Hello again,

Welcome to the Kintsugi Mind Space, where I share reflections from life and the therapy room.

Today, I want to write about a paradox that often shows up with my clients, and one I have experienced myself at different points in my life.

The paradox of being present but unavailable.

The desire to be seen for who we are while fearing the cost of being seen in that place.

Let me give you some context.

As a child, I remember coming home from school with a massive grin on my face because I had received an A in English. I could not wait to tell my mum. I was around nine or ten years old. When I shared the news in my young excitement, the response I received was: “What do you want, a medal? That is your job, to get good grades.”

The excitement dissolved quickly. I remember feeling sad and slightly foolish, as if my sense of achievement had been somehow out of proportion.

The next day, walking home with my mum, we met a neighbour on the stairs. This time, she proudly told them how clever I was because I had received an A in English. I asked why she hadn’t said that to me the day before. She hit me lightly on the back of the head and told me not to be silly. They continued their conversation about me as if I were not even there.

I remember looking up, confused and invisible, trying to make sense of the message being sent. I also remember the fear that speaking up could turn into punishment.

Somewhere in that moment, I began to believe that my value was something to be displayed, not quietly acknowledged.

So I thought: “If I am really clever and achieve enough, one day she will love me and tell me so.”

Fast forward to today: two bachelor’s degrees, five languages (four spoken fluently), a master’s degree, and an ongoing drive to train further, to become the best therapist I can be.

Does this sound familiar?

I like to call this conditional love.

The notion that lives quietly in someone’s mind and says: If you do this. If you are this. If you behave like this. You will be loved.

In my experience, meeting the condition rarely translates into the love or attention hoped for.

Yet, the prospect of becoming invisible can feel more painful than moulding ourselves to another person’s expectations.

So we adapt.

We minimise.

We strive.

Like a salmon swimming upstream, the effort continues.

And it comes at a cost.

It is not safe to speak up.
There is no point in setting a boundary, it will be ignored.
I do not matter.
I need to watch what I say; it may be weaponised.

Over time, these messages show up as people, pleasing, hypervigilance in relationships, blurred boundaries, overriding oneself.

It is exhausting to hold all of that alone.
And just as exhausting to believe that if you stop, you will be unloved.

Feelings like this are not only exhausting but deeply painful. So we try to make sense of them in whichever way feels most accessible. Some turn to attachment theory. Some consume online content. Some come to therapy. Each path reflects different circumstances, resources, and readiness.

Many clients describe themselves as anxious or avoidant. I can see how such labels can bring relief, they offer language for experience. But in my work, I have also noticed that labels can become limiting. No person can be reduced to a checklist of traits.

A person is so much more than that.

So I become curious: What does this label mean for you? Is it present in all relationships, or only certain ones? What beliefs sit underneath it?

Often, what unfolds is nuanced, like a tapestry woven through different relationships across a lifetime.

And witnessing that weaving can be deeply moving. Healing, I have seen, can happen in relationship.

Not only in the therapeutic relationship.

Healing can happen in safe and mutually respectful relationships where both people meet each other where they are.

When someone is neurodiverse, the tapestry can carry additional layers. The sense of aloneness may increase. The exhaustion may deepen through the continued effort of masking, trying to appear “normal” in a world shaped by neurotypical norms.

The word normal does not sit easily with me.

Normative, perhaps.

But normal?

Sadly, neurodiverse differences have long been overlooked or misunderstood. While there is now more space for recognition, there is also a transgenerational wound that requires individual, relational, and collective healing.

Behind all the fear of being seen, I believe there is a longing, a longing to belong without disappearing.

We disappear when we forget that we are part of the relationship.

When we assume what we want does not matter.

When being seen feels unsafe because it never was.

We tell ourselves: If I am good. If I behave. If I give them what they want. Then they will love me.

And there it is again, conditional love.

The narrative that whispers: They will love you if…

It can feel difficult to loosen that narrative. You may even believe you will always carry it.

But I have seen something different become possible.

I have seen relationships where being seen did not lead to punishment.
Where staying did not mean disappearing.

Relational wounds are healed in relationships.

Relationships that understand that the fear of being seen makes sense. That it was protective. That it once kept us connected.

And perhaps there are spaces now where we can stay.

Where we can simply be, without needing to become something else in order to belong.