Being Seen

It’s interesting, the idea of “being seen.”

I’d always thought I wanted to be invisible. My weight being a source of shame for so many years, the idea of being invisible seemed appealing. But the truth is, I didn’t want to be invisible so much as I wanted to be seen for something other than the fat girl taking up more than her share of the available space. I wanted people to see me, not the body I live inside.

This post isn’t about weight. It is about the significance of being seen. Not physically seen, but truly seen from a place of understanding. It is a connection on a deeper level–one that says “I see you, I see what you are holding, I can’t fix it, but I can help you carry it.”

Back in July I was really struggling. I felt out of sorts, I couldn’t get excited about an annual event I used to love going to, I couldn’t get my creative juices flowing to work on my newest manuscript, I couldn’t get up the gumption to do much of anything–I just felt lost.

July marked one year since Farletta’s passing. I’d finally interred her ashes the month before, an act that needed to take place but something I’d been unable to do. It did bring a level of closure, but it also had the effect of tearing open the wounds, bearing my soul, and crying harder than I had since the day Farletta died. Like it was all new again.

Farletta’s ashes are buried at a pet cemetery near my first dog, Diefenbaker. [image error]Farletta’s ashes are buried at a pet cemetery near my first dog, Diefenbaker. [image error]Farletta’s ashes are buried at a pet cemetery near my first dog, Diefenbaker.

A couple weeks later I was at the event–the one I couldn’t get excited about–Breyerfest. It is a celebration of the horse hosted by Breyer, my favorite brand of model horse. I’ve been a collector since 1987 and have attended Breyerfest every year since 2013 when I moved to Kentucky (where it is held).

It was Saturday, the second day of the event and I still felt out of sorts. I’d gotten up much later than I’d planned and still didn’t feel like going to the Horse Park where the event is held–I just didn’t have it in my heart at all. I stopped by the hotel where my out-of-state Breyerfest buddies Christina and Ann were staying. Ann had gone to the park but Christina was there so I went up and we had a long chat.

We talked about a lot of things but I kept coming back to Farletta and how much I missed her. I couldn’t understand why I was so sad again, when I had been doing better. Why then? Was it the anniversary? Was it the horse-themed event? Was it that I had a book signing the next day and I wondered if I could bear talking about Farletta for five hours, telling and retelling our story and then having to say she had died when a well-meaning person asked how she was doing?

One thing Christina said had a huge impact on me. It created a shift, and illuminated a piece of my experience that I thought no one could see or understand. Christina told me about her own losses and how, with the loss of one beloved dog in particular, she felt she’d somehow lost her identity.

Lost her identity. I knew this feeling. I’d felt it every day since Farletta’s passing–like I didn’t know who I was, or what I was supposed to be doing without her. In sharing her story, Christina had made me feel seen, she’d seen me with her heart through our common experience. I felt an enormous sense of relief. Christina had picked up a corner of the burden of sorrow I’d been carrying, and I felt lighter because of it. I felt completely at peace in that moment.

I felt seen, on a soul level, because of a shared experience.

Christina told me it had taken time for her to feel like she knew who she was without her beloved friend, a slow change over the course of years. But she didn’t sugar coat anything–it would never be the same without Farletta–there would always be a sense of loss. But it will get better. I will get better. And that is hope I can hang on to.

At my Breyerfest book signingpost script: there is power in telling our story

Farletta has always been able to see me. Through telling our story in my Hope, Healing, and Horses Book Collection, it is my hope that we can help others to also feel seen.