Ghosts in the Window
This piece explores the impact of ghosting. Regardless of where you sit in the room, it invites you to look closely at the window of your own house—so you know the truth of what you see in the mirror, and truly see those who matter most, including yourself.

This topic is a tender stretch for me. It touches something I’ve been circling around for many years—the quiet ache of people not seeing us or showing up emotionally in our lives—what is sometimes now called ghosting.
If my words stir something in you, please know you’re not alone. I write not to fix anything, but to open a space where the invisible can be seen—and maybe, gently, begin to heal—to come home—to the light of invisibility.
Why don't people show up for us in the way we deserve?
—In a lifetime filled with difficult questions, this is the hardest one for me to answer—or even to write about. It goes to the heart of relational and transgenerational trauma.
This question can take many forms—like not checking in when life gets hard for ourselves or others, or even acknowledging a gift. In therapy, it can show up as a patient who doesn’t fully engage—missing appointments or avoiding important, though painful, questions.
This can be true for all of us—not just our patients—if we’re willing to look in the mirror and make space for the child and the ghost, who don't always appear as they are in the window—and feel misunderstood.
As therapists
—we don’t always look inward toward ourselves because we are so busy finding what is wrong with others and trying to fix them. We often think that our professional code of ethics—along with our documentation and evidence-based treatments—will protect us, but they may also keep us at a distance.
Although it's essential to be valued for our time, if we avoid addressing the no-show question, which extends beyond simply showing up for appointments, it will still impact the depth of the work. And it can sometimes lead to the person leaving suddenly, without explanation—ghosting us—perhaps feeling ghosted themselves.
There it is: the word I hesitate to speak, though I know it's true and needs to be seen. It stares back at me from the broken window—and from deep within.
Ghosting can be especially painful
—particularly for therapists drawn to this work because they were once ghosted—as children, or later on in life. The ghost often represents the part of us that learned to disappear when no one came, still carrying the shame and fear of not being seen—keeping people away with the mask they wore to survive but didn't always protect them.
Perhaps, some of you can attest: as I sit with my patient and others in my life, I sense a child part in the room—still holding the pain of an early wound that was never tended to or healed from the inside out—covered up instead.
It resurfaces when my patient recalls a time, only eight years old, left alone—waiting for her dad to pick her up from school in the middle of a busy city.
The sky was growing darker, and the air was getting colder—without proper protection inside or out. The school building and streets were dark, and there was no cell phone back then to call home.
In the moment
—I take a slow breath and feel my feet on the ground—honoring the child and the adult woman who has held her. She recognizes how the feeling of fear and aloneness has lingered—along with the sense of being unworthy of love, which has stayed with her over the years.
It has been solidified by even more no-shows and abandonment in her own life, as well as in the lives she reads about in the news—now too upsetting to watch on the screen before her, where many in power aren’t listening or don’t understand.
As I tune into this dear soul, my own little one enters the room. I remember being left alone as a child, waiting for an adult who never came—instead, I saw a dark, shadowy figure in the window.
Eventually, I called my grandmother
—who promptly came over to check on me and my brother. The next day, I found a chair leaning against my bedroom window, confirming that someone had tried to break in, and that what I had seen was real.
No one wanted to see it, perhaps out of fear of worrying me more. But it was not gone, just buried inside—a ghost staying silent but still very much alive. It kept guard for others—like my own department of defense—but this made it harder to see the reality of the window inside myself and the joy in life.
Staying present with my patient
—I hold my little one—reminding myself that it was a long time ago, and he is with me now. He survived—and so did the lost little girl inside my patient.
Placing my hand on my heart, I tell her that the child within no longer is in the past. She lives in her heart now, where her future self, the strong woman she has grown up to be, can bear witness to the pain.
This loving stance allows me to shine the light inside myself, so the woman before me can find it within herself. I hold the hope that she can finally see the blessing in the window inside—in a way she has always deserved.
The transformation and healing
—continues from this place within and between us. She feels clearer and more whole inside—seeing herself as the guide for the child inside, as well as the ones around her now. Her adult children and grandchildren, whom she shines her light on, as well as so many others, return their light to her every day.
Like the sun arising to a new day, she reclaims a sense of power—not by running away, but by staying, and proclaiming, “I realize that to show up for other people, I must first show up for myself.”
Now, the ghost is no longer feared
—but longs to be seen and held—as was always their birthright. She can shine her light on others, and trust she is sending it even when it is not received—no longer ghosting herself.
In this moment, she feels forgiven and forgiving, no longer forgotten. She knows better how to answer the no-show question for her little one who is growing in the light—like a daisy, with others growing around her, guiding the way.
I also know
—that I don’t need to fix anything anymore—or run from the ghost. Instead, I can trust our healing power and welcome it into the room, just like my courageous patient—and let the light shine through the window, the one within myself.
That’s how I live now—not in fear of being judged for what I am not, but in the truth of who I am, the person I am becoming—and was always meant to be.
These days, when I think about ghosting and the deep ache of people not showing up—I tell my patients that we need to talk about it because it can hurt our relationship and themselves. I add, “That means a lot to me, as well as to the little ones inside—both of us.”
Holding my patient’s gaze
—I boldly say, “Let them know that you can help them, so they'll know they're not alone anymore, and now live in your strong and beautiful heart.”
I reassure them that even though an adult betrayed their trust, they are no longer there. They are their own parent—an internal caregiver who is listening and won't betray the child's trust any longer.
Their face and body tell the story—that this message has landed, at least for now.
But I’ll know more when I hear how they did between now and our next meeting—holding them in my heart, even when they are here but haven't shown up—yet.
Until then
—I’ll keep shining the light and holding their place in the circle of light—hands in the air—where they are never truly lost, and never alone.
Thank you for sitting with me
—in a space that many of us are taught to turn away from. Writing this brought up old ghosts of my own—but reminded me how healing it can be to speak aloud and to see their faces.
If these words touched something inside, I invite you to share your own light—in whatever form it takes. Your presence matters whenever something shows up in the window—what you wanted others to see, and what you know to be true.
Like a beautiful tapestry or blanket we are weaving together
—this is how we begin to reclaim the quiet, steady light that was always there—the light of invisibility—our Core Self, where there is always another question—and a new beginning.
As a gift to yourself, let the voice of Yusuf/Cat Stevens singing “Sitting” bring you home to sit with the precious ones in your life, just as it has for me over the years. Let it shine brightly in your life and around the world.
Uhh... a silent bow to Yusuf, myself, and all of you.
All patient stories are composites or fictionalized to protect privacy and honor confidentiality.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold, or long to be held by, in the light of invisibility.
Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.