When Being Seen Feels Like Breathing

There are days I feel as though I only exist when someone says, “You did well.”

When someone notices my effort, something inside me lights up — I feel alive, like I finally matter. But when there’s silence, I start to shrink. I feel invisible, as though everything I do has quietly lost its meaning.

It’s strange, because I do so many things. I braid hair. I bake. I teach maths. I write. And yet, every time, I find myself waiting for approval — that small nod that tells me, yes, it’s good enough. Without it, I begin to question everything. Am I truly a writer? A teacher? A baker? Or am I only pretending until someone claps?

Perhaps it began long ago. In school, there was always someone better — the one everyone admired, the one teachers praised. I remember a girl who loved reading; everyone liked her for it. I wanted that too. I thought if I read as much as she did, people would see me too. They didn’t. But I kept learning anyway. Somewhere in that imitation, I grew a habit — a habit of doing things just to be seen.

That need never truly went away. I carried it quietly into adulthood. When I got married, I carried it there too. I cared what my husband thought about my body — whether I looked right, whether I sounded right, whether I was enough. A single kind word could make me feel beautiful; another could make me retreat into my shell. My worth was a fragile thread, always tied to someone else’s opinion.

Even when I started my food business, I realised how much this had carried over. Every decision I made, I wondered if someone would congratulate me, approve of me, or say I was doing well. Very few decisions were just mine — most were filtered through the lens of what I thought others expected of me. I wanted their approval more than I wanted to trust my own judgment.

The truth is, being seen made me feel grounded, almost safe. But without it, I lost balance. I felt as though I was doing nothing — as though I was nothing. I depended too much on being seen, because being unseen felt like not breathing at all.

Yet life changes when silence becomes your mirror. You begin to realise that applause doesn’t build you — patience does. Repetition does. The quiet, unnoticed efforts do. Growth doesn’t always come with fireworks or praise; sometimes it comes softly, when you keep showing up even when no one claps.

I’m still learning that. To say, “I did well,” even when no one else says it. To look at something I’ve made — a braided style, a lesson plan, a story, a loaf of bread — and simply whisper, “This is good.” Because the truth is, it is.

We often tell ourselves that we must be exceptional to be worthy — that we must earn love, earn respect, earn applause. But I’m learning that being ordinary doesn’t mean being insignificant. The quiet work, the small wins, the unnoticed progress — that’s where strength lives.

I’m not perfect. I still crave to be seen. But now, I’m learning to see myself first — to find pride in effort, not just results. To be my own witness. Because if I don’t, no amount of recognition will ever be enough.

Maybe that’s what real growth is — learning to be proud quietly, to please yourself first, to love yourself without needing permission.

So, if you ever feel unseen, remember this — you still matter. Even in silence, you are still becoming.

Take a moment today and ask yourself:

What makes you feel alive? What brings you joy?

And if this resonates, share it with someone who needs to hear it today.