I think about this more than I let on.

Not in a way that wants to be seen.
Not in a way that asks for reassurance.

Just in the quiet moments when I wonder whether I exist in anyone’s mind when I am not needed.

I wonder who thinks of me when a certain song comes on.
When they drive past a place where we once talked too long.
When something reminds them of a version of themselves that only existed with me.

I wonder how many stories I was part of that I will never hear about.
Moments where I mattered more than I realized.
Or if those moments ended the second my usefulness did.

Because there are people who remember me only when I am serving a purpose.

When I am listening.
When I am holding space.
When I am showing up strong, steady, and available.

And yes, sometimes that purpose is submission.

When I am giving myself over.
When I am kneeling, figuratively or otherwise.
When my body, attention, or surrender is what is wanted from me.

And when I am no longer offering something, when I am simply standing in myself, I fade from their awareness.

I don’t think this makes them unkind.
I think it reflects how often connection gets confused with consumption.

Still, it leaves a mark.

There is a particular loneliness in realizing you may live in someone’s life as a role rather than a whole person.
As someone who is useful, but not remembered.
Valued for access, not presence.

I wonder if I cross anyone’s mind when I am not giving.
Not fixing.
Not kneeling.
Not holding them up.

I wonder if I exist simply as myself.
Not as labor.
Not as care.
Not as desire.

This isn’t bitterness.
It’s honesty.

It’s the question that surfaces when you are someone who gives in many forms, across many parts of your life.

Do I exist in you when I am not offering something?
Or only when I am being used?

Some days, I accept that I may never know.
Other days, the wondering lingers.

And maybe the truth is this:
I may never know how often I pass through someone else’s thoughts.

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