Feeling Seen

Aug 14

8 min read

My daughter said something to me recently that has been living rent-free in my head ever since.

She was talking about a boy.

You know, normal junior-high stuff. The kind of conversation where you're trying to listen like a normal, emotionally stable mother while another part of your brain is quietly taking notes, evaluating every word and trying very hard not to make the face.

And then she said:

“Mom, he made me feel seen.”

Well, shit.

There went casual conversation.

Because those words hit my momma heart in a place I wasn't quite prepared for.

He made me feel seen.

Not, “He's cute.”

Not, “He's funny.”

Not even, “He likes me.”

He made me feel seen.

And suddenly my brain was twelve floors deeper than the conversation we were actually having.

Does she not feel seen?

Have I made her feel seen enough?

Is there something she's needed that I've missed?

Is this just normal junior-high emotional development?

And then the question that bothered me the most:

How do I teach my daughter that it can feel wonderful to be seen by a boy without letting male attention become the place she goes to prove that she matters?

Because I want more for her than that.

A lot more.

I want her to know that she's interesting without someone being interested in her.

That she's beautiful when nobody is looking.

That her ideas matter when nobody applauds them.

That being chosen can feel amazing, but not being chosen doesn't make her less worthy of choosing.

I want her to someday experience the kind of love where someone really does see the hell out of her.

Someone who learns the little things.

Someone who knows what makes her laugh. What she's afraid of. What she's dreaming about. Someone who recognizes the difference between her being quiet because she's tired and her being quiet because something is wrong.

I want that for her.

But I don't want romantic attention to be the only mirror she knows how to look into.

That's a hell of an emotional lesson to somehow teach a junior-high kid when, if we're being truthful, plenty of us grown adults haven't completely figured it out either.

So I tucked that conversation away.

Then recently, another mom said something that brought those words right back.

I'd written a little piece about her daughter.

Nothing monumental had happened.

There wasn't some giant accomplishment. No award. No championship. No big shiny thing that required public recognition.

I'd simply been paying attention.

I wrote about some things I had noticed in her. Little pieces of her personality. Her confidence developing. Things that might not necessarily show up on a scoreboard but were becoming part of who she was.

Her mom told me later how much the piece had meant to her daughter.

She said it made her...

feel seen.

There were those damn words again.

Different kid.

Different situation.

No boy.

No romance.

No attraction.

No trophy.

No achievement.

Just someone realizing another person had been paying attention closely enough to notice something about her that felt true.

And that's when this stopped being a junior-high-girl thought for me.

Maybe this is bigger.

Maybe this is a human thing.

We are looked at all the time.

Seriously.

Probably more than any generation of humans before us.

We post pictures of ourselves.

People watch our stories.

Coworkers see us on Teams.

Our families walk past us fifty times a day.

Someone likes our post.

Someone compliments our shirt.

Someone tells us “good job.”

We have followers, views, likes, reactions, comments and read receipts.

We are incredibly visible.

But I'm starting to wonder if visibility and feeling seen have almost nothing to do with each other.

Because being seen isn't someone noticing that you did something.

It's someone noticing the thing underneath the thing.

It's not:

“Dinner was good.”

It's:

“I know you worked all day, stopped for groceries, remembered what everybody likes, came home, cooked this and cleaned everything up. Thank you.”

It's not:

“Great job today.”

It's:

“I could tell you were nervous, and I watched you do it anyway.”

It's not a boss seeing a finished project.

It's someone realizing you quietly caught five problems, answered seventeen questions and kept three things from catching fire before anyone else even knew there was a problem.

It's noticing that the friend who normally makes everyone laugh has gotten quieter.

It's recognizing that your kid is trying really damn hard at something even though the results haven't caught up yet.

It's remembering something tiny someone told you three months ago because you knew it mattered to them.

Those moments hit differently.

Because they aren't really compliments.

They're evidence.

I've been paying attention to you.

And damn...

Don't we all want somebody to pay attention?

I started looking at adult life through that lens.

And it gets interesting pretty quickly.

How much of what we call wanting appreciation is actually wanting to feel seen?

How much of wanting recognition is wanting to feel seen?

How much of wanting attention is actually wanting someone to notice something deeper?

How many arguments are supposedly about dishes, schedules, laundry, money, work or responsibilities...

when there's something entirely different underneath?

Do you have any idea how much I'm carrying?

Did you notice I already handled that?

Do you realize how hard I'm trying?

Do you see me?

Think about work.

Sometimes you don't need another “great job!”

You need somebody to understand what it took to get the job done.

Think about parenting.

Sometimes you don't need anyone to take over.

You just desperately want somebody to acknowledge that keeping all these little humans alive, fed, dressed, emotionally supported, transported and reasonably functional is a whole damn job in itself.

