Being Heard
Being Heard
Last night I called the prayer line. I didn’t expect much. Maybe a quick prayer, a verse, and a goodbye. But what happened was different. I talked. I shared myself. And someone listened. Really listened. No fixing, no judging. Just comfort, human to human.
I love communication. I love talking. Words are how I make sense of the world, and how I let the world make sense of me. But for most of my life, people only got a small version of me.
The people from my past knew the edited cut. Social media shows a sliver too — a photo, a caption, a headline. It’s never the whole person. I’ve always concealed my inner life. I protected it. I only gave others a small version they could not see into.
That wasn’t by accident. As a young person I was a security guard. I loved law enforcement. Protection was my job, and it became my habit. Guard the gate. Watch the perimeter. Keep the vulnerable parts locked up. It kept me safe when I didn’t know how else to be safe.
But last night, on that call, I lowered the gate. I let someone in. I spoke about the ashes, the cocoon, losing my mother, finding my voice. And nothing bad happened. The world didn’t end. I was met with comfort.
I’m learning that authenticity isn’t the opposite of protection. Sometimes the bravest thing is to let yourself be seen. The real me — not the small version, not the social media version — is a woman who loves to talk, who loves to listen, who has a story worth telling.
I spent years blending in, standing post, keeping people out. Now I’m learning to open the door. Not to everyone, not all at once. But to the right people, at the right time.
Because communication isn’t just me talking. It’s being heard. And last night, I was.
– Cathryn
