It Is Scary to Be Seen

It is scary to be seen.

Not just looked at, not just noticed—seen.

Seen in the way that someone catches the flicker in your eyes when your mouth says “I’m fine.”

Seen in the way your silence feels heavier than your words.

Seen in the way your body slumps when you think no one is watching.

To be seen is exposure. It is the undoing of the masks I stitched so carefully to survive. It is the trembling of my inner child who whispers, “If they really know me, will they still stay?”

Being seen feels like standing under a spotlight with no script—naked, unedited, uncurated.

And yet… isn’t that what I’ve been craving? To be understood without translation. To be held without disguise. To be loved without performance.

It is terrifying to be seen—because it means I can no longer hide.

But maybe, just maybe, it also means I no longer have to.