There are moments when I walk into a space filled with people, yet feel completely invisible. The room is full of laughter, conversation, and connection, but somehow I still feel on the outside. It is a strange kind of loneliness, one that does not come from being physically alone, but from feeling unseen and unspoken to.
I tell myself to just walk up, introduce myself, join in. I know the right steps. But something deeper holds me back. Everyone seems settled in their conversations, their circles already formed. I do not want to interrupt, so I stand there, surrounded by people, but disconnected.
I have felt this same distance in other places too. Sometimes in my own home. Sometimes with people I care about. Pride keeps my words trapped inside me. Silence grows between us. Even in the same room, even in the same family, connection can feel miles away.
I have been tempted to blame others. To tell myself they are too busy, too focused on themselves, too wrapped up in their own worlds to see me. But the truth is harder and more honest. The deeper problem is not them. It is that I walked in unprepared, empty, and looking for someone else to fill a space that only God can fill.
I start to live as if my next breath depends on another person’s attention, approval, or invitation. But the air is already there. The room is already filled. I just refuse to breathe in what God is offering.
People were never meant to be my source of oxygen for the soul. It is not wrong to need community. God created us for relationship. But when my need turns into a demand that others can never meet, disappointment is guaranteed to follow.
The Shift
Now I ask myself a different question when I walk into a room.
Am I entering this space filled up by God, ready to give, to listen, to bless? Or am I walking in empty, waiting for someone else to notice me, include me, or affirm me?
People who live filled with God are not superheroes with endless confidence. They are simply grounded. God is their oxygen. From that place, they can love freely, without desperation. They still need people. They still value connection. But their love comes from fullness, not from lack.
This is how I want to live too. Secure. Steady. Rooted in the love of God.
When I live from the truth that I am already loved, I stop chasing scraps of acceptance. I walk into rooms with peace instead of panic. I can love others because I am not empty. I am already held.
Prayer
Lord, thank You for loving me with a love that cannot be shaken, taken, or tarnished. Teach me to look to You alone to fill and satisfy my heart. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Attribution: Inspired by the chapter “Alone in a Crowded Room” from Embraced by Lysa TerKeurst.