“You Don’t See What I See”

People look at my actions and make assumptions.

They see what I do—but they don’t see why I do what I do.

They don’t see what I see.

They don’t see the layers of effort it takes just to show up.

They don’t see the broken pieces I try to arrange into something that still looks like a full person.

They don’t see how long I sit with decisions that others would make in seconds.

They don’t see how much I notice, or how deeply I feel.

They don’t see the patterns, the hesitations, the instincts I’ve built to survive in a world that doesn’t know how to hold space for someone like me.

They don’t see the second-guessing.

The swallowing of feelings.

The pauses before I speak, or the silence when I just can’t.

They don’t see the why. They just react to the what.

Sometimes I come off too strong.

Sometimes I hold back too much.

Sometimes I seem too blunt, too emotional, too distant, too sharp, too sensitive.

But everything I do is a response to something I see—something they didn’t notice.

I see the shifts in people’s faces when I bring up my disability.

I see how fast the conversation changes when I show emotion.

I see the hesitations, the judgment, the expectations.

And sometimes, yes—my reactions don’t make sense to others.

But I promise you: they make sense to me.

I am acting based on a thousand tiny truths I’ve gathered from experience.

That’s why I respond the way I do.

That’s why I sometimes push people away.

That’s why I shut down or speak up or come across as “too much.”

It’s not coming from nowhere.

Nobody sees what I see.

And maybe that’s the hardest part.

Because if they did—if they really saw my view—they’d understand.

They’d know I’m not trying to make things harder. I’m trying to make sense of things in a world that often doesn’t make sense to me.

So the next time you wonder why I am the way I am,

Try asking what I see—

Because you might find that the view from here is a lot more complicated than it looks.