Dear little girl who doesn't feel known,

I wish I knew you.

I wish I could see the tears welling up.

I wish I could feel the pound of blood through your fingertips.

I wish I could give voice to that feeling that rises up in your throat but somehow fails to make a sound.

. . . I wish I could make you feel seen.

Because I know it feels like no one sees.

I know they look, but they don't recognize.

The pain, the hurt, the dark.

It's like there's all these pieces of you that no one knows exist; like a bloody blindspot, but the only one who knows its there is you.

And I know, I know you've tried. And I know you're tired of trying, trying to get him, her, them to understand.

You're tired of the anxious rehearsing and rewording because it has to be just perfect. . . otherwise it was your fault they didn't get it.

And when it comes to it, it all kind of flies out the window because their blank stares just erase your memorized effort.

It's like your voice has been stolen right out from your throat, that no matter how much you can explain, it doesn't phase; no matter how vivid you can describe, it doesn't seem to matter.

It feels as though you're grasping at the clouds to gather just enough water to make a stream.

And hopefully that stream turns into a river that flows straight to understanding.

But even then, water can be unpredictable.

It can take twists and turns you never thought possible.

Carving out canyons you never wanted in the first place.

Judgements, assumptions, criticisms.

And you look at their averted eyes.

Just look, try, think?

You wish you could say it over and over and over.

But then you'd be that overly-emotional they already think you are.

And then the canyon would just grow bigger, carving shame right in.

And because they can't see it, they would just let it, let it tear right through you, ripping your soul open.

How hard is it to open your eyes and see?

To just look for me?

Look at me?

See me?

Know me?

And I want to wrap comfort right around the gorges in your soul, right around those cavities that somehow hide themselves from the world.

I want to acknowledge your pain, your hurt, your dark.

I want to hold your bleeding heart and fill in those gaping holes.

I want you to know that I see, I see your cries, your loneliness, your anger, your abandonment, your struggle, your wounds, your lost dreams, your long nights, your empty days.

I see your hell.

I don't have your experiences, but I know what I see.

I have scars to prove it.

I have wounds that once gushed red, holes that poured my very soul right out my chest.

I wanted them to see.

To really see.

To feel what I felt, and sometimes, to feel the damage they had done.

I had lots of chances to try, to get my words just right, to scrawl my heart on a paper, to go back and reword till it was my actual soul that was between the lines.

I spoke my pain, my hurt, my dark.

And unfortunately, the people we want to see us the most, often times just don't care to give a second glance.

But I want you to know this: they don't need to hear your precious compositions, and you don't need them to either.

Listen: they will never see the way you want them to. They can't.

Their rivers are flowing in a "different direction".

And trying to change them will only make you drown.

They are blind to you.

But listen, for as many of those there are, there are all the more those with the good intentions.

Those whose dear eyes strain and search.

Those whose hearts pound with the sweet blood of acceptance that can turn into rivers of compassion.

Bless them, for they hold you together when they spot just a glimmer understanding.

They make the caverns inside bearable, just by seeing the small dents.

But neither I nor even them can actually feel your pain, we can't fully know your dark.

No one will ever really 'get it'.

And sometimes, Little Girl, that can be the scariest part of it all.

Not the dark, but that no one seems to see it like you do.

So here's the thing, Little Girl, though you try and search and tire yourself out with all the effort to find understanding from those around you, the truth is, you don't have to.

You don't have to make them 'get it', to make them 'feel it'.

Because there's a beautiful Soul who felt it all, felt your bleeding pain and that of thousands of others, just because His love for us is beyond anything this world could possibly imagine.

His love is a roaring ocean that never flows wrong and never runs dry.

He 'gets it'.

He got it, all of it, just so He could take us in His arms and hold us safe, forever.

No one will ever be able to know your dark more than Him.

Because He is the One whose only desire is for you to rest your searching eyes on His loving gaze and simply know that He sees you.

He sees all of you - all the hurt, the pain, the dark.

And He cups your face and whispers, "Give it to Me, rest in Me. . . They don't need to know, because I know. And My love is always enough for any ache or crater that's inside the soul that I gave you."

He knows you, He knows right where you are, He knows just what's happened to your busted heart. . . and He's taking it all in hand.

"In time, I will fill all your voids with Me, I will heal all your wounds with Me, and I will light up all your dark with Me."

So Little Girl who doesn't feel seen, who doesn't feel known, remember one thing:

He sees, He knows, and He has a plan.

Even if you lose His gaze, you never have to worry because His eyes never tire from looking right into your heart and seeing you, knowing you, loving you.

"There is a plan & there is a purpose & there is a God in heaven who didn’t just ink you onto the palm of His hands but etched your name right into Himself with nails & He’s hasn’t just got your number, He’s got your heart. He sees you, hidden in Him, & you aren’t ever forgotten because God can’t forget those right in Him."

~ Ann Voskamp