Leah Dawkins

I’ve always felt invisible. Well, sometimes. Sometimes it’s worse than that—seen but ignored. I’m an introvert. I don’t like personality labels because they are too often used as an excuse to not do things we don’t want to do, but it is true that we’re wired differently. I struggle to connect with people. I’m bad at small talk. I just don’t see the point in it. I don’t mind conversation if it has substance, but one sentence about the weather is all I’ve got. Also, I’m more comfortable if someone starts talking to me first. If I have to initiate the conversation, I get nervous. If I do work up the courage to start talking to someone, I assume I’m bothering them or I sound stupid and they want me to go away, and then I feel bad for probably no reason. And making eye contact for more than a few seconds weirds me out. I start thinking about how awkward it is to look at someone’s eyes while they’re talking since it’s more natural to look at their lips moving, and then I wonder if they’re wondering why I keep staring at their lips and really, if they’re close enough that I’m thinking about which part of their face I’m looking at then they’re just too close to me and why can’t they back up? So I rarely have the guts to talk to people, and then I kind of get written off.

Writing is not just an escape for me. It’s a way to actually let people see who I am and what I think about. And, yes, I thought that writing would make me somehow significant. What I’ve discovered is that publishing a book is a great way to feel truly insignificant.

Before I published, I had no idea that there are nearly four million books published each year. I actually didn’t know that until I googled it just now, but I’ve felt it in my soul over the last few months. Authors are everywhere. It seems like every guest introduction on TV or the radio starts with, “So and so is an actor/athlete/CEO/pastor/soccer mom/etc . . .” and ends with, “. . . and has written a bestselling book.” At least three of my family members have written books. Last year, I worked at a book distribution center where I had the faces of bestselling authors staring up at me all day, every day. And I have no idea how to get anyone to buy my book.

Does it feel like the entire literary world is mocking me? Yes. Yes, it does.

When I first got brave enough to tell people I’d written a book, I heard a lot of “Wow, that’s amazing.” In fact, when I unveiled the cover on Facebook, I was really excited by the response. People were sharing it and saying they couldn’t wait to read it and to please let them know when it was out. I thought that was a pretty good start. So I was a little confused when I announced the book release and . . . crickets. It was like three-fourths of my Facebook friends suddenly disappeared.

I thought maybe it was a fluke, but that’s pretty much how it has been ever since. People say, “I’ll have to check out your book,” but I know they didn’t because I know how many copies I’ve sold and who bought them. Promo books go out and disappear into a black hole. Gift copies are never mentioned again. Even people who actually read it and actually told me they liked it don’t write reviews, even when they say they will.

Then there’s the Amazon algorithm (you have to have reviews to get reviews) and the Facebook algorithm (you have to have followers to get followers), and if you want more visibility, you have to pay for ads that they don’t show to a relevant audience anyway. (I believe I now have a solid defense for my high school theory that algorithms are the devil.) I tried Facebook groups for indie authors and Facebook groups for book lovers, but the ones that let you advertise your book are so overcrowded with other authors doing the same thing that no one’s buying anyone’s.

And the author marketing newsletters that show up in my inbox tell me that if I’m not selling a ton of books by now, I’m doing everything all wrong, or my book is just not any good.

This experience has not been what I thought I wanted, but it has taught me something valuable—that it’s ok to be invisible.

Throughout the past few months, I’ve been reminded of some important things:

