The Gift of Being Seen

There's a peculiar kind of loneliness that only exists when you're not actually alone. It's the loneliness of being surrounded by people who see your exterior—what you're wearing, how you look—but somehow miss you. This is perhaps one of the most painful experiences we can have, especially within our closest relationships.

You can share a home, sleep in the same bed, even share the same Amazon account with someone, and still feel miles apart. The strange thing is, nobody necessarily did anything wrong. There was no dramatic fight, no catastrophic moment. Life simply has a way of killing our curiosity about the people we love most.

When Familiarity Becomes the Enemy
Somewhere in the middle of real life—busy life, tired life—we stop being seen. We become so familiar with one another that we begin to assume rather than ask. We write scripts for each other without giving space for the actual person to speak their truth. "You believe this. You think this way. You think this about me." The script is ready, but the conversation never happens.

This isn't just about marriage, though that's where it often shows up most painfully. This is about every meaningful relationship in our lives—friendships, family connections, the people we see regularly but have stopped truly seeing.

What Jesus Shows Us About Being Seen
When Jesus began his ministry and encountered his first potential disciples, his opening words are remarkable. He didn't say "repent." He didn't say "get your lives together." He didn't even say "follow me" right away.

Instead, he asked a simple question: "What do you want?"

Think about the power of that moment. Jesus didn't assume. He gave them space to name their desire, to say what was actually on their hearts. He started with curiosity and openness rather than correction or instruction.

This pattern repeats throughout Jesus' life. At a wedding in Cana, he notices a problem before it becomes public shame—the wine has run out. This wasn't sinful, but it was stressful and potentially embarrassing for the family. Jesus steps into ordinary relational pressure and addresses it before it becomes relational damage.

The message is clear: Jesus cares not only about the sin in our lives but also about the relational strain we experience. He sees the budget tensions, the emotional fatigue, the unspoken disappointments. He notices us in our struggle.

The Trees We Climb
Perhaps the most compelling story of being seen comes from Jesus' encounter with Zacchaeus. This wealthy tax collector had been marginalized and resented by his community. In many ways, he was hiding in plain sight—and then literally hiding in a sycamore tree.

We may not climb actual trees anymore, but we climb plenty of metaphorical ones:
Emotional withdrawal becomes our refuge—we're physically present but not really there, offering short answers, less eye contact, more scrolling. We go quiet instead of going honest.

Busyness can look responsible, but sometimes it's just another tree, a safety bubble where we're always working, always serving, always needed, but never truly known.

Humor becomes our deflection mechanism—everything's a joke, nothing's vulnerable, and laughter provides the leaves we hide behind.

Control, shame, past hurts, resentment, self-reliance—each can become a tree we climb because connection feels too risky.

Even spiritual performance can be a hiding place. We quote Scripture, serve faithfully, show up in all the right places, but nobody really knows us. We're in the right places but not known.

The Invitation to Come Down
When Jesus sees Zacchaeus up in that tree, he doesn't shout him down. He doesn't shame him. He simply looks up and says, "Zacchaeus, come down. I want to be with you."
This is the pattern: Jesus sees before he corrects. He notices before he instructs. He is present before he is productive.

What a different model than how most of us operate. We diagnose before listening. We have the answer before understanding the full story. We correct before connecting.
But intimacy doesn't begin with communication skills or fixing problems. It begins with attention. With caring. With showing someone they're seen.

Practical Steps Toward Seeing
If you're in a committed relationship, consider asking yourself: What is something my partner has been carrying lately that I've stopped noticing? Don't try to solve it immediately. Just sit with it. Let your curiosity about your partner come back online. Curiosity is one of the first steps back toward intimacy.

Instead of asking "Why are you stressed?" or "What's your problem?" try reframing: "You've been carrying a lot lately. I don't know it all, but I can see it." This simple shift demonstrates love and lets the other person know they're seen.

For all of us, married or not, ask: Who are the people I am closest to that I see the least? Not see their form, but truly see them. Who have I reduced from a person to a role in my life?

The God Who Sees Fully and Stays
The beautiful truth at the heart of all this is that Jesus sees fully into our lives—and stays. Most people believe God sees them; the struggle is believing he's not ashamed of what he sees.

Before Jesus ever changes us, he notices us. He doesn't love from a distance but right there with us, in the mess, in the tree, in the hiding.

We don't need grand romantic gestures or miraculous interventions. We need small human moments that let us know we're seen—and accepted—in all our struggle and imperfection.

When we experience being truly seen without condemnation, we're empowered to offer the same gift to others. We can participate in the grand work of seeing people the way God sees them, inviting them down from their trees, and sharing presence rather than just solutions.

The question isn't whether you have people in your life. The question is: Are you being seen? And equally important: Are you seeing?