Who Claps for Me?

 There’s a quiet feeling that follows me sometimes. A sense of giving so much of myself to others, but receiving little in return. It’s not always a bad feeling—it’s just there, like a shadow. I cheer for everyone. I clap at the smallest achievements, celebrate their joys, and lift them up when they’re feeling low. It’s something I’ve done for as long as I can remember, a natural instinct to be supportive and encouraging.

But lately, I’ve been wondering: who claps for me?

It’s not that I need applause. It’s not that I’m asking for constant validation. But there are moments where it feels like I’m standing in a room full of people cheering each other on, and I’m left holding my own hands. I offer a smile, but sometimes I wish I could feel the warmth of one sent back my way.

I’ve realized that clapping for everyone else can be exhausting when it’s not balanced by moments of recognition, even small ones. It’s not about attention—it’s about being seen. Being acknowledged. I think we all need that sometimes.

Yet, despite this, I keep clapping. Why? Because cheering others on gives me a sense of purpose. It brings me joy to see others succeed, even when I’m feeling invisible. It’s not an act of selflessness, though—it’s how I connect to the world, even when the world doesn’t always connect back.

I don’t know if this feeling will ever go away completely. And maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe the act of clapping for others is a form of clapping for myself, too. After all, there’s power in being the one who lifts others up. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe, for now, it has to be.

Until you read again