LexTalk

It happened again tonight.

We were at yet another swim meet. The kids were excited, the air was thick with chlorine and chatter, and we were doing what we always do—showing up.

As we walked in, one of my husband’s coworkers came straight over to say hi. She’s been at nearly every meet. She always talks to Tony, catching up on work and laughing about the chaos of their day. Today, she shared a story about how one of their students hit her in the face. She was animated, expressive, familiar.

And then she turned to me.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

I froze inside. I smiled on the outside.

“Alexis.”

“Oh yeah. That’s right.”

But it didn’t feel right. Because this wasn’t the first time.

We met weeks ago at another swim meet. I was polite. I introduced myself—more than once. I’ve seen her at nearly every meet since. I’m always standing right there next to Tony. I’ve said hello. I’ve smiled. I’ve been present.

And still… she doesn’t know my name.

It’s not about needing to be her best friend. I don’t need her to ask me about my weekend or my favorite coffee order. But if you can remember my husband’s name every single time—and you clearly know enough to come talk to him right away—then why am I still invisible?

Why do I have to keep reintroducing myself like I’m new here, when I’ve been standing in the same damn spot this whole time?

Maybe it seems petty to someone on the outside. Maybe it sounds like a simple mistake.

But if you’ve ever been a stepmom, or a second wife, or the other woman in the background of someone else’s story, then you know it’s not about the name. It’s about what the name represents.

Being remembered means being seen.

Being seen means being valued.

And when someone looks past you over and over again, it chips away at your spirit—especially when you’re already walking through life in a role that often comes with no script, no thanks, and no public recognition.

I didn’t say anything. I smiled. I answered politely. And then I sat with the sting all evening.

I wish people understood what it takes to show up in a life that didn’t start with you but needs you anyway. To pour into kids who didn’t come from your body but live in your heart. To support a man and his family with all the behind-the-scenes love and effort that no one sees.

The least someone can do is remember your name.

But tonight, they didn’t.

And so, here I am. Writing it down. Because if I don’t give voice to this ache, it’ll just sit inside me, unspoken and heavy.

If you’ve ever been forgotten in a space where you gave your whole heart—I see you.

If your name doesn’t come up in the “mom circle” even though you’re at every game, every meet, every milestone—I see you.

And if you’re feeling invisible while trying your absolute best to make everyone else’s world feel held—I see you.

Your name is worth remembering. You are worth remembering.

Even if they still don’t know it.

A gentle reminder for anyone who needs it:

As a stepparent (or in any role where you sometimes feel unseen), it can be so healing to have small, daily reminders that you are enough. I love using these affirmation cards for women for those moments when I need a boost of self-worth and encouragement. (As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases – thank you for supporting my blog!)