I have a fear of being seen...

Says the girl hiding behind her typewriter.

I have a fear of being seen, says the girl hiding behind her typewriter… so, I imagine that may not come as much of a surprise.

For as long as I can remember, the idea of being truly seen—not just noticed, but perceived—has terrified me. It’s ironic, really, because here I am, sharing my thoughts, my words, my creations with the world. You might think that someone who writes so openly would be used to it by now. After all, how much more can you expose yourself than through your words? But there’s a difference between letting people see your work and letting them see you.

In the last few weeks, I’ve shot myself out of a creative cannon, landing squarely in a world where I’m no longer just a name behind the words, but a presence that people are engaging with. My words, my videos, my voice—[eeek!]—they’re all out there, being seen, being heard. And the response? It’s been overwhelming—a swirling mix of excitement, anxiety, gratitude and everything in between.

You might think, “Ash, all we see are your fingers typing away on that typewriter of yours,” and, in a way, you’re right. There’s comfort in the anonymity of clattering keys, but life has a funny way of nudging you out of your comfort zone, mine being so far behind the camera, you may not even know I was there.

This fear isn’t new; it has been a recurring theme in my life for as long as I can remember. It’s the same voice that’s been there since high school, when I thought joining the drama club might help me conquer my fear of being seen. But all it really made me feel was like I was hiding in a different way. It wasn’t me up on the stage—it was a mask, a role. And as long as I was playing a part, I didn’t have to worry about people seeing the real me.

This fear is why I chose the profession of writer so long ago. It allows me to stay tucked behind many metaphorical curtains. It was also true when I worked as a personal assistant on movie sets for years. The first thing I was told on set 16 years ago was, “Always be available, never be seen,” and I remember thinking, Well, great, that’s how I live my life anyway; it won’t be any different.

Every time I’ve tried to step out of my comfort zone, that familiar voice in my head would kick in. It would remind me of all the reasons to retreat, to shrink back into the safety of the shadows. It’s like a well-rehearsed script, listing every possible reason to stay small, to avoid the risk of being seen too closely, too clearly.

The truth is, there’s something incredibly vulnerable about being seen—really seen. It’s the fear that if people get too close, they’ll notice the flaws, the imperfections, the cracks I’m still trying to understand myself. What if they see that I’m not perfect? It’s funny because, deep down, I know that perfection doesn’t exist, yet it doesn’t stop the fear from creeping in.

But here’s the thing—I’m starting to realize that this fear isn’t just about being seen by others. It’s also about being seen by myself. What if the real challenge isn’t about how others perceive me, but how I perceive myself? Maybe the fear of being seen is really the fear of confronting my own imperfections, of accepting the parts of myself that I’ve kept hidden, even from me.

Despite the fear, there’s an undeniable rush that comes with stepping into the light. It’s a strange blend of terror and relief, like baring your soul to a room full of strangers and hoping they don’t laugh. And yet, every time I begin to push myself out there, that little voice comes back, stronger than ever, telling me I’m not good enough. It’s the voice that dredges up every embarrassing memory, every mistake, convincing me that being seen will only lead to disaster.

But maybe that voice isn’t right. I mean, I know it’s wrong because that’s what fear is—fear is very rarely the actual truth. But maybe I’m looking at it all wrong. Maybe the fear of being seen is really the fear of seeing myself. Maybe it’s about confronting those imperfections, those flaws, and accepting them for what they are. Because the truth is, those imperfections are part of what make me, and all of us, human.

So, here I am, putting myself out there, shaking with fear but doing it anyway. Because the alternative—hiding behind my typewriter, letting fear control my life—is no longer an option. I want to be seen. I want to be heard. And if that means facing my fears head-on, then so be it. I’ve come to realize that staying in the shadows means missing out on the good stuff—like, you know, actually living. Sure, it’s uncomfortable, but so is wearing pants, and we still do that [most days].

In the end, maybe the scariest part isn’t being seen by others. Maybe the scariest part is allowing myself to see me—clearly, fully, without judgment. And who knows? Maybe, by letting myself be seen, I’ll finally start to understand who I really am.

The bravery we seek isn’t about being perfect—it’s about showing up, as we are, and realizing that’s enough.

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— The Friday Club — A digital hangout where movie nights, shower epiphanies, and life's charming chaos collide. From writer and creator Ash [of @the.ashfiles], expect weekly musings, honest stories, and a reminder that we’re all just winging this thing called “adulthood”. 🎬✍🏻📚

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