to, but still, someone I know—was getting married this December. It caught me off guard. I didn’t know. I guess my face gave it away because he said, “Oh, sorry, you don’t know?” and then quickly moved on, asking another if she got an invite.
She said yes.
I laughed along saying ‘Well, i guess it is a secret wedding’ trying to deflect the subject, but in that second, there it was again—that quiet flicker. That familiar little ache.
I didn’t think it mattered much, and maybe it truly doesn’t. I don’t talk to her much, although she’s more of a “sister” figure to me at work. We’re okay. But still….why did I feel something?
And then I remembered that other moment, not long ago. The coworker from another department who was resigning. She’s known to give gifts every Christmas, and on her last day, she handed out parting gifts—cute character Lego blocks that now sit on everyone’s desks in our department.
Except mine.
I didn’t even notice at first, until I saw the small toys at every table. I didn’t ask. I didn’t make a sound.
Days later, a coworker brought it up—told me someone else was bothered on my behalf. I just shrugged. Said we weren’t close. Said it wasn’t a big deal.
And maybe it isn’t.
But if it really didn’t bother me, why did I think about it so much?
Why does it keep poking at something inside me I try so hard to cover up?
I hate the thought that maybe people look at me and feel sorry.
Like I’m the girl with no circle. The one who sits with the seniors at lunch because she has no one else.
And then I ask myself: Is that even true? Or am I just afraid it might be?
The thing is, I did try. I tried to be social when I was new. I said yes to invitations, tried to blend in, to matter.
But eventually, I pulled back. I got tired. I made excuses. They formed their group without me, and I let them. Now I’m a casual coworker. Nice enough. Quiet.
Not close.
Not included.
And I tell myself, that’s fine. I’m here to work. I don’t need to be part of a group. I don’t need that kind of closeness in this place.
But deep down—if I’m being really honest—it does feel good to be included.
Even just a little. Even just once in a while.
I know this has something to do with how I’ve always been. How I don’t let people too close. How I freeze when I should speak. How I act like I don’t care, just so no one sees that I do.
But deep down, I do.
I care too much.
And I don’t know how to be part of something without feeling like I don’t belong in it.
I don’t know how to be loved without feeling like I have to earn it. Or apologize for it.
I don’t know how to stay. Or let anyone stay.
So maybe this is just the shape my life takes.
The quiet seat at the table. The missing piece on the desk.
The one who laughs with everyone, but still walks home alone.
So maybe that’s what I’m really mourning.
Not a wedding invite. Not a toy block.
But that simple, childlike desire to be seen, chosen, included.
Not pitied. Not added as an afterthought.
But remembered on purpose.