Sometimes, it takes a stranger to hold up a mirror for you to see yourself clearly—or in my case, it took a chaotic family wedding, a very nosy auntie, and a pot of jollof rice.
The Moment It Happened
It was one of those hot Abuja evenings where the air felt like a warm hug... or a toaster oven, depending on your mood. My cousin had just married the love of her life—a man she'd met at a bank queue, proving we all still have hope—and we were deep into the post-reception chaos of laughter, leftover samosas, and poorly-coordinated dance-offs to P-Square and Burna Boy tunes.
And then Auntie Grace descended like a whirlwind in her gele, sparkling with the confidence that only a veteran matchmaker can have. She was clutching a bowl of celebratory jollof and fixing me with a look so intense, I instinctively glanced down to check if I’d spilled anything on my dress.
“Harriet,” she began, unceremoniously depositing herself next to me. “You’re not like the others.”
Oh no. Here we go. For context, in Nigerian family gatherings, “you’re not like the others” could either mean you’re about to be praised to the skies or lovingly roasted until you feel like burnt akara. I braced for the latter.
But what followed wasn’t the usual speech about why I wasn’t married yet or how my London degree wouldn’t tuck me in at night. Instead, Auntie Grace ventured into dangerous (read: surprisingly sweet) territory. “You’re different,” she said again, this time softer, as though revealing a secret only she had noticed. “You’ve always had this thoughtful air—a quiet fire. You make people feel seen, eh? That’s rare.”
Now, this might sound flattering, but at that moment, my defensive instincts kicked in. “I’m not quiet,” I blurted out, my trademark awkward laugh bubbling to the surface. “I just like to think before I talk.” Cerebral Harriet strikes again.
She chuckled, patting her gele as if she’d known what I’d say. “Let them call it what they want,” she replied, taking another bite of jollof. “But mark my words—someone will understand. You just need to let them see it.”
And right there, in the loud energy of the wedding’s afterglow, I was the quietest I’d ever been. She had pointed out something I didn’t even realize I’d been hiding: my tendency to shy away from showing the more thoughtful, introspective side of me in relationships. I'd always felt the need to be "fun Harriet," the one who knew all the Tiwa Savage lyrics and could sprinkle in sarcastic one-liners. But this little moment of recognition? It felt like something unlocking. Auntie Grace had seen a part of me I worked so hard to keep beneath the surface.
Why Feeling Seen Can Sting First
Let’s be real—sometimes being seen for who you truly are isn’t always the cozy, heartwarming moment movies and motivational podcasts promise. It can feel... exposing. Vulnerable, even. Like wearing your grandma’s Sunlight-soap-scented wrapper to a party full of power suits—it's you, but you’re suddenly wondering if it’s enough.
For years, I convinced myself that I needed to curate this certain image when it came to dating. There was Harriet-who-traveled. Harriet-who-worked-for-NGOs. Harriet-who-was-just-sassy-enough-but-not-overpowering. That Harriet was easy to package, easy to explain. But my quiet truths? The way I’d seek comfort in long conversations about absolutely nothing? The way I teared up rereading Second-Class Citizen for the tenth time? That wasn’t polished or headline-worthy. Surely, no one wanted to see that side of me, right?
Spoiler alert: they do.
Recognizing What Makes You Unique
Auntie Grace’s casual remark wasn’t some monumental declaration, but it planted a seed. I began to realize it’s actually daring—and kind of thrilling—to show who you truly are. Think about it: how many of us walk through life wearing masks, afraid to just be real in the spaces that matter most? Relationships, especially dating and love, have this unspoken expectation that you’re supposed to present a MG (Maximum Glam) version of yourself at all times. But when you allow those unpolished, raw parts of you to peek through? That’s where the magic really begins.
So here’s what I’ve learned about feeling seen—and leaning into it:
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Ask yourself questions that matter
Are you holding something back because it’s genuinely private, or just because you’re afraid of judgment? There’s a difference, and being honest with yourself is Step 1. -
Your quirks are currency
Whether it’s your obsession with Nollywood dramas or your tendency to monologue about why puff-puff is the superior Nigerian snack (correct opinion, by the way), lean into what makes you, you. Real connections are built on what’s real. -
Let go of over-curation
Wanting to be liked isn’t a crime, obviously. (Let’s not pretend we don’t all filter-check before an IG post.) But there’s freedom in showing people what they’ll actually get once the first-date butterflies have flown.
The Aftermath
Auntie Grace’s statement stuck with me long after that wedding night, popping up in moments I least expected. Like the time I unapologetically cried while watching Beasts of No Nation with someone I was dating, and instead of pulling away, he leaned in and said, “I get why that hits you so hard.” Or when a new friend told me they admired how I made a habit of reminding others they matter.
It’s funny—choosing to be authentic in any relationship, whether romantic or platonic, doesn’t mean projecting some perfect version of yourself. It’s the exact opposite. You have to let yourself be awkward, jollof-stained, loud-when-you-want-to-be, quiet-when-you-need-to-be you. And the best part? The right people don’t just accept it—they celebrate it.
One Last Thought
If you’ve been waiting for someone to “see” you, maybe it’s time you let them. Scary? Absolutely. Worth it? Always.
And the next time someone tries holding up a mirror to you—whether it’s through an Auntie Grace bluntness, a partner’s quiet patience, or even your own reflection—don’t run. Sit there. Be still. You might just like what you discover.
