A small moment that’s stayed with me longer than I expected.
Not dramatic. Just quietly unsettling — and quietly important.
What I’m Noticing
A tutor told me I would be assessed first.
I said, “Cool.”
I meant it.
I felt calm. I trusted the process. I trusted that even if it didn’t go perfectly, I would be okay.
And yet — in the half-second before I spoke — my body took a sharp intake of breath.
So fast I barely noticed it.
She did.
She named it.
Everyone else seemed to see me as calm, composed, almost curated.
She noticed something else — a brief bodily response that came and went before I had time to think about it.
I’m noticing how strange it feels when someone sees that.
Not anxiety exactly.
Not panic.
Just something registering.
I’m also noticing how being remembered — things said months ago being recalled without warning — can feel both like being seen and like being exposed, depending on the moment, the setting, and the power in the room.
Why I Think It Matters
For a long time, I’ve been used to not really being seen.
Or being seen only on the surface.
So when someone notices something underneath — even something small and fleeting — my system doesn’t quite know what to do with it yet.
This feels different from before.
The body reacts.
The mind stays steady.
I don’t collapse. I don’t rush to explain. I don’t abandon myself.
That feels new.
I’m beginning to sense the difference between being supported into awareness and being pulled into it before I’m ready.
And I’m realising that learning to tolerate being seen might be a skill in itself.
The Open Question
I’m still figuring out how to tell the difference between being seen and being exposed —
and how to stay grounded when someone notices something in me that I’ve barely had time to notice myself