The first time I felt truly seen, I was face-deep in a bathtub of sour cream dip. Not literally, of course, but metaphorically—and no, this isn’t a bizarre rom-com plot (though I’m open to selling the rights). It was my cousin’s engagement party, a classically over-the-top Beverly Hills event where the RSVPs included two former Oscars hosts and a reality TV star who was on their third “comeback.” I had come armed with my best smile-and-nod game, prepared to defend my singlehood against relentless questions from nosy aunts and acquaintances.
“Still no plus-one?” one of them asked, their voice dripping with pity, handed to me on a diamond-encrusted platter. I did what any self-respecting single person would do: I made a beeline for the appetizer table.
So, there I was, negotiating how many chips I could dip into my third helping of onion-sour cream bliss without being judged, when my cousin’s fiancé strolled over. He’d witnessed this pitiful-yet-practical scene and didn’t bat an eye. Instead, he tilted his head and said, “You know what I love about you, Becca? You’re authentic. Like, really you.”
And just like that—triple-dip and all—I felt seen.
The Veneer of Perfection vs. The You That Eats the Sour Cream
Living in LA, especially as someone raised on the red carpet, you learn to curate yourself. In Beverly Hills, it wasn’t just about being yourself; it was about being the best, most photo-ready version of yourself. My childhood was a highlight reel of designer birthday parties and manufactured candid photos meant to exude, well, effortlessness. And yet, somehow, none of it ever quite felt like me.
I spent a lot of my 20s trying to figure out whether I was the problem or the environment was. I worked hard to fit into that picture-perfect box: long glossy hair curled just so, my dating profile energy reading like “cool girl meets mysterious intellectual meets casually stunning.” But, somewhere between pouting at paparazzi I’d never asked for and pretending I liked raw celery on wellness spreads, I forgot how to be the nerd with headgear who once found joy in reciting monologues from When Harry Met Sally over family dinners.
That night—and that heap of dip—was the start of figuring out what it really meant to show up not as the curated, “likable” Becca, but as my unapologetically ridiculous, overthinking, potato-chip-loving self.
Seeing Yourself First Is the Hardest Part
It’s one thing for someone to recognize the quirky, flawed, beautiful parts of you, but it’s a whole other thing to see it for yourself. For the record, this realization didn’t hit me all at once. It’s not like I woke up the next day, set my hairbrush mic down, and declared myself fully self-realized. Like anything in life (or love), stepping into authenticity takes time.
For me, it started in small ways. I deleted the selfie apps on my phone—the ones with automatic pore-blurring technology that made me look like a porcelain doll version of myself. I stopped saying “yes” to things I didn’t actually want to do (no, Janice, I’m not interested in goat yoga in Malibu at 7 am on a Sunday). And I started asking myself tougher questions: What do you really want out of life? Out of friendships? Out of relationships?
Spoiler alert: the answers were not “a vintage kimono collection and dinners at Nobu,” though my mother might beg to differ.
The Small but Significant Moments of Being Seen
What I’ve since learned is that “being seen” doesn’t happen in grand gestures; it’s in the simple, quiet moments that unexpectedly hit you harder than any blockbuster romance scene.
It’s when your best friend sends you a playlist of show tunes you sang badly in college because she knows you’ve had a tough day. It’s when your grandpa sneaks you chocolate rugelach at Shabbat dinner because he knows you’re tired of everyone asking why you don’t have kids yet. It’s even when the barista remembers that you love your cappuccino with an illegal amount of cinnamon, because somewhere between the chaos of everything, you’ve left a little breadcrumb trail of who you are—and people notice.
These moments aren’t world-shaking, but they’re grounding. They remind you that you’re not invisible, not a hazy figure someone swipes left or right on, not an airbrushed silhouette of what you think people want you to be. They remind you that the most deeply human thing we crave isn’t approval or admiration—it’s recognition.
How to Let People See the “Real” You in Relationships
This part is kind of like ripping off a Band-Aid. It’s vulnerable, and sometimes it stings, but trust me, what’s underneath is worth it. Here are a few things I’ve discovered about showing up authentically in relationships without sending yourself spiraling into an identity crisis:
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Drop the Persona
You don’t need to reinvent yourself to make someone like you—promise. Be honest from the get-go. Like bad reality TV? Say it. Know more about Marvel movies than you’d ever like to admit? Share it. There’s nothing more exhausting than pretending to be someone you’re not. -
Find the Humor in It
One of my favorite coping mechanisms is humor (clearly). Embarrassing moment in front of someone you’re trying to impress? Laugh at it. Showing your full self means letting people see the messy, funny, sometimes awkward sides of you. Take comfort in the fact that literally everyone’s out here winging it. -
Celebrate the Small Wins
Someone acknowledging something simple and true about you—whether it’s the way you talk with your hands or your affinity for eating pizza in bed—is a win. Appreciate the tiny moments when people notice you. -
Be Patient with Yourself
Maybe you need time to figure out who you really are. That’s fine! Authenticity doesn’t hit on a deadline. Explore your own quirks, desires, dislikes, and dreams. It’s a lot easier to share yourself with someone else when you’ve done the work to know yourself first.
What Feeling Seen Really Means
The “first time I felt seen” wasn’t just about the sour cream dip (though its influence cannot be overstated). It was about being recognized without the bells and whistles, without the masks all of us wear to some degree. The right people in life—the ones who truly see you—are the ones who hold up a mirror to the best qualities, quirks, and truths about yourself that you might not have seen clearly before.
I wish I could tie this up with a perfect Hollywood ending, complete with swelling violins and my cousin's fiancé predicting my whirlwind meet-cute with a guy carrying a rom-com level of emotional baggage. The truth? Being seen isn’t an external validation so much as an internal permission slip you write to yourself every day: to be messy, complicated, and, above all, real.
So, here’s my nudge to you: Refill your metaphorical chip bowl. Let the right people—not just the romantic ones, but anyone who matters—see you, sour cream dip stains and all. And in that beautifully imperfect state, dare to see yourself, too.
