Things haven’t been as fulfilling in my marriage recently. There’s a quietness that sits between us now, a space once filled with laughter, easy conversation, and warmth. These days, I feel like I’m moving through life unseen, just a shadow in the background. It’s hard to pinpoint when things started to shift, but I’ve felt the change in subtle, aching ways—the way his eyes don’t linger, how our conversations drift into silence, how each day feels like a repetition of the last. I feel as if I’ve become part of the furniture, necessary but unnoticed.

I miss feeling valued, feeling like I’m someone worth seeing. There was a time when I felt captivating, a time when he would look at me with such admiration that I couldn’t help but feel beautiful. Now, that sense of attraction seems buried under the weight of routine, stress, and life’s relentless pace. I know we’re both exhausted, and maybe he’s feeling something similar, but I can’t ignore this deep longing to feel attractive, to feel like I matter, to feel desired not for what I do but for who I am.

I find myself reminiscing about the person I used to be—the woman who was bold, spontaneous, and radiated confidence. She’s still within me, but she’s harder to find now. Somewhere in the demands of life, I’ve let her fade. I’m not sure if he remembers her either, or if he’s even noticed her absence. I can’t help but wonder if he misses me, the real me, as much as I do.

Maybe it’s time to start reclaiming that part of myself, to remind myself of the allure I once carried so naturally. I know I can’t rely on someone else to make me feel seen; I have to see myself first. Perhaps I’ll find small ways to reconnect with that confidence, to express myself in ways that make me feel alive again. And as I do, maybe he’ll remember too, maybe he’ll see me in the way I want to be seen. But even if he doesn’t, I owe it to myself to feel valuable, beautiful, and whole—because I am.