When others "see" you...and you "see" you...

 I was standing just offstage, moments before dancing my solo. My teacher introduced me—not just with my name, but with a few words that caught me completely off guard. She spoke about my journey, my efforts, and how I kept dancing while being a mother of two, a full-time professional, and a woman spinning many plates. And suddenly, something in me softened.

I don’t dance for applause. I don’t show up at rehearsals, exhausted after a long day, for recognition. I do it for the joy, the grounding, and the sense of self it gives me. And yet… it mattered. Her words mattered. Being seen mattered.

Why does it matter when others recognise our efforts? Why do we care, even when we tell ourselves we don’t need it? Maybe it’s because so much of what we do as women—especially as mothers, professionals, caretakers, and silent warriors—goes unnoticed. We keep it together, we hold it all, we show up, and we often do it quietly.

There’s a strange pride in being “low-maintenance,” in not asking for thanks, in saying “I’m fine” when we’re anything but. And while humility is a strength, it can become a habit of invisibility. We hide in the busyness. We deflect compliments. We shrink from spotlights. Somewhere along the way, many of us learn that shining too brightly might make others uncomfortable.

Today, I had an extra private class with my teacher, and our conversation turned into something more reflective. We spoke about stress—not just on stage, but in life. And I realised something: so much of that stress doesn’t actually come from what others think of us, but from what we think others think of us. The loudest critic is often our own imagination. We focus on flaws, on missed steps, on everything we think went wrong. And most of the time, others don’t even notice. Or if they do, they don’t care nearly as much as we do.

So what if we let go of that? What if we allowed ourselves to simply enjoy being—to enjoy what we do, who we are, and how we show up in the world? What if, instead of shrinking, we presented ourselves with presence and pride—not arrogance, just honesty?

But being seen—truly seen—is not about vanity. It’s about validation of effort, of growth, of the parts of ourselves that we work hard to preserve amid the chaos. Recognition isn’t just about ego. Sometimes, it’s about someone else reminding us of who we are when we’ve forgotten.

The real shift, perhaps, is not in waiting for others to recognise us—but in recognising ourselves. In allowing our light to be visible. In being present, proudly. Not because we are perfect, but because we are enough.

...

So yes, I stood on the side of the stage and felt a lump in my throat, not because I needed the world’s applause, but because for a moment, someone said: I see you. I see what it takes. And I think every woman deserves a moment like that.