There was a moment in Oman last year. I was standing in a shop, waiting to buy chocolates, clearly there, clearly next. Someone else walked in and was served immediately. Nothing catastrophic happened. And yet I could feel the heat rise up in me, because I’ve been noticing this pattern for a while now, and once you start seeing it, it’s hard to stop.
This is the episode I’ve been circling for a while, partly because I wasn’t sure how to talk about it without flattening it, and partly because I’m still living it. After 40, a lot of women start noticing they’re not being seen in the same way. Not through one big moment, but through many small ones that accumulate. What I’ve found is that travel makes this pattern impossible to ignore, and that’s actually useful.
In this episode:
- The chocolate shop in Oman
- The overhead bin and who gets helped
- Chosen invisibility vs. imposed invisibility
- What walking away from restaurants actually cost me
- Fight, freeze, fawn, and flight in moments of being overlooked
- The habit of waiting
- What stepping forward looks like
“Invisibility doesn’t end when other people notice you. It ends when you start taking yourself seriously.” — Damianne
What does being overlooked actually feel like?
It shows up in airports. Those moments when people are settling in and someone needs help lifting a bag into the overhead bin. I’ve watched a man help the young woman in front of me and then completely ignore me even though I’m right there dealing with my own luggage, just as heavy. I don’t think every man should help me lift my bag. That’s not the point. The point is the contrast, the ease with which some women are noticed and responded to, and how easily others are passed over.
What surprised me is how furious I sometimes get in these moments. I don’t tend to explode, but I do feel the heat rise. I don’t want to have to perform for attention, and I don’t want to shrink myself so that someone else feels comfortable overlooking me. What comes up instead is this very clear internal response: I’m right here. This space that I take, I belong here.
When does invisibility become something you choose?
There is another side to this, and I think it’s worth being honest about. Invisibility isn’t always something that happens to you. There have been times in my travels where a certain kind of invisibility has been useful to me. As a Western woman in some places, I could move in ways that local women couldn’t. I could attend events or be present in spaces that were largely male without drawing attention in the same way a local woman would.
The thing that’s helped me understand which moments are worth responding to is this: chosen invisibility doesn’t erode my sense of self. Imposed invisibility does. When I choose to step back, it feels different from when someone else decides to erase me. That distinction matters. It’s the difference between a strategy and a slow lesson your body is learning about where it belongs.
What does your response teach your body over time?
We tend to talk about fight, flight, freeze, and fawn as reactions to danger, but they show up clearly in moments of being overlooked too. Fight, for me, usually means speaking up. Holding my ground even when I’m quivering inside. That reduces external invisibility, but it costs energy and requires a certain vigilance. Freeze shows up differently. Nothing moves outward, but internally there’s a lot happening: confusion, tension, self-doubt. And over time, freeze can teach your body that disappearing is safer than being present.
Flight, the choice to leave or withdraw, can feel like relief in the moment. But when you practice it repeatedly, it shrinks your world. I noticed this when I started walking away from restaurants where something didn’t feel right. The spaces I was willing to enter got smaller, and I became more invisible, not less so. So I’ve been practising staying. Taking up space. Letting myself be seen even when it’s uncomfortable.
How does travel change the pattern?
Travel makes this impossible to ignore because you don’t have your usual buffers. At home, you know how things work. Travel strips that away and shows you how you actually respond when you don’t have familiarity to lean on. And that’s where visibility to yourself starts to matter more than visibility to others.
The invisibility I refuse is the kind that slowly teaches you to abandon yourself. When I feel myself shrinking, I try to feel what’s happening. I stand a little straighter. I meet someone’s gaze instead of looking away. My goal isn’t to intimidate anyone. It’s to make it impossible not to notice that I’m here.
A small invitation
This week, choose a situation you’re already going to be in — a cafe, a shop, a queue, a meeting — and notice when you’re hanging back or softening your presence. Then try one small shift. Step forward. Hold someone’s gaze. Say the sentence you were about to swallow. Notice what happens inside you when you stop waiting.
Join the community
If you want to keep exploring questions like this with other women who are thinking seriously about solo travel, come find us in the Skool community.