God Doesn’t See Me the Way They Did…

Value is subjective.

That phrase has always confused me, even scared me. Because for as long as I can remember, I’ve been trying to be someone of value—to someone, to anyone.

What something is worth depends entirely on the one who sees it. That’s what people say. But if value is truly in the eye of the beholder, what does that mean for people who feel unseen?

I recently messaged my friend Crystal and told her how God had helped me uncover something new about myself. I don’t often talk about my childhood—if I’m honest, I’d rather forget it altogether. But growth doesn’t come from forgetting. It comes from remembering without letting those memories own you.

I was severely neglected growing up. My father made no effort to be in my life, and when I looked into my mother’s eyes, it often felt like she wasn’t seeing me—just all the broken promises he left behind. She never said it outright, but as a child, you don’t need words to feel like a burden.

This isn’t about shaming my parents. This is my clumsy attempt at telling the truth—not for blame, but for freedom. I’m learning to own my story because I’m tired of being a victim to it.

For a long time, I thought ownership was the same as acceptance. But I’ve come to realize I was actually using “acceptance” as a vault—locking away all my pain, trauma, and questions. Keeping them caged like wild animals, hoping they’d never break free.

But they do break free. They always do.

And the one that scares me most?
This belief that I don’t matter to the ones I love.

That belief has shaped how I see myself. I’ve spent so many years trying to become valuable in the eyes of others, thinking that if I could just be enough—kind enough, helpful enough, strong enough—maybe I would finally be seen, chosen, and wanted.

But that’s the problem with subjective value. When we tie our worth to someone else’s eyes, we live and die by their vision of us. And when they can’t see us clearly—or worse, don’t want to—we begin to believe that we’re not worth seeing at all.

Here’s what I’m slowly learning:
Value is subjective, yes.
But that doesn’t mean it’s imaginary.

It means different people will see you differently—but that doesn’t change your existence or your worth. And most importantly, it doesn’t mean your value disappears when someone fails to recognize it.

God is teaching me that value is not something I have to earn or perform for. It’s something He placed in me when He made me. That kind of value is steady. It’s not fragile. It doesn’t rise and fall based on who sees it.

And even if my past tries to argue otherwise—even if my own thoughts sometimes side with the pain—I’m learning to listen to a different voice. One that says: “You’ve always mattered. You were always seen.”

This isn’t a neat and tidy lesson. Healing rarely is.
But it’s a start.