Seeing and being seen

I waltzed into therapy on Thursday morning and said “GOOD THING we’re meeting today because I have a LOT to talk about.”

I had just started my BYU takeover and shared my eating disorder story with 150k people— which was 149,999 more than I had ever planned to share it with the first time I told that story.

Yet here we were.

My therapist asked me what I feared most. Without hesitation, I said: being seen.

I told her about my freshman year. I had a 9am physical science class in the engineering building. It was an 8 minute walk but I would leave my dorm at 8:35, walk through a mostly deserted campus, and find a spot in one of the back rows.

I had a meal plan at the Cannon Center cafeteria. I would go at 3pm between lunch and dinner when no one was there. Only the salad/fruit bar was open. I’d eat my salad alone.

I can’t really explain what was going on with my psyche; all I can tell you is that I had this crippling fear of being seen... as if people would be able to detect the cloud of suffocating shame surrounding me or see the product (my body) of my “failure” to “control” myself around food.

I want to sprint six years back in time and tackle that girl in one massive hug and never, ever let her go.

Since I can’t do that, I’ll at least open a window—just a crack—and let her pain be seen. And maybe in that process, help someone else.

My phone was on “Do Not Disturb” during therapy but afterwards I scrolled through the DM notifications coming in.

“My best friend just told me...”

“I have been struggling...”

“I’m a dance major...”

“I just wanted to say...”

“I am terrified to get help...”

“Currently in recovery too...”

“My younger sister...it’s been really hard...”

“I haven’t told anyone about this...”

“I’ve struggled for as long as I can remember...”

“My daughter was just diagnosed....”

A hundred.

Then two hundred.

Then three.

Suddenly I remembered a very clear prompting I had had 4 years earlier while sitting on a couch in my first therapist's office in tears:

Someday you have to talk about this outside these walls.

4 years and a hundred more therapy sessions didn’t eliminate the fear or anxiety leading up to this moment, but it did amplify the courage and conviction I needed to follow that prompting.

If I had never let myself be seen or opened a window into my own pain, I would have never experienced the honor of seeing other people and getting a sacred window into their pain.

It’s an unanticipated blessing from this journey. 

Even more than being seen, I am grateful to see.