• It’s easy to become bitter, but it’s more rewarding not to be. I don’t want to be a bitter person. If I’m bitter, it’s because I’m needy, and if I’m needy, I’m not grateful enough for what I already have. No amount of money or any bestseller status is a worthy substitute for gratitude. I have a lot to be thankful for.
• There are people who are rooting for me. I have a small but amazing group of people who have gone out of their way to champion this book—my family. If they’re the only ones who ever read it, I still have the best fans in the world.
• There are seasons for everything. I recently heard a wise person talk about how the harvest is not planted in the same season it is reaped. That should be obvious, but we so seldom think in those terms. We want results right now. But God’s timing is not ours. He sees the whole picture and He knows what it takes to get us where we need to be.
• It’s not just me. Lack of interest in other people is the norm now. I used to work in a senior living facility. Stopping to have conversations with residents and coworkers was a normal part of the day. While I can’t say that any of those people knew me really well, we did talk. After I left there, I worked from home for a year and a half. While I enjoyed it and really only went back to work because of that whole needing an income thing, I thought that it would be good for me to be around people more. I reentered the workforce last summer only to find that it was lonelier than being home by myself. I was working in a warehouse. There were forty people just in my department. I had one person right next to me and one person across from me every day, and we almost never spoke. Everyone had ear buds in and just did their work independently. Even in the break room, hardly anyone sat together. All of us new people sat alone at separate tables and read or looked at our phones. It was really depressing. I thought maybe it was just that place, but I left there and started temping in an office, and it’s the same. It’s quiet most of the time. People just stare at their computers all day. They eat at their desks. I don’t know half the people in the office. They’ve been walking past my cubicle for three months like I’m not there. Sometimes they talk to each other in front of my cube with their backs to me. (Be sure to check out my upcoming memoir, No One Talks to the Temp.) I’m just not one of those people who talks about myself without being asked, and no one asks, and then they tell me I’m so quiet. (I’ve heard that in many performance reviews over the years, and I always scream a little inside.) Taking an interest in other people is a lost art. Due in no small part, I’m sure, to social media, we have become a completely self-absorbed society. And I’m no better. I can’t really fault other people when I have been just as disinterested in them. Sadly, one of the worst places I’ve found where people ignore other people is church, but I don’t really want to get into my thoughts on that now. All this to say, this lack of connection that our culture is experiencing is not an accident. This is by design . . .
• We have an enemy, and he wants to keep us isolated and quiet. This is important to remember, because it can be way too easy to start thinking there must be something wrong with me. The truth is that keeping us cut off from each other, either physically or emotionally, makes believers ineffective in spreading the Gospel and keeps unbelievers in the dark. If I want to make an impact for the Kingdom, which I do, I will face opposition, and I shouldn’t be surprised by that. I admit that I was more prepared for criticism of my book than I was for silence, but either one tells me I’m doing something right. Back in 2019, two separate computer incidents on the same day caused me to lose large portions of my book. It didn’t feel like a dumb “could happen to anyone” malfunction. It felt like an attack, and I’m still convinced it was. In the months after I left my job to finally finish the book, I had an editor who tried to rewrite my characters to make them fit a culturally acceptable world view, followed by medical issues that depleted my savings. It didn’t stop the book from being finished. So now he’s trying to keep it hidden. So what? I’m not worried, because . . .
• It’s not my book. It’s God’s. This is something that hit me when my writing was lost. If I think of it as mine, I’m doing it for me, and that’s the wrong reason. But if I’m doing it to glorify Him, it belongs to Him, and He can do what He wants with it. If He wants it to go somewhere, it will. If not, ok. But I think He has plans. After recovery efforts, I was only missing about half of four chapters, and I remembered a lot more of it than I thought I would. The whole incident only set me back about six weeks, which reminded me that the enemy's power has limits. God guided me. He provided for me. He’s allowed things to work out that I never thought would. I’ve been inspired lately by Dallas Jenkins and his story of how “The Chosen” came to be. He said that it was not his job to feed the five thousand; it was his job to provide the loaves and fishes. Maybe instead of trying to have the career I want, I just need to get books into people’s hands, even if I don’t make a dime. I shouldn’t need them to see me. I want them to see Him.
• He sees me. I’m not really invisible. Even if no one else notices me, He does, and I matter to Him. I only need to matter to Him.

I’m not a bestselling author. I don’t have a following. I cannot crack the Facebook algorithm, and I don’t care to keep trying to. I’m probably not even a very good writer. But I’m a child of God. So are you. That’s enough.