Oh, To Be Seen

Oh To Be Seen

Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

There I was in 6th grade sitting next to a girl in science class who said she liked me. All I had to do was talk, but everything in my head seemed too stupid to say aloud. So, it went on for four weeks when she broke up with me for not talking. And there was my youthful awkwardness around people I found attractive on display. Yes, this loud storyteller's origin story is rooted in shyness and fear of saying the wrong thing because I could screw up somebody liking me. The narrative in my head became I was unseen by the people I wanted to notice me. Whether that narrative was a fact doesn't matter because perception is the key in the world of emotional and mental health. My perception was I was invisible, and so the story continued in my head.

Fast forward to my 8th-grade year, and I'm playing the drum set in a talent show. While the two students dressed up in drag to dance while I played got the more prominent applause, rumor quickly got back to me that a girl thought it was cool that I could play the drums. But folks, this wasn't just any girl; it was JEN. She was someone who already seemed to be of legal drinking age despite being in 8th grade. Too cool for school and way too pretty to find anything interesting about a guy still afraid to talk to girls. Also, a guy who was not willing to break any rules to be considered a rebel, which was a vibe Jen gave off. 

I didn't think much of this rumor. However, Jen started to chat with me a little during classes about my drumming. To my recollection, we hadn't spoken a word before. It would have taken some miracle for me to find the nerves to approach Jen. I explained I had taken drum lessons since I was in the 3rd grade. I think my mom wanted to point my ADHD in a healthy direction. The 8th grade formal was fast approaching, and before I could figure out who I would ask, the biggest surprise of my young life occurred. Jen asked me if I wanted to go with her. I believe some part of my jaw might still be on the 8th-grade hallway floor because it hit hard when it fell that far. I doubt I played it cool with how quickly I said yes, but I accepted quickly.

Like many other moments since, that moment made me feel like someone noticed I had something to offer the world. It was my first recollection of that occurring. Again, I'm sure other people saw me and tried to show me, but my brain didn't process it. That's what emotional and mental health does to people. It distorts thinking and plays to a powerful unhealthy narrative we've created in our heads. But Jen asking me to the dance broke that narrative. She made it a moment that would have me rethinking my world. 

I was so pumped about this dance; my dad used my excitement to pull an elaborate prank on me about being one of the chaperones. I thought my slow dance with Jen would occur with my dad eyeballing me from the gym corner. It was an unbelievable great prank which makes this memory so ingrained. But that's what narrative-breaking moments do; they make us rethink life, the parts we play, and who we are. People ask me a lot about my goal when working as a social worker or presenting at an event. And even with all the educational training I have had, it still boils down to figuring out a way for suffering folks to know I see and hear them. Then I try to create a moment that breaks their narrative. So, they see and feel that they offer something significant to their family, loved ones, community, and the world. 

It's never about solving the problem. It's certainly not acting like I have life figured out better than they do. I truly hate that part of our culture. You don't have to have stuff figured out to help others, see others, or notice what makes others cool; even if I had built Jen up in my head as this super-duper, fantastic, out-of-my-league girl. I doubt she had everything held together in 8th grade; who the heck does? And I bet her recollection of these events is way different from mine if she even remembers at all. 

The point isn't the story. We all have moments where we can slow down and make sure people know we see them;  whether we have known them for years, just passing by, or they are on the 8th-grade talent show stage drumming their behind off. More people deserve to be seen. It's a lesson Jen gave me many years ago that I didn't understand until I started helping others in my early twenties. Too many suffering clients would describe how they felt the world blocked their existence. They always felt invisible to the people that mattered the most to them. People need to know other people truly see them. If we give people struggling with emotional and mental health more moments like that, we have a better chance of ending the pain. We could break so many unhealthy narratives. It won't always be a slow dance with the stunning person from your class, but it will feel the same way for the people we notice as  it did for me: like we are no longer invisible, like we have been seen.