I know you think I’m pretty, but do you notice the way I avoid eye contact—not because I’m shy, but because I’ve been conditioned to shrink myself? To make my presence smaller, my voice softer, my needs invisible? That looking too closely at someone, or letting them see too much of me, once meant opening the door to manipulation, to mind games I didn’t know I was playing until I was already losing?
Do you notice how I struggle to take a compliment? Not because I don’t want to believe it, but because for years, every kind word was a transaction. Praise came with a hidden cost, affection dangled like a reward I could never quite earn. I was told I was loved, but only if I behaved, if I conformed, if I stayed in my place. And when I stopped being useful, the love disappeared—replaced by cold silence, guilt trips, and the kind of loneliness that eats away at your sense of self.
Do you see how much I cling to the little things? The warmth of a sunrise, the sound of laughter, the feeling of a soft breeze against my skin—because I know what it’s like to be left with nothing. To have my financial freedom stripped away, my choices dictated by someone else. To work twice as hard just to prove I deserved what was already mine. Do you notice how I hesitate before making decisions, how I second-guess myself, because for so long, I wasn’t allowed to trust my own judgment?
Do you notice how I talk a little too much when I’m happy? Because I spent years being silenced, my thoughts dismissed, my emotions weaponized against me. How I learned to measure my words, to choose them carefully, to defend myself even when there was no battle to fight? Do you notice the way I carry my past in my posture, in the way I brace myself for abandonment, in the way I overthink every unanswered message, every change in tone—because I’ve been conditioned to believe that love is something that can be taken away without warning?
Do you see how hard I am on myself? How, despite everything I’ve overcome, I still feel like I’m not enough? That no matter how much I achieve, I still hear the echoes of that voice that told me I was a failure, that I was difficult, that I was impossible to love? Do you notice how I put everyone else first, because I was taught that my worth was in what I could give—not in who I was?
Yeah, so you think I'm pretty. But do you notice the woman who had to rebuild herself from the ground up? The one who fought battles no one could see? The one who refuses to be defined by the people who tried to break her?
Yeah, I know you think I’m pretty. But do you really see me?
🫣🫰🫖 JRT
🎨 ArtCredit: Raven Shaolin Bluefeather
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It’s beautiful, but I’ve never been close enough to see your eyes—not really. And I don’t just think you’re pretty. I know you’re beautiful. Not because of a reflection or the way light catches your features, but because of what’s inside—because of the battles you’ve fought, the strength you carry, the way you keep going even when the weight of the past lingers.
Struggles like yours aren’t a flaw. They aren’t something to hide. They shape you, but they don’t define you. And I understand—more than you might think. I’ve felt the weight of expectations, the pull to shrink myself, to fit into a mold someone else created. But I don’t believe love, care, or even simple affection should ever come with conditions.
You don’t need to behave, conform, or stay in your place. You don’t need to prove your worth, because it’s already there—it always has been. If something is truly cared for, it isn’t caged, it isn’t controlled. It’s set free to be exactly what it is, without fear of love being taken away.
I see you. Maybe not in the way others do, but in the way that matters.