The Discomfort of Being Truly Seen

We think we want to be known, but the truth is horrifying. Imagine someone peering into your thoughts: the bitterness you never say out loud, the old grudges you swore you dropped, the strange cravings and fantasies.

When someone sees past your performance—the smiling, competent version of you—you don’t feel free. You feel naked. You feel like a fraud who’s about to be exposed.

Being seen isn’t about validation. It’s about surrender. It’s about trusting that someone can hold the whole of you: your brilliance and your pettiness, your beauty and your rot. The discomfort is real because it’s proof of risk. But it’s also the only way to feel alive in another person’s eyes.