The One Who Might Witness Me: On Being Fully Seen and Fully Loved
Somewhere between being misunderstood and deeply loved, there is a yearning—to be fully seen, not just in the light but in the shadows too. This is a reflection on where that ache begins, and where it might finally rest.
— Calla Hart
Sometimes the first witness we need… is ourselves.
Author’s Note:
This one was hard for me to share—even under a pen name. And maybe that’s exactly why I needed to.
May 08, 2025 — 6:29 AM
There’s been something else stirring in me since writing the last reflection: Wild, Living Woman: A Reflection on Being Witnessed
There have been moments in my relationship where I’ve been excited about something, and where my partner has paused, smiled, and looked at me with this kind of light in his eyes.
Sometimes he says, “I love seeing you like this.” Other times, he tells me it’s such a turn-on to witness my passion, my energy, my spark.
And I realized… he might be the only partner I’ve ever been with who’s said that. Not about how I take care of him, or what I do for others. But about my fire. My voice. My passion.
That made me emotional. Because in all my yearning to be witnessed by him, maybe—just maybe—I already have been, in quiet glimpses. But then I ask myself… why is that yearning there at all? Why do I need him to be the one who sees me?
Maybe that smile on his face is the rooted masculine, present in ways I haven’t always seen.
But it does remind me that witnessing doesn’t have to be perfect to be real.
And maybe part of the reason I’ve been using a pen name isn’t just about protection… but about postponing this exact reckoning: that I want to be seen. Not just by the world. But by him.
What if he is the person who can stand beside me—not to tame or shape my truth—but to watch it rise, and love me for it?
That possibility is something I’m still unfolding. But it matters. And it feels like part of the story now.
Part II: Tracing the Ache: May 08, 2025 — 07:50 AM
As I sit with this longer, I begin to wonder—maybe this yearning to be seen isn’t just about him at all.
What’s stirring now is the recognition that I’ve longed to be seen by my mother for most of my life. And maybe, in ways I hadn’t realized until now, that yearning has been carried into my marriage. I don’t think I’ve ever felt fully seen by her. And I’ve come to accept that. At some point, I let it go. I stopped hoping it would change. I told myself it might never happen
in this lifetime—and somehow, that acceptance has been freeing.
But with my husband, the hope still flickers. Still aches. Still reaches.
And now I’m wondering… why do I need so badly to be seen by him? Why does it feel so essential?
I reflected on this question—“When did I first learn to equate being loved with being understood?”—and what immediately came to mind was this: my mother never told me she loved me. Not until once, late in my life. And I don’t think she’s ever truly understood me.
There are things she’s said to me that have left me stunned, cut open. Like when she told me, after two deeply painful relationship betrayals, “I hope you can keep this one,” as if my worth was measured in how well I could hold onto a man.
So is it safe to be misunderstood? I don’t think I’ve ever felt that. Not from her.
And now I ask myself: what version of me am I most afraid he won’t be able to witness? The answer is… all of it. All the parts. I want him to witness every piece—not just the joy and fire, but the heartbreak, the confusion, the parts still healing. And I want him to love me there, not shrink back or turn it into something about him (I understand this may be part of how his neurodivergent brain processes intensity, but in those moments, it leaves me feeling more alone than seen). I think that’s why the CBMeditates post hit me so deeply. Because this isn’t just about me.
It’s about all of us. The collective ache of women who have had to quiet their brilliance so they wouldn’t be misunderstood. Who’ve had to navigate another’s ego just to feel safe in their fullness.
What do I hope will happen if he truly sees me? I don’t think I’m holding back deliberately… but maybe there’s a part of me that still braces. Maybe being witnessed will allow me to expand even more. To stop dimming without realizing I’m doing it.
He introduced a kind of financial stability I hadn’t known before, and together, we’ve shaped it, sustained it, and built something more secure than I ever imagined. But what I long for now is emotional safety—a sense of being spiritually and mentally held. A container not just for security, but for wholeness.
What do I fear might happen? I’m not sure. Maybe I need to sit with that more.
Is there a part of me that already knows I’m whole—even if he never fully gets it? Yes. But I also know I’ve struggled with this push-pull dynamic my whole life. Reaching forward, then retreating. Longing to be fully seen, but bracing for misunderstanding. Wanting to feel free, but somehow still shrinking.
And so I wonder: what would it look like to witness myself in the very moments I feel unseen? I think it would feel peaceful. Grounded. Accepting. No longer waiting for the outside world to validate what I already know inside.
Where in my body do I carry the ache of not being met? I think it’s lived in my shoulders, my upper back, my neck. Maybe even my heart. That low hum of tension I’ve carried for years.
Maybe true witnessing would soften it. Maybe feeling seen in love would finally let something inside me rest.
—-
If this resonated, you might also want to read the piece that came before it—when the yearning first began to take shape: “Wild, Living Woman: A Reflection on Being Witnessed.”
