The art of being seen

Recently, one of my favorite writers shared this insightful message on Threads:

It immediately resonated with me and stuck with me in the days to come. I sat with the idea of artists feeling like they have to be performative online, more than just people who enjoy making things with their hands. We have to be content creators, entertainers, and lifestyle bloggers, allowing all eyes to witness our most sacred and intimate practices. It feels at odds with what many of us have been led to believe about sharing creative projects outwardly.

For so long, we’ve been told to “work in silence.” To do the work, but not talk about it. To let success speak for itself. And while there’s wisdom in focused effort, there’s also something deeply limiting about keeping things bottled up, as if excitement is something to be hidden. The joy of creation should not be a secret, especially for creatives.

Many artists, including myself as of late, have been in this back-and-forth, push-and-pull when it comes to showing up online. We long for community, for likeness, to be in the company of people who get it—who get us. But it’s draining to pull these wondrous ideas out of our heads into the physical, only to be told that now we have to make content and publish on multiple platforms, multiple times a day, hoping to be seen by at least one person.

For many, this puts a block on the creative process—having to slow down, restructure the camera, edit videos and photos, or bare ourselves face to the camera and try to narrate through our bustling thoughts.

Daley-Ward’s words reminded me that “You do not have to be whole to build.” Making yourself seen and standing in front of everyone can feel unnatural at first. The thought of showing up and letting people witness the process—the unfinished, unpolished, and unpredictable—may make you hesitate, but here’s the thing: you don’t have to have it all figured out before you step into your light.

What if sharing the journey was part of the magic? What if showing up, imperfect, in progress, and still learning, wasn’t just an act of courage but an invitation?

To connect.
To inspire.
To remind someone else that they’re not alone in their creative struggles.

You don’t have to be perfect to start, and you don’t have to create in isolation if you don’t want to.

There’s power in being seen—in allowing people to witness the messy middle, in letting yourself take up space. Not just when the work is finished and pristine, but when it’s raw and real because that’s where the truth lives. That’s where the lessons are learned.

This month, try allowing yourself to play with how you document your process, and how you invite people into your creative world without feeling like you’re oversharing or losing the sacredness of your practice.

There’s an art to making showing up feel expansive rather than restrictive—we just have to study ourselves sometimes to uncover what that looks like.

Maybe it means posting more behind-the-scenes snippets. Maybe it’s writing about the small moments that fuel your creativity. Maybe it’s simply permitting yourself to share without overthinking how it will be received.

At the end of the day, we don’t create just for ourselves. Art, in any form, is a conversation, and conversations need voices willing to speak.