The Work Nobody Sees
One of the strangest things about losing my job is how invisible the work has become.
From the outside, it probably looks like I’m unemployed.
From the inside, it feels like I haven’t stopped working for a single day.
The difference is that no one sees this kind of work.
They don’t see me tailoring my résumé for another position.
They don’t see me writing a cover letter that may never be read.
They don’t see me reaching out to former coworkers for recommendations, researching companies, filling out applications, filing unemployment paperwork, managing COBRA, or trying to stretch every dollar just a little bit further.
It’s work.
Just not the kind that comes with a paycheck.
And the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realized this isn’t unique to job loss.
It’s something I’ve experienced before.
People often tell me how amazing modern prosthetics are.
They’re right.
The technology is incredible.
What they don’t see is everything that happens before someone ever wears one.
The appointments.
The evaluations.
The insurance paperwork.
The phone calls.
The emails.
The waiting.
The moments where you explain your story over and over again because someone new needs to understand why this isn’t just a piece of technology. It’s a tool that can change how you move through the world.
When someone sees a prosthesis, they’re seeing the milestone.
They’re almost never seeing the months of work that made that moment possible.
I think this is true of a lot of things in life.
When someone starts a new job, we celebrate the announcement.
We don’t see the applications that went unanswered.
The interviews that didn’t lead anywhere.
The self-doubt that crept in between them.
When someone seems happier, we notice the smile.
We don’t see the therapy sessions.
The difficult conversations.
The quiet decisions they made when no one was watching.
We’re surrounded by invisible work.
We just rarely stop to think about it.
Maybe that’s one of the lessons this season of my life is teaching me.
Progress isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it doesn’t look like progress at all.
Sometimes it looks like another application.
Another email.
Another phone call.
Another small step that, by itself, doesn’t seem very important.
Until one day, you look back and realize those small steps were quietly carrying you somewhere all along.
I don’t know exactly where this chapter of my life is leading.
I wish I did.
But I do know this.
Just because the work is invisible doesn’t mean it isn’t important.
In fact, some of the most meaningful work we’ll ever do happens long before anyone else sees the result.
And maybe that’s worth remembering—not just for me, but for all of us.
Because every milestone we admire is almost always built on a mountain of work nobody ever got to see.
