see me

but only in the way i want you to

There’s this question I always end up asking my friends, and every time I ask it, I pretend it’s casual: “If you didn’t know me, what would you think of me?” It sounds light, almost playful, but the truth behind it isn’t. I’ve always had this quiet fear of being seen in a way I didn’t approve of. I want people to see me, but only through the version of myself I’ve carefully built in my head.

When I was younger, finding out that some people genuinely didn’t like me felt like a slap. I remember being so confused. Not because I thought I was flawless, but because I honestly couldn’t imagine myself landing in the “disliked” category. I called myself a people pleaser back then, but I think that was me being dramatic. Do I want people to like me? Yes. Will I go out of my way to earn it? No.

So why does that label still cling to me? Maybe it’s because in my mind, I’ve always pictured myself as someone who is naturally easy to like. Someone warm and calm, and safe to be around. So when someone doesn’t see me that way, it feels like they’re looking at a different person entirely. It makes me wonder what version of me they experienced that I didn’t even know I was showing.

And here’s where it gets messy. I do the same thing to other people. There are people I just don’t like, and I can’t give you a detailed explanation for it. Something about them just irks me. They rub me the wrong way. But I’m not mean about it. I don’t go around intentionally making anyone feel unwelcome. I was raised to be polite, so I keep it civil and move on. I just won’t go out of my way to be extra warm either.

I’ve said this so many times: we judge ourselves by our intentions, and others by their actions. And I think this is exactly where that truth sits. I know the softness behind my actions, even when they come out awkward or distant. Other people don’t. They only get the version of me that slips through in real time, not the version I narrate to myself. And sometimes that version isn’t as likeable as I imagine.

Maybe the real problem is that I want control. Not in a toxic way, but in that human way where I want people to understand me the way I understand myself. I want them to read me correctly, to pick up what I meant rather than what it looked like.

But we don’t get to choose who we are in someone else’s head. We don’t get to edit the image. We don’t get to hand out the correct interpretation.

So maybe the question I’ve been asking all this time isn’t really What would you think of me if you didn’t know me? Maybe it’s Why does it shake me so much when your version of me doesn’t match mine?

Maybe the discomfort is just a sign that I’m still learning to let go of the idea that there’s only one right way to be seen.

Maybe being perceived isn’t something to fear. Maybe it’s just part of being human, messy edges and all.

---