Why Invisible?

When someone asked me, “Why ‘invisible’ in your book title?” I paused. What a great question. Because truthfully—that word carries weight.

For so many widows, invisibility is not just a feeling, it’s a reality.

It’s the empty chair at the table no one talks about.
It’s being left off the invitation list because “she probably wouldn’t want to come.”
It’s showing up at church and realizing you don’t quite fit in the couples’ class anymore.
It’s sitting in a room full of people and feeling unseen—because the world has moved on, but you’re still navigating a life you never chose.

Widows often feel invisible because grief makes others uncomfortable. And when people don’t know what to say, they sometimes say nothing at all. Silence, though unintentional, deepens that sense of invisibility.

Why Voice Matters

That’s why giving voice to this reality matters. When widows speak, we remind the world: we are still here. We are still mothers, daughters, sisters, friends, leaders, dreamers. Our stories matter. Our presence matters. Our purpose matters.

By naming invisibility, I hope to pull it out of the shadows. Not to wallow in it, but to shine light on it. Because once something is named, it can be changed.

Why It Matters

Invisibility is dangerous. When someone feels unseen, they can begin to believe they are unseen—even by God. But Scripture reminds us of the opposite:
“You are the God who sees me” (Genesis 16:13).

God sees the widow. He sees the empty chair, the quiet tears, the brave steps forward. And He calls the Church to see too—to remember, to honor, to include, to walk alongside.

For me, invisible is not the identity. It’s the reality I’ve felt. And by writing Widowed, Not Invisible, I’m choosing to claim a different truth: that my life, my voice, and my story still matter—and so does yours.