I was cleaning out the memory card on my Canon and came across a photo my daughter took just a few days ago. In that moment when I saw myself I realized how rare it is to see a picture of just me.
I’m not doing anything special, but the mere fact that she wanted to capture me in the moment made me feel seen.
It’s just me—raw and tired—at the end of the day. I’m putting my house back together. It is my nightly ritual.
It is the part of the day when I’m most exhausted and ready to give up. The end is in sight. We’ve done all of our adventuring and there’s just baths, books, pjs and teeth standing in the way of me and my couch. And silence.
I see myself and I realize I have a way of giving off calm even when I am completely overwhelmed. The timestamp on the photo is 6 p.m.—the exact time each night when my brain is exploding. I haven’t had a single moment to myself or even one unique thought.
This mundane picture made me realize how much everyone just wants to be truly seen.
But to be seen would take vulnerability and trusting others with our deepest selves.
I often wonder when I’ll be able to fully trust again and yet I know the answer to almost all of my questions is right in front of me.
The answer I’m finding lately is usually just time.
I loathe and find comfort in this answer because as impatient as I am, I also know how time has already healed me and will continue to do so.