Isaiah 49:15-16: (15)”How can a mother forget the baby at her breast and has no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you.” (16) “See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hand;”

Reflection: Where Do I Feel Forgotten?

Lately, I’ve been sitting with this ache — this quiet, tender place in my chest where the feeling of being forgotten settles like dust on old shelves. It’s wild how the people who helped raise you into the world can someday feel like they barely remember your shape. Growing up, my mom’s side was my safe little circle. My cousins, my brother from her side — they were the ones I ran barefoot with, laughed with, belonged to. And even now, the only ones who still make me feel seen are my grandfather, my godfather, and my godmother. They still reach out, still call, still remind me that I’m not drifting alone.

But the rest? My dad’s side — the siblings who share my blood but not my heartbeat — it’s like I’m some distant relative they accidentally skipped on the family tree. Like I’ve been labeled “unclean” or “unwelcome,” some weird relative that never quiet fit in. And it stings… not because I need a crowd, but because it’s human to long for your people to actually be your people. That is all I ever wanted from them; to just feel like a sister, to feel wanted, to feel like they weren’t embarrassed of me- I don’t know, to feel anything besides resentment from them really. I don’t think anybody could understand the feeling of this from a sibling unless they have actually been through it. Imagine going to a event like a wedding, or a baby shower, and as your walking around introducing yourself to your siblings friends, every single one of them say “Oh really? I didn’t know they had another sister”… Its a pain that just stings different.

And then there are the friends I once held close — the ones from my active addiction days. For better or worse, some of those bonds felt real in their own messy way. They knew me in seasons most people never witnessed. Most of them I shared things with that I probably would have never told another soul.. I loved them. I looked at them as my family, because my real family just wasn’t much of a family anymore. Losing them feels like losing little pieces of who I used to be… and maybe also who I thought I would become.

But as I sit with all this, breathing slow and letting God shine His soft gold light over the truth, I’m realizing the lesson tucked inside the hurt: I can’t expect everyone to love the way I love. My heart is big, open, sometimes too generous, and not everyone knows how to hold that kind of tenderness. Not everyone is meant to stay. Not everyone is meant to understand me. And that’s okay.

Maybe being “forgotten” by people is God’s way of pulling me closer to Him — reminding me that I am never out of His sight, never out of His hands. Maybe He’s making space for healthier love, softer friendships, truer connections. Maybe this ache is actually an invitation to stop watering dead plants and start blooming where He’s placing me now.

And who knows — maybe I’m not forgotten at all. Maybe I’m just being re-rooted.

XOXO, The Healing Wildflower