The Unseen Wounds: The Lasting Impact of Microaggressions
How daily slights erode self-worth—and why your pain deserves to be witnessed
The waiter's eyes lingered just a beat too long on our interlaced fingers before asking if we wanted separate checks.
It happened so quickly I almost convinced myself I'd imagined it. Almost. But my stomach had already dropped, that familiar knot forming. The one that knows the difference between curiosity and judgment, between genuine mistake and deliberate dismissal. My partner didn't even notice, still laughing at something from our earlier conversation, while I sat there cataloging another invisible wound.
This is the peculiar violence of microaggressions: they're simultaneously too small to name and too sharp to ignore.
The Slow Accumulation of Almost-Nothing
As an LGBTQ+ therapist, I've learned that trauma isn't always a single devastating blow. Sometimes it's the accumulation of paper cuts, each one barely noticeable, all of them together creating a wound that won't heal.
"It's not like they called me a slur," clients tell me, minimizing experiences that left them feeling hollowed out for days. "They didn't refuse to serve me. It was just... the way they looked at us."
This dismissal isn't accidental. We've been trained to accept crumbs of respect, to be grateful when we're not explicitly rejected. But our bodies keep count differently than our rational minds. Each sideways glance, each assumption about our relationships, each casual erasure accumulates like sediment, slowly reshaping our internal landscape.
A client once described it perfectly: "It's like being pricked by a tiny needle every day. Each prick is nothing. But after years, you realize you're covered in scars you can't explain."
The Gaslighting of Good Intentions
The most insidious part? We're often told these wounds don't exist.
"They didn't mean anything by it." "You're being too sensitive." "At least they're trying." "It could have been worse."
This constant minimization creates a particular kind of confusion. When everyone around you insists the needle wasn't that sharp, you start questioning your own ability to feel pain. You begin doubting whether the sting you experienced was real or imagined, justified or oversensitive.