A New Way of Being Seen

Staying connected to yourself in moments of visibility

This is Part 5 in my Visibility Series. In my last piece, I wrote about how cultural conditioning can make being visible feel unsafe, and how many of us learned that it often meant having to abandon ourselves to fit in. This essay explores how we can stay connected to ourselves when we’re ready to be seen.

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Being visible is not something that many highly sensitive and empathic people take lightly. Speaking up in meetings, teaching, sharing your work publicly, or even introducing yourself in a room full of strangers can all feel like a threat. It can also stand in the way of your ability to express yourself authentically.

And maybe you have a nervous system that picks up on everything happening around you, as I do. That can be a lot to hold, and for a long time, it was for me. But slowly, I began to realize that being visible doesn’t have to mean overwhelm. Instead, it can become a practice of returning to yourself, again and again.

Sensing the Field

What does it really mean to be seen when you are a sensitive person? In the past, when I was faced with being in the spotlight, my nervous system would often go into fight, flight, or freeze. I would lose access to my thoughts and emotions, and the words that came out would often be a minimized version of what I actually wanted to say. But over time, I’ve come to realize that much of what I felt actually wasn’t mine.

Whenever I stand in front of a class or speak in a group, I can feel the entire field. My system attunes to the tension, curiosity, judgement, alertness, and even boredom. I pick up on what’s moving through the collective nervous system.

When you allow yourself to be seen, you may be managing more than your own emotions or energy. There’s a good chance you’re picking up on the anxiety and unspoken tensions present in the room. Many sensitive and empathic people experience this, but often don’t realize that what they’re feeling doesn’t entirely belong to them.

If you’ve been the harmonizer, peacemaker, or someone who is used to managing everyone else’s comfort, it makes sense that visibility can feel heavy. Your body may have learned early on to read the environment and adjust to keep others comfortable. That kind of attunement is a gift, but it also means that when you step into a group, you might be instantly aware of everything happening in the space - conscious or not. And all of that energy can flood in at once. Stepping into visibility can carry a big burden if you’re not just showing up for yourself, and are trying to soothe and regulate the emotional and energetic field of the entire group.

The same thing can happen when you write. Even though you’re alone with your screen, and it feels like it’s time to step out, your body can still remember what it felt like to be seen in the past. You sit down to begin writing, and before a word hits the page, your nervous system is already activated, responding as if you’re speaking to a crowded room. The body senses the exposure and prepares to manage it all, scanning ahead to anticipate the responses of unseen others.

The Revelation

Years ago I had a breakthrough about this during a workshop when we were asked to introduce ourselves. I noticed my familiar pattern: while others spoke, I frantically rehearsed what I would say, unable to hear what anyone else was sharing. My mind churned through the fear of rejection, of not being good enough, and of being misunderstood.

Then something shifted in my awareness. I realized that much of the anxiety coursing through me wasn’t actually mine. I was picking up on the energy in the room - the collective nervousness, the self-consciousness, and the vulnerability everyone was feeling. This recognition changed everything. I decided to do a small experiment and took the focus off myself. I imagined that I was separate from the group and noticed what were my own emotions and energy and what belonged to the group. In a short period of time, my nervous system calmed down and when it was my turn, the charge was gone and I was able to speak from a much more relaxed place. It felt like I’d released a heavy weight that didn’t belong to me.

Practicing the Return

Soon after that, when I began learning to teach Lu Jong Tibetan Yoga, I found myself asking the same question, how can I stay connected to myself in the moments I tend to leave my body and shut down? I came up with an incredibly simple tool: I wrote “come back to yourself” on a post-it note and placed it on the floor beside me.

As I sat in front of the group, tasked with sharing the philosophy behind the movement practice, I felt my nervous system begin to activate. All eyes were on me. I glanced at the note, paused, took a breath, and came back to center. This allowed me to respond from a grounded place rather than from my activated nervous system. I did this repeatedly, until eventually I no longer needed the note. The practice had become integrated.

Separating What’s Yours

Sometimes the activation you feel isn’t all yours. It’s what’s moving through the field. Awareness helps you separate the two. You can sense others without carrying them, and you can feel the collective energy without being swept up in it.

I want to be clear that the process isn’t about being perfectly centered. It’s about noticing when you’ve left, and coming back to yourself again and again.

Greater awareness about why we have these reactions can lead us toward a new way of being seen - one that allows us to stay connected to ourselves. This shift has been transformative in my own experience. It begins with allowing awareness to turn inward again and to anchor in our own center, even as we stay open to the world around us.

The Invitation

You don’t have to manage the room’s energy. Your only responsibility is to stay present in your own body. You don’t have to make everyone comfortable. You can acknowledge what you’re picking up without taking it on. You can pause, breathe, and come back to yourself, as many times as you need to.

This isn’t about sensitive people trying to be anyone other than who we are. It’s about learning to stay connected to ourselves while being in relationship with life itself.

When you return to yourself, what comes through you is clearer and more alive. It carries the quality of presence that others can feel. The same presence that allows their systems to settle, too.

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Read the earlier essays in this 5-part series:
The Myth of Visibility · Is It Fear or Wisdom? · Nervous System Regulation at the Edge of Fear · The Ladder Wasn’t Build for Everyone

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