Be Visible to be Vulnerable

There’s an ache that comes with being visible. To be seen, truly seen, means letting others witness parts of you that feel tender, uncertain, and still unfolding. It means giving up some control over how you're perceived and allowing your truth to live outside the safety of your own mind. Becoming a therapist stirred something in me I wasn’t fully prepared for. I thought I was stepping into a role, but it turned out to be a coming-to-terms with myself.

Choosing this path meant letting my inner world rise to the surface. My thoughts, my voice, and the way I move through the world suddenly became more visible. Not just to clients, but to colleagues, friends, and strangers. And with that came a sense of vulnerability I hadn’t experienced before. The thought of being observed, interpreted, or even misunderstood felt violating. There have been moments I want to retreat, to keep my thoughts quiet and sacred. But something deeper in me, my calling, has pushed me forward.

I’ve spent most of my life learning how to hold space for others, but being asked to hold space for myself in front of others, that is unfamiliar. I grew up in a world where being emotionally open was often discouraged, where softness was something to be hidden, not shared. Yet here I am, being asked to lead with it. To let people see me. As therapists, we ask our clients to show up with honesty, to bring forth their wounds, their longings, their fears. How could I ask that of others if I am also not willing to step forward with the same authenticity?

And so, I begin to write, to speak, to let my reflections be known; and not because I have all the answers, but because I have something human to share. In doing so, I discover that exposure, while uncomfortable, is also the root of connection. The more I allow myself to be seen, the less alone I feel. My thoughts, once kept tightly guarded, begin to serve as bridges to people, not barriers.

Visibility is not without its costs. It still leaves me feeling raw at times. But there’s a beauty in staying vulnerable. In that openness, there is room for resonance. Room for someone else to relate. And in that recognition, loneliness dissolves.

I will continue to walk this path, not with certainty, but with higher intention. Letting my heart stir, letting my voice rise, letting my journey be part of something bigger. Because perhaps the most powerful kind of healing begins when we let others see the light we once kept hidden and in doing so, invite them to do the same.