Love has always been a debatable topic. One says that love is the greatest phenomenon ever to hit someone, while the other argues that love is the worst of all, that it consumes you. They say love is the bravest thing you can do—that once you love someone, you hand them your soul and your heart, something sacred, something they can’t give back.
But maybe that’s not the scariest part.
But
Maybe love isn’t what we’re afraid of
Maybe it’s being seen
Not the surface-level kind of being seen. Not the “you look pretty” sort. I’m talking about the kind that feels like someone can see through you—as if they’ve studied every hidden version of you. The kind of gaze that finds you unarmed, vulnerable… and stays anyway. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying.
We expect love to be our saviour from flaws and melancholy. We expect it to happen on our best days, when we’re filtered and composed, when we’re easy to talk to, emotionally available, but never messy. This version of love is easy. It earns all the praise and applause for being the kind of affection that feels easy and manageable.
But is it the whole picture?
We all have versions we run away from. The vulnerability that we shy away from. The silence we hide behind. The emotions that we keep suppressing until we break down. Being seen triggers us to bring those hidden “flawed” versions of ourselves into the light.
For a long time, I thought being loved meant being perfect or at least being easy. The kind of girl who doesn’t ask for much. I learned how to show parts of me that felt easy and likeable. I figured if I could be chill, low maintenance, emotionally contained, I’d be easier to love. I always thought that maybe, just maybe, it would make people stay.
But here’s the harsh truth: when someone loves the “likeable” version of you, you might feel admired. You feel adored—but not understood—because they never really got to know the real you.
Being seen, on the other hand, is a completely different experience. It means letting someone in completely. It means letting someone witness when the storms of your reality and melancholy hit you. When you’re not trying to be loveable and your mask of “likeability” is off and they still decide to stay. In all honesty, it’s terrifying. What if they decide to stay? Will they witness the real me and not be scared? What if they don’t stay?
So we adapt. We shrink ourselves down to what feels safe, likeable, and easy. We become the “cool girl”. The emotionally detached one. The one who doesn’t care. The one who never seems like she’s trying too hard. We treat our own needs like an inconvenience, apologise for taking up space, and convince ourselves we’re strong because we never ask for anything.
But strong doesn’t mean silent. And being chill isn’t the same as being whole.
Somewhere along the way, you realise that trying to be low-maintenance doesn’t make you feel loved- it just makes you invisible. You do all the work to be easy to be around and yet feel lonelier than ever. No one knows you, they just know the “chill”, “likeable” version of you.
But the truth is, you might not always be able to perform well for the mask you’ve put up.
But when you’ve spent years trying to be “the one who never asks for anything”, it’s hard to unlearn that. It feels unnatural to say, “Hey, I need you right now”, or “That hurt”, or “Can we talk about it?” It feels like you’re suddenly too much, even when you’re just being honest.
That’s where the fear of being seen comes in. You worry that the more real you become, the more reasons you give someone to walk away. What if, when someone sees your softness, your fear, your intensity- what if they decide they can’t handle it?
But here’s what I’ve been learning, slowly and gently: The people who are meant to love you won’t leave you when you stop performing. They won’t leave you when you stop making things easy for them. The right people don’t need you to be chill, perfect or composed. They just need you to be real.
And being real isn’t always pretty. Sometimes, it’s awkward. Sometimes, it means fumbling through your words or getting quiet at the worst times.
It takes courage to let yourself be seen like that. To allow someone into the parts of your life that aren’t perfect but when someone does stay-when they choose you not for your highlight reel but for your honesty- it’s the most grounding love there is. And when that love finds you, whether it’s romantic, platonic or even self-love, it starts to chip away at the fear. You realise you don’t have to earn love by being small. You don’t have to edit your emotions into something more digestible. You don’t have to pretend you don’t care when you do care deeply.
The truth is, the fear of being seen doesn’t vanish overnight. It takes time to believe you’re worthy of love in your most unguarded moments. But every time you let someone in, even just a little, you’re reminding yourself that you’re not too much. You never were.
So, no, being loved isn’t scary. Not when it’s real. Not when it’s honest. Not when it stays.
What’s scary is being known- and letting that be okay.
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