What It Means to Be Perceived

Reflections on truth, identity, and being seen.

It’s one thing to be seen. It’s another to be understood.

Last month, I wrote about learning to be seen without needing validation.

This time, I’ve been thinking about what happens next, what it means to be perceived in a world where everyone is performing, even when they’re being real.

It’s strange to realize that how people see us can feel so far from who we are. Sometimes, the distance between perception and truth is where the loneliness sits, especially when you’re someone constantly seen.

I feel misunderstood quite often. Maybe it’s my lack of excitement in certain moments or my quiet nature that makes people think I’m cocky or detached. The truth is, I just can’t fake it. I value honesty, the kind that feels kind, not cruel. I want to be real with people, and I hope they want the same from me.

Because my career is so public, I’m used to being “known.” But lately, in newer spaces where I’m leading with my role at Adobe, I’ve noticed something shift. People aren’t always curious about who I am or where I’ve come from. Sometimes, it feels like they see the job title before the person.

I’ve been creating, storytelling, and speaking long before I was moderating panels. But in some rooms, it’s like that part of me disappears. Maybe it’s perception playing its tricks, but it’s hard not to feel reduced to one piece of myself when I know there’s so much more.

Still, I love moderating or hosting events. I love creating space for others to shine. I just wish more people looked past what they think they see.

The way I see myself is probably very different from what others see. They don’t know the weight behind what I’ve built, the mental health battles, the isolation of being one of the only women of color at certain events, or the quiet strength it takes to keep showing up anyway.

Being online used to feel like survival. It was how I built community and connection. But now it’s more of a choice, and honestly, one I make less and less. The internet feels louder, faster, more crowded. I don’t scroll TikTok. I have app limits. Maybe I miss things, but I also feel free.

Still, being online means living in reflection, constantly aware of how you appear. Sometimes I catch myself trying to prove I’m good enough, and that’s when I know I need to step back. I’ve learned that my peace matters more than proving a point. And maybe that’s why I spend more time getting to know myself offline, away from the noise, away from the audience.

If you asked me who I really am, I’d say I’m funny, caring, thoughtful, curious, a cozy person with a serious love for peace and purpose.

But I think people see me as quiet, hard-working, serious, maybe even a little intimidating. And yes, I am all those things sometimes. But there’s a softness and a silliness in me that doesn’t always make it online.

That’s the thing about perception. It’s a mirror, but it’s foggy. People only see the parts they’re closest to or the parts that reflect themselves. And maybe that’s not just personal. Maybe it’s systemic.

We’re living in a world where visibility equals worth. The more eyes on you, the more valuable you seem. That’s capitalism disguised as connection, algorithms, likes, and virality shaping who gets seen and who doesn’t.

For women, and especially for creators of color, visibility often comes with the pressure to prove yourself twice, once for the work and once for the world.

Taking the power back means remembering that your presence already matters before anyone acknowledges it. It’s choosing to create even if no one sees it. It’s knowing your worth doesn’t depend on applause.

Being misunderstood is inevitable, and that’s okay. Not everyone needs to get it. What matters is that you do.

Solitude has helped me see myself most clearly. When I’m alone, I can drop the performance. I can meditate, write, move my body, be with my family, and remember that my life exists beautifully outside of perception.

Sometimes I have to step away from the screen to find myself again. Go bowling, take a walk, sew something terrible, read something beautiful. Those moments remind me that I’m more than my visibility, and maybe that’s where the truth of perception lives.

Maybe it isn’t something we can control. Maybe it’s something we can only surrender to.

Because the truth is, everyone is performing, even when they think they’re being real. But underneath it all, we’re all just hoping to be understood, not just seen.

Do you ever wonder how differently people see you from how you see yourself?

Maybe the greatest peace comes from knowing that being understood by a few people who truly see you will always matter more than being seen by everyone else.

Here’s to peace over performance.