Never Underestimate the Power of Being Seen
Have you ever felt the longing to be seen, yet struggled to ask for it? Explore the idea of embracing our need for celebration and connection, and how it shapes our emotional well-being.
If I had to describe how much my birthday means to me, I would say I am closer to the person who would feel hurt if it were forgotten. However, the significance I attach to it can vary depending on what is happening in my life at the time.
2024 was a year of both highs and lows, an emotional rollercoaster that left me with memories I will forever carry—memories that have echoed through my chest, shoulders, and lungs. It is wild when you think about it: emotions are real, and our bodies feel them. That year, especially, was filled with lessons. While I have always prided myself on being self-aware, it can sometimes be overwhelming to realize all the ways I could—or should—improve. In 2024, I found myself wanting to pause that self-awareness for a while.
The things that needed time often collided with those that demanded immediate attention. I often felt like I was racing against the clock, trying to catch up with "tomorrow me," yet running out of breath halfway through each day. Still, I showed up for my responsibilities. Ultimately, 2024 taught me how to hold space for myself in the same way I do for others. I began easing up on the unrealistic standards I had set for myself. I will add “slightly” here—high expectations are a part of who I am—but how I carried my heart in 2024 felt different: compassionate.
It was not until my birthday month that I saw this shift in action. Before then, I had been making internal changes—speaking more kindly to myself, for example. But it was in the fall that I began translating those internal changes into tangible practices. This shift felt significant because, by that point, I was emotionally depleted after months of neglecting my own needs. I rarely celebrate my own successes; once I accomplish something, I am already on to the next. I am sure I am not alone in this; however, I am quick to find moments to celebrate others. That’s why, for my 30th birthday, I silently hoped that someone would celebrate me.
I wanted a party—a chance to bring all my friends together—but I did not want to plan it myself, nor did I communicate this desire to anyone. I expected my friends to read my mind. After all, aren’t they supposed to know what I need? Unfortunately, my birthday that year turned out to be one of the hardest I’ve experienced. The day itself felt painful.
I remember journaling about my disappointment, questioning why I needed this attention. Why did it matter so much how others showed up for me? Why could I not just give myself what I needed? Had I taught my friends to give me only the bare minimum? How had I allowed this, and how could I change it? Why could I not find the courage to ask for what I wanted?
I eventually realized that shame was at the root of it all. I felt embarrassed by my need to be seen. I feared it would make me appear needy or difficult and that it would change how others viewed me—as the one who always takes care of everything. I had enabled this dynamic, first with myself and then with others. I never took time to celebrate myself, so how could I expect others to? If I was not acknowledging my own small wins, how could others?
I also came to understand that, yes, some years my birthday is truly important to me. It is not just about the celebration itself but about the people I love, if possible, being in one place. I wanted to be seen, appreciated, and poured into—but I was not comfortable asking for that.
I deeply believe in accepting others as they are and that we should receive what people offer without imposing our expectations on them. But last year, this belief underwent a reckoning. I learned to add a caveat: We should still expect the people who love us to see us. They should look beyond themselves and consider life from our perspective. If they truly know us—our desires, fears, and emotional bandwidth—imagining us should not be difficult.
Being seen is not a negative thing. The problem comes when our desire to be seen becomes something we feel we must apologize for—as if it is selfish or wrong. The issue arises when we attach being seen to our own value and worth.
Our society often teaches us to be self-sufficient, to “do it on our own,” and rewards independence. This narrative suggests that we should care for ourselves and anyone who needs anything beyond that is “needy” or “attention-seeking.” But I am not talking about that behavior. I’m referring to the inner dialogue we have when we talk ourselves out of asking for help, convincing ourselves we don’t need to be celebrated, or telling ourselves that it does not matter. Often, when we suppress our desires, we are pushing down the very thing that matters most to us in that moment.
Since then, I have made subtle yet impactful changes in how I approach myself and my expectations without changing who I am. I have started showing up for myself more consistently, and I have become more comfortable articulating how I want others to show up for me. These changes have been small, but I can already see the impact—in how I pour into myself and how others now pour into me.
Being seen is essential. It is what keeps us connected to our work, relationships, and communities. Being seen is more powerful than love itself. Love is a feeling; being seen is an action. It requires someone to look at you, listen to you, spend time with you—and, through their actions, show appreciation for you. Love, without action, is simply an emotion.
Yes, it can be hard. We all have responsibilities and people who need our attention. But here’s the lesson I learned in 2024: When you know how much time you need to see yourself—whether daily or weekly—you gain clarity on your capacity to give to others. Only then can you fully show up for the people you love. Only then can you fully show up for yourself.