You see me more clearly than I see myself

now accepting feedback about how you experience me

I went for a drive up the mountain with the electrician last month; a goodbye tour of sorts.

I cried and admitted to him that I felt like I was a bad date. I joked about being a single spinster cat lady, and asked him how he experienced me, searching for insight into how the collision of our planets played out from his vantage. He was kind to me, as he ever is, but honest. My reactivity makes it hard for others to invest. He couldn’t get close, couldn’t find me, even though I was kind and sweet and fun to be around until I was not anymore. He told me that anytime something was wrong, it felt like I never wanted to talk to him again.

I was humbled by what I heard. I’ve thought a lot about what he shared, his insights rattling around in my brain, rearranging the furniture in there while I’m away at work. I’m digesting it still.

The electrician told me about Aella.

I got lost reading her work, and it led me to the work of others.

I am left with the sense that I look at myself—my body, my character, my place in the world—with thick, coke-bottom glasses. All I know about myself is stuck in the past, which means I know inaccurately, which means I have no ground to stand on, which means I keep falling over, wondering why there’s always so much dirt in my mouth.

I know so little of how others see me, how others experience me in any accurate ways. I don’t ever ask (because I learned early on that to be invisible means to be safe), and what I have gleaned is always seen through the glasses of my own toxic shame.

So I am taking a page from Aella’s book, in my own small way, and pointing to life by choosing reason, logic, curiosity, and openness. I am trusting in the power of the sight of others, and I am asking to borrow yours right now.

I am asking for your help, because I’m ready to take the glasses off.

If you read this substack, you probably know me personally, or at least we are acquainted. If you don’t, you’re still invited to participate to the degree you wish to.

I’d love to hear, in your own words, how you perceive me—what’s striking about me, what’s memorable, what’s attractive in whatever sense you feel compelled to share. Long stories and short sentences equally encouraged. Tell me from the gut.

Don’t hold back. Don’t overthink. Whether it’s something you’ve always noticed but never said, or something that feels so obvious to you but might surprise me—I want to hear it. I want to hear it all. There’s no wrong way to do this—whatever feels true to you is what I want to hear. I want to hear it because your honesty is a gift to me, and because I want to live in a world where we show each other what is possible with kindness and grace. I want to be here, in it, with you.

If you’re reading this in your inbox, just hit reply and you’ll be able to send me an email. If you’re reading this on the substack app, or website, click this wonderful purple button below.

I feel silly doing this, but that is so often the internal signal that tells me I am pointing to life. I know that sharing things like this can sometimes be awkward or hard (for seeker and answerer) but I hope you’ll take the invitation and feel the well of gratitude that I have for you right now, with this screen lighting up your face, your own interior designer quietly rearranging the apartment in your head.

PS. Here is a picture of my face in case any of you want to tell me that I’m pretty or confess any longstanding crushes ;)

Trying to see life a little more clearly,

xo Ada