When Someone Finally Sees You
Most of us can remember a person who saw something in us before we were able to see it ourselves. Maybe it was a teacher who recognized ability we didn't know we had. A grandparent who listened when everyone else seemed too busy. A friend who somehow knew that “I'm fine” didn't really mean we were fine.
When Someone Finally Sees You
Most of us can remember a person who saw something in us before we were able to see it ourselves.
Maybe it was a teacher who recognized ability we didn't know we had. A grandparent who listened when everyone else seemed too busy. A friend who somehow knew that “I'm fine” didn't really mean we were fine.
Sometimes that person stays in our lives for decades.
Sometimes they're there for only a season.
Either way, we remember them.
I've thought a great deal about why that is, especially while writing the Promise Trilogy. I think part of the answer is surprisingly simple.
There is a difference between being loved and being seen.
We need both.
The People Who Look a Little Closer
Love surrounds many of us from childhood. Parents love their children. Brothers and sisters love one another. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends become part of the family that surrounds us as we grow.
But love doesn't automatically mean understanding.
Someone can love us deeply and still not recognize what we're carrying. They can know almost everything about our lives without knowing the questions we're afraid to ask. They can see what we do without understanding why we do it.
Children become particularly good at hiding those things.
Some learn to make people laugh.
Some become quiet.
Some rebel.
Others become incredibly responsible.
They discover that if they take care of themselves, adults have one less thing to worry about. If they help with the younger children, they're useful. If they don't complain, nobody has to stop what they're doing to ask whether something is wrong.
Before long, everyone knows that child as “the strong one.”
And sometimes nobody thinks to ask whether the strong one is tired.
What It Means to Be Seen
Being seen isn't about receiving attention.
It's about being understood.
There's a wonderful difference between someone asking, “How was your day?” and someone noticing your face and asking, “What happened?”
The first question is conversation.
The second says, I noticed you.
Those moments can seem insignificant to the person offering them. They rarely seem insignificant to the person receiving them.
That's something Peter discovers repeatedly throughout his life.
There are people who enter his world and see more than the boy standing in front of them. They recognize the responsibility he's carrying. They notice the things he doesn't say. Some challenge him. Others protect him. A few simply give him a place where he doesn't have to pretend everything is okay.
They don't solve Peter's life for him.
That's important.
The people who truly change us rarely do.
Instead, they give us something that eventually allows us to change our own lives.
They give us permission to believe we matter.
Learning to Let Someone In
There's another side to being seen that we don't talk about as often.
Someone has to be willing to look.
But eventually, we also have to be willing to let them.
That can be surprisingly difficult.
When you've spent years taking care of yourself, independence can become armor. You learn how to answer questions without answering them. You become very good at deciding which pieces of yourself other people are allowed to see.
The armor works.
That's why we keep wearing it.
But armor doesn't know the difference between the people who might hurt us and the people who want to love us.
It keeps everyone out.
One of Peter's greatest struggles isn't simply finding people who see him. It's learning to trust what happens when they do.
That journey takes years.
Maybe that's true for many of us.
The Person Who Stays
As we grow older, our definition of love changes.
When we're young, we often imagine love as something dramatic. Grand gestures. Perfect words. Moments that would look wonderful in a movie.
Life eventually teaches us otherwise.
Sometimes love is sitting across from someone you've known for decades and still listening to the story you've heard before.
It's recognizing the silence.
It's knowing when to ask.
It's knowing when not to.
It's seeing the person someone has become while never forgetting the person they once were.
That kind of love doesn't demand attention.
It simply stays.
For Peter, that's ultimately where being loved and being seen become the same thing.
The boy who spent so much of his childhood watching everyone around him eventually finds someone who watches him just as carefully.
Not because Peter needs rescuing.
Not because he's useful.
Not because of what he can do for anyone else.
Simply because he's Peter.
Look Again
Maybe there is someone in your life who seems to have everything handled.
The dependable one.
The funny one.
The successful one.
The person who always says they're fine.
Look again.
You don't need to solve anything. You don't need the perfect words. You may not even need to offer advice.
Sometimes the greatest gift we can give another person is our complete attention.
Ask the second question.
Wait long enough for the real answer.
Listen without deciding what you're going to say next.
Because somewhere along the way, someone probably did that for you.
And there's a good chance you still remember them.
Being loved is one of life's greatest gifts.
Being truly seen may be one of its rarest.
When we're fortunate enough to experience both from the same person, perhaps we've finally discovered what it means to be home.
— Steve Bull-Fretwell