i need to be seen

“Any fact becomes important when it's connected to another.” – Umberto Eco

If you want to disarm me and reduce me to a raw and feral state, it’s easy.

Leave me out. Forget me. Flit past me as though I don’t matter.

Look closely, you’ll see the light drain and the sadness and shame take over. But only for a moment. Only until the hard shell breaks through and I become impenetrable and cold-blooded, a human snapping turtle. And then you’ll never have access to me again.

Fool me once, game over.

I don’t forgive. I never forget. A wonderful duo that breeds nothing but harsh isolationism and deflates my soul.

I hate this about myself.

I’m trying to be better. Always.

A series of small moments has left me feeling invisible. And maybe small isn’t the right word, teeny tiny is probably a more apt description. And maybe it’s not the moments themselves but rather the collective. Papercut after papercut and the pain mimics a stab.

I am certain that my mind has over-dissected these moments and beaten them like the proverbial dead horses. And I’m equally certain that no harm was meant. Life is hard and busy for everyone.

But it’s been a gloomy few days and I’m struggling to draw myself out of the tunnel of rejection and I keep getting pulled under by the rapids of self-pity.

And I think this is because feeling unseen is a unique type of agony. Like a silent scream that reverberates within; a sense of naked exposure to judgment and rejection — the absence of acknowledgment, the absence of shared moments and shared space, the absence of connection.

A second of perceived invisibility and I’m back in the schoolyard, that small child, cloaked in a plaid jumper, desperately waiting for someone to pick me for their team. Please, please pick me.

I’m back to feeling like a beggar, a nuisance — I promised myself that I would never be reduced to that state again — of letting others have control of my sense of worth. That I would no longer put myself in situations where it feels like the world is moving to a different rhythm, and I’m left dancing to a tune no one else hears. Where those pangs of isolation echo loudly. Where every glance in my direction feels like a spotlight on my inadequacies, magnifying the loneliness gnawing at my heart.

Yet, here I am…because the ache of being ignored is unavoidable. It’s an unfortunate and well-documented symptom of the human experience. And while my protection impulse is geared to retract, to shift my walls into place, and to cut people out, the truth is, I can’t. Because I’ve spent the last few years hammering my carefully constructed barrier into dust. And I don’t have the energy to don a hard hat and pour the concrete once more.

Old Caroline would have gone the way of Don Corleone, unsympathetic and detached — You’ll sleep with fishes, all of you.

But current me is more like Tony Soprano on the verge of tears in Dr. Melfi’s office, trying to make sense of his violent mind and seeking relief from the toxic spiral of deeply entrenched habits, while childhood wounds keep bursting aflame.

I’m sitting here wanting to be better than my old self, wanting to step off the carousel of unhealthy rituals, wanting to make sense of pain instead of submitting, and, most of all, wanting connection.

My walls are out of commission — for good. I’m scared.

Only if you’ve been living under a rock, I suppose you have not seen the frenzied social media response to Tracy Chapman and Luke Combs's Grammy performance of “Fast Car.”

It’s a moving performance. Chapman’s smile is stunning and infectious. And watching everyone in the audience from Jelly Roll to Meryl Streep echoing Chapman’s words back to her, just about made my heart burst. What an incredible feat to be responsible for such pure unity.

And I had a feeling that I belonged
I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone

On Twitter (never X), Katie Crosby commented: “Not lost on me that a black queer artist and a white country singer came together to sing a song about belonging. America is starved for connection across divides.”

At first, that comment felt like a gut punch. There is so much pain, so much loneliness running through our collective veins.

But then I felt hope.

If we are all hurting and all reaching our quivering hands out, then we can all be a part of the solution. But we’ve got to shake off our masks and drop our defenses.

You see, group therapy only works when everyone shows up. We’ve got to stop bullshitting ourselves and each other. Only then can we allow everyone to be seen in their fullness.

And for me, this happy Utopia of vulnerability and acceptance would feel like my favorite scene from the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood…It’s a flashback, the Ya-Ya’s in their youths, driving together on a hot, dark Louisiana night. They are moving fast. And in a moment of impulse, they remove their shirts, overcoming modesty in favor of the delight of the open air against their skin. This spontaneous action further bonds them in a feeling of liberation and deep connection. Their guards are lowered, they are fully seen by one another, and wholly accepted.

The experience itself is fleeting, but that tenderness of encapsulated comfort and belonging exists forever.

It’s the power of raw intimacy. Of shedding. Of hope. Of resilience.

Of feeling like we are someone.

All it takes is giving people the opportunity to truly recognize you.

Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, 2002.

I fear that the above mutterings fail to convey the heart of what I’m trying to say, so I’ll say it plainly: I need to be seen.

I need to know that you see me taking up space and staking claim on previously untouched and unloved parts of my myself.

I need to know that you see me because existing is fucking terrifying.

I need to be seen because I crave reassurance. And I don’t think that makes me weak. I think it makes me human.

For the first time in a decade, I’ve come out of hiding and I need to know that I’m visible, that my trying has meaning.

I need to be seen. And so do you.

We don’t always make sense as pieces — sometimes, we need the whole.

Thank you for being visible here, for being with me, especially as I share the sharp and embarrassing edges of myself.

(PS — If there is ever a moment where you feel unseen by me, wave your arms around, jump up and down, scream, email, text, call, or all the above. I want to know because I want to be there for you. I want to show up and stand by your side. Correction — I need to.)