I'm Still Learning Who Feels Safe to Be Seen By

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There are still places I disappear in.
Still rooms I shrink in.
Still moments where I hold back not because I have nothing to say — but because I’m still learning who feels safe to be seen by.

It’s not about performance.
It’s about protection.

When your childhood teaches you that being visible is dangerous — that showing emotion means being shamed or abandoned —
you become a master of invisibility.

And unlearning that takes time.

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At college, I find myself questioning people’s motives, especially in positions of power.
Even when they’ve shown me kindness.
Even when they’ve done nothing to deserve my distrust.

Part of me wants to believe they’re safe.
Another part scans their tone, their silence, their posture — trying to decode the threat.

It’s exhausting.

But it’s also the only way I knew how to survive.

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Now, I’m in a different season of life.
One where trust isn’t demanded, but chosen.
One where I can let people in slowly,
and pay attention not just to how they act — but how I feel in their presence.

Do I soften around them?
Do I feel steadier after we speak?
Do I feel like I can exist without explaining myself?

Those are the signs I’m learning to read.

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I don’t need everyone to feel safe.
I just need to stop pretending that hiding is the only way to be okay.

Because there are people who feel safe to be seen by.
Maybe not many.
But enough.

And I’m learning — moment by moment — how to find them.

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