can you see me?

 It's 3:02am and I should be sleeping, but I'm not.

I'm staring at the blank wall behind my bed and swallowing a wave of nausea as the projector in my head flips chaotically through my memories. I cringe. I hold my breath. I clench and unclench my fists.

I realized recently that there is a common thread throughout the memories that my brain chooses for the highlight reel. 

Can you see me?

It echoes between the walls of my soul. 

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to be seen. To be noticed. To be known. But in a very specific way. I don't just want to be seen, I want to be admired. 

I want to be seen as brave, beautiful, strong, responsible, wise, competent, kind, diligent, special, and successful, to name a few. At the end of the day I want to be seen as good. Please tell me I'm not the only one. 

I want you to see me.

Yes, you. I'm talking to you, reader. 

Family, Friends, Coworkers, Distant relatives, Acquaintances, Christians, Atheists', Buddhists, Democrats, Republicans, Young, Old, Wise, Ignorant...etc.

I want you to see me.

Which is why I am awake, tossing and turning at an ungodly hour. I am thinking about all of the times my flaws have slipped through the cracks of my futile efforts to appear "good." Some memories boast of my ugliest mistakes while some simply announce that I "said the wrong thing" or "made the wrong face." 

Like a chameleon I want to adjust myself in whatever-which-way that will gain your approval. And failing to gain that approval feels devastating. There is an avalanche of evidence against my illusion of somehow pleasing everyone, which leaves me with lots of opportunities to cringe in the middle of the night as I rolodex through my past.

Can you see me?

That question seems to be tattooed on the inside of my ever loving eyelids. I so desperately want to be seen by you. And I want you to love what you see. Because then maybe, just maybe, you will love me. 

Oh. 

There it is.

My soul is constantly searching for the affirmation that I am enough. That who I am is worthy of love and acceptance and belonging. So I peer into the chasm of my history and carefully calculate how you see me, thinking that is where I will find the evidence of my true value. 

Do you see me as brave, beautiful, strong, responsible, wise, competent, kind, diligent, special, and successful? Do you see me as a failure, a burden, rude, selfish, broken, foolish, and flawed?

In reality, there's no way to know what you see when you look at me. I can't read your mind. If I could I would probably be surprised at how little you were actually thinking about me. And even if you judged me with the same scrutiny that I judge myself, your opinions would be varied. One action could be perceived as wise to you and extremely foolish to someone else. 

You are human, just like me. Flawed, beautiful, brave, and foolish. To ask you to define my value is unfair to us both...despite what my brain may tell me at o'dark thirty. 

Can you see me?

My soul was wired to ask that question - it's imbedded in my core. It drives me to my knees. And it's there that I find the same truth again and again. 

There is someone who sees me. One who has seen every single snapshot of my life; every failure, every victory, every secret and every public announcement. I believe that I am seen by a good God. And when He looks at me He doesn't see me the way I want to be seen. 

He sees Me. 

All of me. He sees the good, the bad, and the ugly. He sees the actions and the motives behind them. He sees the maturity and growth and the foolishness. He will never turn away in disgust. He tells me that I am loved. 

I am worthy of love and belonging not because I am without flaws, but because I am designed for love and belonging. The need to be seen and known and loved is no accident. It's woven into the fiber of my being. 

So when I find myself tossing and turning in the night, desperate for reassurance, I want to turn my gaze to the truth that I am seen by the One who loves me most. There is no façade, no fear, no excuses. I am just me. And no matter what you think about me, good or bad, it's ok. I can rest in my worth as a daughter of God, created with intentionality and purpose, loved extravagantly and unconditionally. 

As I finish writing this I am reminded that so often our actions are driven by unacknowledged and/or unmet needs. Chances are, there's a reoccurring theme behind that things that keep you awake at night too. What is it? What echoes off the walls of your soul?