Do I Belong? A Public Figure’s Existential Crisis

The Loneliness of Being Seen

Let me tell you something: being “seen” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

People think that visibility solves all your problems. They assume that when you’re recognized, followed, or admired, the rest of your life just falls into place. But here’s the truth: being seen by a lot of people doesn’t mean you feel seen by the people who actually matter.

I’ve walked into packed rooms where I know half the people, and yet, I’ve never felt more invisible. Because being known isn’t the same as being understood.

Living in the public eye is weird. On one hand, it’s exciting. On the other, it’s like being on an endless episode of Black Mirror, where every move is watched, every word is dissected, and every post is judged.

People assume they know you because they follow you online. They’ve seen your highlight reel, read your captions, and maybe even met you at an event. But what they see is just a slice of you—the curated, camera-ready version. The you that knows how to smile on cue even when you feel like crying.

And don’t get me wrong, I love creating spaces where people feel connected and valued. It’s one of the reasons I get out of bed in the morning. But sometimes, the irony hits hard: I’m building belonging for others while quietly wondering, Do I belong anywhere?

Loneliness doesn’t look how people think it does. It’s not sitting alone in the dark with sad music playing (though, let’s be honest, I’ve done that too). It’s more subtle than that.

It’s being in a room full of people and still feeling like you’re on the outside looking in. It’s replaying every conversation in your head after an event, analyzing every word you said like a cringe-inducing movie. It’s the little voice whispering, Do they actually like me, or just the idea of me?

There have been times I’ve left events, sat in my car, and cried. Not because anything went wrong, but because the weight of being “on” was just too much. The smiling, the small talk, the performing. And no one tells you that sometimes the loneliest place to be is the center of attention.

I don’t have this figured out. (Spoiler: no one does.) But what I’ve learned is that belonging doesn’t come from being liked by everyone. It comes from being real with a few.

Art has been my anchor in all of this. Creating is how I process the chaos in my head. It’s my way of saying, This is me—take it or leave it. It’s also how I’ve found my people—the ones who see my messiness and say, Same.

And let’s be honest, there’s something beautiful about finding connection in imperfection. The people I trust the most aren’t the ones who have it all together. They’re the ones who laugh at their own chaos, show up with their flaws, and make you feel less alone in yours.

If you’ve ever felt lonely in a crowd or invisible in a world that claims to “see” you, I want you to know you’re not broken. Loneliness doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It just means you’re human—and maybe a little more self-aware than the rest of the world.

So let’s stop pretending we’ve got it all figured out. Let’s build spaces where we can show up with our awkwardness, our doubts, and our WTF am I even doing here? moments.

Because at the end of the day, belonging isn’t about fitting in. It’s about finding the people who see you—the real you—and saying, You’re good enough, just as you are.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to overthink this post for the next three hours and wonder if I said too much.