The Mirage of Being Seen

We walk this earth with a quiet plea,

Eyes scanning shadows, “Will you notice me?”

I say I’m safe in my fortress alone,

Yet my heart stirs when the world has shown

A flicker of someone—silent, profound—

The phantom of longing to be seen, unbound.

I crave the gaze of the mysterious man,

The one who defies the world’s demand.

He hides in pain, cloaked in disdain,

But I craft him anew, again and again.

In my mind, he is everything I lack,

The sharp-edged mirror to my soft cracks.

But isn’t it tragic, this endless chase,

Seeking affirmation in every face?

Once noticed, the magic will shatter,

Because the truth of him may never matter.

He is not real—just my art in disguise,

A silhouette shaped by my aching eyes.

And when he sees me, what then remains?

Will he love my joy or my hidden pains?

Or will I turn, restless and cold,

Searching again for a soul to behold?

I don’t need him to notice or care,

For his attention will strip me bare—

Undo the masterpiece I’ve lovingly spun,

Of longing, illusion, the game never done.

Perhaps it’s not him, nor them, nor you,

But the sacred self I must pursue.

In my own reflection, I’ll finally find

The one who sees me—whole, divine.

A close-up of a woman's eye, capturing the vibrant blue and green hues of her iris as she looks at her own reflection.

There’s a battle within the feminine, an unrest born of centuries of distortion. It’s the desperate need to be seen, affirmed, and validated—not by ourselves, but by the gaze of another. This isn’t an inherent flaw of women, but rather the byproduct of a world that told us our worth lies outside of us.

We tell ourselves we’re independent, happy, and whole alone. Yet how many of us secretly scan the room, the street, or the digital space for a glimmer of recognition? “Does anyone see me? Does anyone notice?” This isn’t vanity—it’s an ache rooted in the distorted feminine, a condition of separation from our sacred essence.

What’s most tragic is that the chase never ends. Even when we’re noticed, even when someone “finds” us, we often begin looking for the next validation, the next gaze, the next lover who might make us feel alive again. We say we desire forever love, but forever requires grounding in self-worth—something that fleeting attention can never provide.

Why does the mysterious stranger captivate us? The man in the corner who broods in his pain and appears untouched by the world’s trivialities? We don’t know him, but we see in him a reflection of what we wish to embody: mystery, depth, unshakable presence. We project onto him our unmet desires, building him into a masterpiece of longing and imagination.

But here’s the truth: He isn’t real. He is a silhouette painted by our wounded feminine. When we crave being noticed by him, we are not asking him to see us. We are begging him to validate our internal story. And yet, if he were to look at us, the spell would break, because the version of him we’ve crafted could never exist in reality.

What we truly seek isn’t the gaze of another—it’s the reclamation of our own gaze. The distorted feminine chases affirmation outside herself, but the sacred feminine knows that true recognition comes from within.

When we notice ourselves, we no longer fear being unseen. When we honor the masterpiece we are—imperfect, evolving, divine—we step out of the chase and into our power. From this place, we no longer hunger for fleeting attention. Instead, we magnetize love, connection, and partnership that mirrors our wholeness.

The journey isn’t about being seen by another. It’s about reclaiming the power to see ourselves, fully and unapologetically. Only then will the distortion dissolve, and the sacred feminine rise again.