Think about relationships.

Sometimes it's not really about the dishes sitting beside the sink.

It's about the other seventeen things you already did that day that apparently became invisible the second they were finished.

And then I started thinking about the things we chase.

Promotions.

Money.

Accomplishments.

Awards.

Followers.

Being attractive.

Being needed.

Being the dependable one.

Being the funny one.

Being really damn good at something.

There isn't anything wrong with those things.

Ambition isn't automatically insecurity.

Wanting recognition doesn't make you needy.

Wanting someone to find you attractive isn't some character flaw.

We're humans.

But maybe every once in a while it's worth asking ourselves:

What feeling am I actually trying to get from this?

Because maybe sometimes...

If I'm impressive enough, somebody will notice.

If I'm useful enough, somebody will need me.

If I'm attractive enough, somebody will choose me.

If I accomplish enough, somebody will finally recognize what I'm capable of.

If I become enough... maybe somebody will see me.

Oof.

Suddenly that junior-high conversation doesn't feel quite so junior high anymore, does it?

Maybe we don't outgrow the desire to feel seen.

Maybe we just get better at dressing it up.

Which brings me back to my daughter.

I've thought a lot about my initial reaction to what she said.

And I don't want to teach her that needing other people is bad.

I don't want to give her some bullshit inspirational line about how she shouldn't care what anybody thinks and should get everything she needs from herself.

That's not how humans work.

We're built for connection.

Other people matter.

Being known matters.

Being loved matters.

Being appreciated matters.

And sometimes another person sees something in us before we're capable of seeing it ourselves.

A teacher does it.

A coach does it.

A friend does it.

A boss does it.

A parent does it.

Someday, hopefully, a really good partner does it.

Those people become mirrors.

They reflect pieces of ourselves back to us.

You're brave.

You're capable.

You're funny.

You're thoughtful.

You're getting stronger.

You handled that differently than you would've a year ago.

You have something special here.

And sometimes we need those mirrors.

Maybe the goal isn't teaching our kids that they shouldn't care what anybody else thinks.

Maybe it's teaching them to be careful about which mirrors they trust.

Because not every mirror tells the truth.

And no single mirror should get to decide who you are.

That's what I want my daughters to understand.

Have more than one mirror.

Let your family see you.

Let your friends see you.

Let teachers and coaches and mentors see you.

Someday, let someone you love see the hell out of you.

Let people reflect beautiful things back to you that you haven't learned how to recognize yet.

But also learn to look inward.

Know yourself well enough that another person's reflection can add to who you are without becoming the definition of who you are.

Because if one of those mirrors disappears...

I don't want you to disappear with it.

And the more I've thought about that, the more I've realized this isn't really advice for junior-high girls.

It's advice for me.

Maybe for you too.

And there's another side to all of this.

If feeling seen matters this much...

we have an incredible ability to give that feeling to somebody else.

And it costs absolutely nothing.

Pay attention.

Really pay attention.

Then say the specific thing.

Not just:

“You're a great mom.”

Tell her you notice how her kid looks for her in a crowded room because she's their safe place.

Don't just tell someone they're good at their job.

Tell them you notice how people come to them when something gets complicated because they trust them to figure it out.

Don't just tell your kid you're proud.

Tell them why.

I saw you get frustrated and try again.

I noticed you included that kid.

You handled that differently this time.

I know that scared you.

You've gotten more confident.

I can tell you've been working on this.

Those are the things people remember.

Because they're proof that somebody wasn't just looking.

They were seeing.

So now I've got these two little words bouncing around in my brain.

Feeling seen.

Where do we get it?

Where are we looking for it?

What happens when we don't have it?

What are we chasing because we're hoping it will finally give it to us?

And maybe an even better question:

Who around us needs it from us?

Your kid?

Your spouse?

Your friend?

Your employee?

Your coworker?

Your parent?

Maybe they don't need advice today.

Maybe they don't need you to fix anything.

Maybe they don't even need another “You're doing great!”

Maybe they need you to look a little closer and say the thing that proves you've actually been paying attention.

Because I'm starting to think that being truly seen by another human being is one of the most powerful forms of connection we have.

I want my daughters to experience it.

I want them to give it.

I want them to recognize the difference between attention and connection, between being desired and being valued, between someone looking at them and someone actually knowing them.

And I want them to have enough mirrors around them that they can see all the different pieces of who they're becoming.

But most importantly...

I want them to eventually become one of their own.

To be able to look at themselves and know:

I know who I am.

I know what matters to me.

I know what I bring into a room.

I know I'm still becoming.

And when someone wonderful comes along and sees those things too?

Beautiful.

Let that feel good.

Let yourself be known.