The Outsider’s Awakening: Learning to See What Others Overlook
I was 8 years old when I first realized that being an outsider wasn’t just about not fitting in. It was something deeper, something more unsettling. It was about suddenly seeing things you were never supposed to notice.
The moment snuck up on me during what seemed like a simple favor.
A Favor That Changed Everything
Angie and Micky were two of my closest friends at boarding school. They were bright, cheerful, and always full of energy. One afternoon, they asked me to help them write their Novena petitions—short prayers written on slips of paper to be read aloud during evening mass.
They wanted my handwriting, neat and tidy, to represent their hopes and prayers. For me, it was just another small task in the flow of our daily routines.
But as I sat with them in the dusty schoolyard during recess, carefully writing down their words, the weight of their prayers began to sink in.
“For all the mums whose dads drink, may the Lord save them.”
“For all the little girls without a home, may the Lord save them.”
“For the children who fail their exams, may the Lord save them.”
Their voices were calm, steady, almost practiced. But for me, each line chipped away at the safe, comfortable world I thought I knew.
A Shattered Innocence
At 8 years old, I still believed in the simplicity of life. I went home every holiday to loving parents, a warm bed, and the familiarity of routine. Angie and Micky’s prayers revealed a reality that was far from mine.
For the first time, I was confronted with the idea that not everyone had what I took for granted. Their petitions hinted at pain and neglect that felt incomprehensible to my young mind.
That evening, as I watched Angie and Micky line up for chapel, their faces radiant beneath their navy berets, I couldn’t stop thinking about those prayers.
Were those words about them?
When I mustered the courage to ask Micky, she brushed it off with a laugh. “No,” she said, “they’re for all the people in the world.”
But even at 8, I knew better.
The Divide Between Our Worlds
Micky’s dismissal didn’t soothe me—it deepened my unease. I couldn’t shake the sense that these prayers were personal, reflections of experiences they couldn’t share openly.
The contrast between our lives became starkly apparent. While I returned home to a world of comfort and love, Angie and Micky stayed at the boarding school year-round. “Their mother needed to rest,” I was told, though I was too young to fully grasp what that meant.
My childhood grievances—about missing home or the rigidity of boarding school rules—felt trivial now. The real divide wasn’t just in the material differences between us; it was in how we processed our realities.
Angie and Micky seemed to accept their world with a grace that left me both impressed and unsettled. Meanwhile, I wrestled with guilt, confusion, and even anger.
Why was I so lucky?
Why did they have to endure so much?
The Burden of Awareness
That moment in the schoolyard marked the beginning of a profound shift in my understanding of the world. It was as if a curtain had been pulled back, revealing complexities I wasn’t prepared to face.
Being an outsider wasn’t just about having more or less. It wasn’t about fitting in or standing apart. It was about being confronted with truths that forced me to question my assumptions.
For the first time, I understood what it meant to see beyond my bubble of comfort. And once you see, you can’t unsee.
The Discomfort That Brings Clarity
It took me years to process that afternoon and what it meant. At the time, I didn’t have the words to articulate the mix of emotions swirling inside me—guilt for my privilege, confusion about why life was so unfair, and a nagging anger at the world for allowing such disparities to exist.
Looking back, I now understand that this discomfort—the clash between what you’re used to and what you can’t ignore—has a strange way of bringing clarity.
It forces you to ask hard questions:
Why do some people have so much while others struggle?
How do we reconcile our privilege with the suffering we witness?
What can we do with this awareness?
For me, the answers didn’t come easily. But the discomfort became a constant companion, pushing me to see the world differently.
The Outsider’s Perspective
Maybe that’s what being an outsider really is. It’s not just feeling out of place in a room or a situation. It’s about noticing the things others might overlook, even when you wish you didn’t.
It’s about holding two realities in your mind at once: the comfort of your own life and the pain of those around you. It’s about questioning the status quo and grappling with the inequities that don’t seem to have clear answers.
This perspective, while challenging, is also a gift.
It teaches empathy.
It fuels curiosity.
And, most importantly, it pushes you to act.
From Discomfort to Action
As I grew older, I realized that this awareness came with a responsibility. Being an outsider isn’t just about seeing—it’s about doing.
Angie and Micky’s prayers weren’t just words. They were calls for hope, resilience, and change. And while I couldn’t fully understand their struggles, I could honor their experiences by using my own privileges to make a difference.
Whether it’s volunteering, advocating for systemic change, or simply listening to someone’s story, there are countless ways to turn the clarity that comes from being an outsider into meaningful action.
A Lifelong Journey
The unease I felt that day in the schoolyard has never fully left me. And I don’t think it ever will.
But I’ve come to embrace it as a reminder—a reminder to stay curious, to question assumptions, and to look beyond the surface of things.
Being an outsider isn’t always easy, but it offers a unique perspective. It allows you to see the world in ways others might not. And that perspective can be a powerful force for change.
Embracing the Outsider Within
If you’ve ever felt like an outsider, know that you’re not alone. The discomfort you feel is real, but it’s also a sign of growth.
It’s a reminder that the world is bigger and more complicated than we often realize—and that our role is to navigate it with empathy, curiosity, and a willingness to act.
Being an outsider isn’t a limitation. It’s an invitation.
An invitation to see.
An invitation to question.
And an invitation to make a difference.