The Weight of Being Seen

I have always struggled when I am being looked at -

as if a sudden stage light crashes down, blinding and unrelenting,

and every wart, every wound, every quiet imperfection is laid bare for the world to inspect.

So I retreat. I stay at the back. Behind the curtain.

Behind the scenes.

It is invisibility that I become strong. Powerful, even.

The less people see me, the more I can move freely.

The quieter I am, the more precise my steps.

This is the kind of assistant I have always been -

the kind who holds the strings but never appears in spotlight,

who knows the satisfaction of getting everything right without anyone knowing how.

And yet here I am.

Publishing books.

Designing journals.

Building a website with my name on it.

Filling a blog with pieces of my soul.

It is strange...

because every part of me wants to turn it all off,

fold it away,

and vanish back into the soft private oblivion where no one can find me.

But may be this is the part of the journey that scares me for a reason.

Maybe the discomfort is not a warning to hide,

but a sign that I'm stretching into something unfamiliar -

where I can still be me,

still be quiet,

and yet let the world see just enough to know I was here.