Fear of Being Perceived

I’ve spent the majority of my life trying to find ways to make other people more comfortable. Always thinking, how can I make myself smaller? How can I adjust myself so the people around me get what they need from me without me taking up too much space?

For the beginning of my life, this was survival. I became the girl who was constantly scanning the room for faces, tones, little shifts in body language, just to gauge what version of me was safest to bring out. It worked. It kept me out of trouble. It made me the “perfect girl” I was taught to be.

But underneath that mask, a part of me was screaming. A part of me that wanted to laugh loud, take up space, be messy, breathe without apology. And I didn’t realize how many pieces of myself I was burying just to keep everyone else comfortable.

By the time I got old enough to finally “be myself,” I didn’t even know who that was anymore.

When I was younger, it looked like skipping meals so no one could criticize the way I chewed. Holding in coughs or swallowing sounds until my chest ached. Replaying conversations in my head convincing myself I said something wrong. Dulling my sparkle every single day, because shining too bright only made me a target.

When your body learns that being seen isn’t safe, every single move feels paralyzing. One day you wake up and realize your entire life has been lived in reaction, every thought, every action, every word shaped not by what you want, but by what will keep you safe in someone else’s eyes. And that realization is terrifying.

And yet… it’s not something you can just snap out of. Survival patterns don’t disappear the moment you decide you’re done with them. They’re wired deep, braided into your nervous system. For me, people pleasing lives in my veins. Every fiber of me wants to shrink at the thought of being fully seen. Every bone in me cringes at the idea of letting someone look at the real me and decide if she’s “too much” or “not enough.”

Some days, I can’t even remember who that real me is. But every single time I choose myself over this old pattern, that is when I am taking my life back for little Ella. 

Every time I say no when my body says no, every time I speak even when my voice trembles, every time I let myself rest instead of performing worthiness, I’m reminding my nervous system that safety can exist inside me, not just around me.

Healing hasn’t been about becoming a new version of myself. It’s been about coming home to the girl who was always there. Loud, curious, tender, bold, and letting her finally breathe.

The truth is, I’m still learning. Some days I still apologize too much, overthink every text, or catch myself trying to earn space that already belongs to me. But now I notice it. And noticing is power.

Because now, when that old urge whispers “shrink,” I can whisper back to her:

“You’re safe. You don’t have to disappear anymore.”

This season of my life is about expansion. Laughing loud, taking up space, existing unapologetically, and letting the world adjust to me for once.

So if you’ve ever felt like you had to earn your right to exist, this is your reminder:

You were never too much.

You were never the problem.

You don’t need to make yourself smaller to be loved.

Little me spent years trying to be easy to love.

Grown me is learning that I already am enough.

With Love,

Ella Claire