The first time I noticed it was not in his words, but in his eyes.

We were at a party — light music, over-enthusiastic laughter, clinking glasses to celebrate something unnamed. He was in his early fifties, casually dressed, carrying himself with the quiet compossure of a man who had learned how to survive decades without ever being truly seen. When he spoke to me, his voice was steady, even humorous. But his eyes — they were looking for oxygen.

I am a woman who notices silence more than sentences. And in that brief exchange, I realised I was standing in front of a man who lived every day in a place where he was not valued.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. His eyes stayed with me. So I began writing this — not about him, but about me.

Why do I stay where I am not valued?

I have asked myself this question at least a thousand times. In boardrooms, at dining tables, lying awake beside someone who thinks my breathing is noise. I ask it when my ideas are dismissed, when my presence is tolerated, when my silence becomes more comfortable to others than my truth.

And still — I stay.

I used to believe this question was about my relationships. Then I thought it was about my career. Later, I blamed my upbringing, my culture, my fear of being alone.

Now I know the truth: it is not about where I stay. It is about why I don’t leave.

He leaned slightly closer to me, not crossing a boundary, but crossing loneliness.

“You know what the hardest part is?” he said, holding a glass he barely sipped.
“People think that we have everything.. . But nobody asks us what have we lost.”

I asked gently, “What have you lost?”

He smiled — that practiced smile men master so well.

“My relevance,” he whispered. “My voice. My place.”

We stood surrounded by people, and yet it felt like two forgotten souls accidentally finding each other. “I stayed because it’s easier to be invisible than to start again at this juncture,” he added

That sentence hit me harder than any confession of betrayal or grief. Because I stay for the same reason.

You don’t need to be divorced to feel discarded.
You don’t need to be single to feel abandoned.
You don’t need to be married to feel chosen.

I have met people who are married and profoundly lonely.
Divorced and strangely liberated.
Single by choice and secretly aching.

The condition is not marital.
It is emotional.

Not being valued looks like:

• Your achievements being acknowledged only when they benefit others.
• Your pain being treated as inconvenience.
• Your silence being interpreted as strength.
• Your loyalty being taken as entitlement.

We don’t collapse dramatically when we are not valued.
We slowly fade internally

To my exploration the uncomfotable truth is :

I stay because emotional neglect is familiar.

Because the pain I know feels safer than the pain I don’t.

Because rebuilding at mid forties feels like betrayal — not of others, but of the story I’ve spent decades defending.

I stay because I have invested too much in proving I am “fine”.

I stay because if I leave, I will have to admit that I was not loved in the way I deserved. And sometimes, denial is cheaper than dignity

When I was younger, I thought love meant endurance.

That if I could just adjust more, understand more, sacrifice more — I would finally be seen.

But endurance without recognition becomes self-erasure.

At some point, without realising it, I signed an invisible contract:

I will stay quiet so others stay comfortable.

I didn’t negotiate the terms.
I didn’t read the fine print.

But the cost was my soul.

Before he walked away that night, he said something that broke my heart open.

“I don’t even need someone to fix me,” he said.
“I just need someone to notice that I exist.”

That’s it, isn’t it?

We are not asking for miracles. Just acknowledgment.
Just warmth in the eyes across the table.
Just the feeling that our presence changes the room….

I am still here.
Still staying in places that do not fully honour me.

But something has shifted.

I no longer confuse loyalty with self-betrayal.

I am learning that staying is not strength if it costs me my worth.

I am learning that it is never too late to demand a seat at the table of my own life.

And most importantly — I am learning that being valued is not a luxury.

It is a human need.

Whether you are married, divorced, single, or “complicated” — if you feel unseen, unheard, or unnecessary…

Know this:

Your loneliness is not imaginary.
Your exhaustion is not weakness.
Your longing is not selfish.

You deserve eyes that light up when you enter the room.
You deserve conversations that don’t feel like negotiations for relevance.
You deserve to be more than someone who is merely kept.

I don’t know yet if I will leave every place that doesn’t value me.

But I know this — I will no longer stay without questioning why. And maybe that is where freedom begins.

Still, I Stayed is a collection of poems born from silence, survival, and the ache of feeling too much (if u wish to read)