The Gift of Being Seen

Maybe that’s the kind of love that we need — a love where we can love and be loved in our authentic selves, with all our quirks and passions, without reservation.

Unpacking and acknowledging my wounds has been the most challenging aspect of adulting I’ve had to confront in the past couple of years.

I used to believe that the purest form of love involved sacrificing oneself for loved ones. The stronger I believed that distorted viewpoint, the deeper shame and fear took root within me.

Now I understand that those who genuinely love us won’t demand sacrifices to prove our love. I begin to learn to draw the line between the things I do for love and the things I truly love. To stop pretending, and to start living.

I thought I’d never really experienced a love that felt safe —

But then I remember you, and I realized that I had already known that love. You may be a part of my past, but you were never a wound.

Of course, I remember how sweet you were, the bouquet of white roses, the chocolates and ice cream, the birthday surprise, the goodnight messages.

Yet, above all, I remember how you willingly offered to spend time with me in the library, even though you didn’t really like reading. You ended up flipping through children magazines as I read a novel, reassuring me that it was alright despite looking absolutely bored.

I remember the moments when you sat by my side whenever I got too stressed, patiently guiding me through my problems, “Let’s see what we can do, alright?”

I remember how horror movies weren’t that scary anymore with your hand in mine. How I got to hide behind your shoulder, feeling it shake with your laughter. You found horror movies funny, yet you still warned me whenever you thought a scene would be too terrifying for me to watch, “Wait, this part’s actually scary. Don’t open your eyes.”

We got along so well, despite our differences, didn’t we? I loved getting lost in books while you preferred company, I craved solitude while you thrived in a crowd, I found horror movies terrifying while you found them amusing, I prayed five times a day and you went to church every Sunday.

Reflecting back, I realize it’s because you always made me feel loved. You had seen me, and accepted me for who I was.

With you, being myself felt effortless. Pretending never even crossed my mind, because you never made me afraid of you in the first place. I never hesitated to express myself or feared making mistakes when I was with you.

And I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same for you. I’m sorry that I took you for granted.

Now, seeing you laughing in her pictures with a ring on her finger makes me realize even more what I had. It wasn’t just about your love, but the kind of love that allows you to be completely yourself.

You taught me love is not about sacrifice, it’s about nurturing and respecting each other’s growth. It can’t be one-sided. It takes consistent effort and empathy from both partners — to love and to be loved.

Maybe that’s the kind of love that we need — a love where we can love and be loved, in our authentic selves, with all our quirks and passions, without reservation. There will be no need for pretense, just the freedom to be who we truly are.

A love that celebrates, not diminishes, our individuality.

A love that allows us to grow and to thrive.

A love that is true. A love that is brave.