The Things I Couldn’t See (Until I Did)

A Mirror in the Dark

I’ve always believed in knowing myself.
In tracing the roots of my reactions, the shape of my silence, the ache beneath my kindness.

But lately, I’ve been thinking about the things I didn’t know I didn’t know.
Not because I avoided them—
but because they were stitched so tightly into the seams of my personality,
I thought they were me.

This post is a quiet inventory.
Not of flaws.
But of the blind spots that once steered the wheel while I looked the other way.

Maybe you’ll recognize a few of them.
If you do, I hope you meet them with grace. I’m learning to do the same.

Blind Spot #1: Over-Responsibility for Other People’s Emotions

I’ve always been good at holding space.
For my daughter when she crumbles into tears.
For friends grieving the loss they don’t know how to name.
For strangers who sense, somehow, that I won’t turn away.

But somewhere along the line, I started believing that if they weren’t okay, I had failed.

I thought presence meant absorbing pain.
I thought love meant fixing it.

Lately, I’ve noticed the subtle cost:
how I disappear while trying to keep someone else afloat.
How I try to deserve closeness by earning it through emotional labor.

But I’m learning this:
Presence doesn’t mean vanishing.
Kindness includes letting people feel what they need to feel—while I stay whole.

Sometimes, love means not stepping in.

Blind Spot #2: Perfectionism Disguised as Preparation

I love systems. Grids. Structure. Templates.
Give me a clean layout and a color palette and I’ll try to organize my way out of fear.

I called it preparation.
But sometimes it was just procrastination with a clipboard.

I’ve delayed launching my website, my writing, even reaching out—because it wasn’t “ready.”
Because I wasn’t ready.

But the truth?
The fear wasn’t that something would go wrong.
The fear was that I’d be seen before I’d earned the right to be seen.

I’m unlearning the belief that I have to be polished before I’m worthy.
I’m reminding myself: Messy is still sacred.

And done is almost always kinder than perfect.

Blind Spot #3: Emotional Suppression Through Stoicism

I can name my pain in six metaphors.
I can turn grief into narrative and sorrow into song.

But sometimes that’s just another way I keep it from getting too close.

It’s safer to describe a feeling than to feel it.
Safer to narrate it than to let it wreck you.

I learned early how to contain emotion.
How to smile through it. Translate it. Tuck it into a verse.

But lately, I’m letting it arrive differently.

I’m letting myself cry before I explain.
Shake before I shape it.

Because sometimes, healing means letting the wave hit.
And trusting that you’ll still be here when it passes.

Blind Spot #4: Fear of Running Out of Time

There’s a hum behind so much of what I do.
A quiet urgency.
Like I’m trying to catch up with a version of me I should’ve been already.

I feel it in how I train my body,
in how I show up for my daughter,
in the rush to build something lasting before the clock runs out.

I’ve lived like I’m late to my own life.

But I’m learning to soften.
To believe that I’m not behind.

Time isn’t chasing me.
It’s offering me this moment, over and over, until I finally say yes to it.

Blind Spot #5: Over-Identification with Pain

This one’s hard to name.
Because pain has been my teacher.
My badge. My compass. My voice.

I thought my depth came from my wounds.
That if I stopped bleeding, I’d stop being wise.

But I’ve started to see how tightly I’ve held onto suffering.
How I sometimes confuse healing with betrayal.
As if joy would make me shallow.
As if softness would make me weak.

But I’m learning the opposite is true.

Healing doesn’t erase what I’ve been through.
It honors it by letting me live differently.

And the light I’ve found?
It’s no less real than the shadow that shaped me.

Blind spots aren’t defects.
They’re just places I lived in without turning on the light.

Now that I’ve seen them, I can choose.
Not to be perfect.
Not to always get it right.

But to stay awake.
To stay present.
To stay soft—even when it’s easier to armor up.

If you’re reading this and something in you whispered me too—
I see you. You’re not alone.

If you’re navigating your own blind spots—if you’ve felt the pressure to be perfect, the ache of emotional labor, the urgency to prove your worth—I want you to know:

You don’t have to do it alone.
At Wayfinder, I help people explore the hidden parts of themselves with curiosity, compassion, and care.

💠 Want to learn more about how I use hypnotherapy, NLP, and story-based reflection in healing work?
→ Visit Wayfinder or connect on Instagram.

Let’s walk toward clarity.
Not with force.
But with the courage to see.