Burning Beneath

Have I ever been truly seen by another person? Has anyone ever known the real me? Or—should I change the question—have I ever let anyone see the real me?

It’s not just about being seen; it’s about having the courage to be seen. To allow someone to encounter me in my rawest form, without filters, without carefully curated words, without the hesitation that comes from fear of judgment or misunderstanding.

We all move through life wearing a socially acceptable version of ourselves. It’s not necessarily a mask, but a persona—one that fits into the collective, that keeps interactions smooth and easy. And then there’s who we are when we’re alone, in the privacy of our safe spaces. A self that doesn’t have to mold itself to expectations.

At my age, 51, I try to be as honest as possible, to live without unnecessary restraints. And yet, I still hold back. Not because I want to, but because I know some thoughts, some truths, won’t be accepted or understood. Or maybe—I’m just avoiding confrontation.

I don’t remember ever having a fight with a friend. I’ve only had one real confrontation in my life, and even then, it wasn’t for myself. It was because I saw someone abusing their position, taking advantage of a coworker, and I couldn’t stay silent. But when it comes to my own experiences, when criticism comes my way—especially from family—I don’t speak up. I let it sit inside me, unspoken. Partially out of respect. Partially because I don’t want conflict.

There are times I feel the urge to withdraw from almost everyone. Not because they don’t matter to me, but because I don’t want to deal with the weight of expectations, the stress of explanations, the subtle pressures of daily interaction. Even something as simple as picking up the phone feels like too much. I can’t explain why. I just know that I avoid it, and that avoidance is often seen as indifference. But it’s not. It never was.

Maybe that’s the real question—do we ever let ourselves be seen, truly? Or do we all, in one way or another, hold parts of ourselves back, not out of deception, but out of self-preservation?