To Be Seen
This piece is dedicated to Michele (Mitch) - for encouraging me to share my writing again.
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I haven't shared any writing for almost a year. I’ve been at my desk writing and writing but also hiding and hiding. And in all of my hiding I came across a beautiful description about my state of living. David Whyte writes in his book Consolations:
“Despair is a necessary and seasonal state of repair, a temporary healing absence, an internal physiological and psychological winter when our previous forms of participation in the world take a rest; it is a loss of horizon; it is the place to go when we don’t want to be found in the same way anymore.”
Last year, I did not want to be found. I had no horizon and no idea how to participate in the world. My hockey career was done, I had no job, no motivation and no reason to wake with the sun. And so I chewed through the year - living somehow without living at all. I hid away, trying to avoid anyone who might ask me about what I was doing with my life or how I was. I withdrew from participating in the world, and in my withdrawing I spent much time thinking about being seen; about how terrifying it is to be seen in ways we don’t want to be - as a failure, as poor, as wrong or as if the person we are now is not worth seeing at all.
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Six months ago I escaped the life I wasn’t living in the city and travelled to the south west corner of Australia where I could hide in a tiny cottage and write. On the days I wasn’t writing, I worked in a restaurant.
It was here that I really started to think about being seen. In the fresh eyes of strangers, I felt safe and free. I was just Lily the waitress and my back story was irrelevant. But as a popular, highly Instagramable destination restaurant, I knew strangers eyes weren’t the only ones around - it was only a matter of time before I saw someone whom I didn’t feel safe being seen by. In the eyes of the known, I was caged by a narrative that I was trying hard to shake - that I’d fallen from a great career that people idolise to a job people hold little value for. I was a waitress and felt that toxic feeling called shame - the one that makes you discredit your existence.
When the knowing eyes connected with mine my stomach would drop deep - deep, deep to that place only reserved for shame. My heart would quicken oh so slightly and then from the fakest part of my being, I smiled and welcomed them to see a masked version of me. I would chat and laugh with these people, sharing stories of how fantastic it is to be working here for the summer - just living by the coast while my partner and I wait to move to France. I’d craft a quick story so they could piece together the narrative and then divert the conversation to them. I’d say, “I’ve got to get back to work but I’ll come see you in a bit.” I’d walk away and head out back to find a spot to calm my heart, console my ego and remind myself I hadn’t fallen, I was resting.
The true narrative was a warped version of that. I had landed at a fantastic place to work - but it was fantastic not because it was a beautiful venue and I was living by the seaside but because I’d landed in a working environment that made me feel safe and valued in ways I’d only ever read about from people like Simon Sinek. I landed here because my life in the city had wrung me empty. I landed here because I had tested my relationship to the absolute limits and was down south alone while my partner and I found ways to rebuild ourselves together again. I landed here because this job as a waitress was the only job I could get. I landed here because I needed to get as far away from everyone I knew, every version of myself I had been before and sit at my laptop and write the stories that had been swimming around in my mind for years.
I landed here. And it is here amongst the turquoise painted oceans and the marri trees that rise so high beyond us with roots stretching so deep beneath us, that I found a resting place for my physiological and psychological winter. I’ve been adjusting to new ways of participating in the world. I’ve been resting. I’ve been sitting with my ego daily to chat about the narrative that runs deep in my bones - that my life is only worth living if it is a successful, noteworthy one.
My ego and I are working on a new narrative. One that gives a middle finger to shame. One that is simple and kind and that makes being seen feel safe.
Lily x
Ps. If you like what I’ve written please share it or if you want to speak with me about anything I have written please reach out via email lilykbrazel@gmail.com