Dear Matzav Inbox,
I want to say something that I never say out loud because it feels pathetic, embarrassing, and small, but it’s the truth clawing at me from the inside.
I feel like a nobody.
Not in a poetic way, not in a “we’re all humble servants” way. I mean in the literal, suffocating sense of being just a regular guy—too regular—who wakes up, grinds through the day, tries to support a family, and barely manages to keep his head above water. I look around and see a world where everyone seems to have a thing. A talent. A platform. A following. A fire. And me? I’m just a guy trying to keep the bills from eating me alive while pretending that everything is fine.
I’m not a gvir. I’m not one of those people who can just write a check and command respect. I’m not a speaker who gets applause. I’m not a singer who brings crowds to tears. I’m not a rebbe (not even a rebbi!), not a mashpia, not an influencer, not a “WhatsApp king” with armies of followers hanging on every forwarded quote. I’m not a mover. I’m not a shaker. I’m not a name people whisper with admiration in the hallway. I’m not even a story.
I’m the guy standing quietly in the back at every simcha, smiling politely, praying no one asks me what I do, what I’ve accomplished, how life is going. I’m the guy who tries to convince himself that being a good, normal, working man should be enough, even though deep inside it feels like it isn’t. Because in today’s world, it feels like being “just a regular person” is the same as not existing at all.
Everyone is something. And I… I’m not.
I’m the guy who goes to work, comes home exhausted, and tries to pretend that he’s not drowning. I’m the guy who says “Baruch Hashem, all good,” while knowing full well that the numbers don’t add up and the pressure is suffocating. I’m the guy who watches other people shine while trying to convince himself that he’s lucky just to be standing in the same room.
I show up, but no one remembers that I was there. I’m in the crowd, but never on the stage. I’m always the listener, never the one being heard.
And maybe it shouldn’t bother me. Maybe it shouldn’t tear me apart the way it does. But it does. Because I’m human. Because I’m tired. Because I feel like no matter how hard I try, I’m always falling short. I work and work and work, and still feel like I’m barely holding my family together with fraying threads. There’s no glory in it. No spotlight. No appreciation. Just endless pressure and the quiet fear that maybe I’m not doing enough, not being enough, not becoming enough.
People talk about purpose. Mission. Impact. Destiny. I hear those words and I feel a stabbing ache, because what if my entire identity is just… survival?
I don’t want kavod. I don’t want awards. I just want to feel like I matter in our frum world. Like who I am is enough. Like being a simple, honest, hard-working father should count for something. But right now, it feels like I’m standing at the bottom of a mountain watching everyone else climb while I’m stuck holding a backpack full of bricks.
And the worst part? No one sees it. No one even knows. Because the world sees titles, influence, charisma, money, not the quiet guy fighting with everything he has just to stay afloat.
I feel invisible. Replaceable. Forgettable.
A nobody.
And I’m tired of feeling this way.
M. N.
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