The Person Who Saw Me
Sometimes, the people who change your life don’t arrive with fireworks or a grand entrance. They sneak in like the tide, soft and steady, shifting everything beneath the surface before you even realize it. For me, that person was my high school English teacher, Mrs. Abbot. The woman who saw me.
I suppose I should preface this by saying I wasn’t exactly anyone’s idea of a “natural.” Sure, I loved to write, but so did every other kid clutching their thrifted copy of Little Women and scrawling overly dramatic sonnets in the margins of their geometry notes. I was yet another starry-eyed teen in a cable-knit sweater, wondering if I was destined to be less Jo March, more Meg. Solid, reliable, and just a little boring.
Mrs. Abbot changed all of that with nine words: “You write like someone who has oceans inside them.”
Let me explain.
Seeing Potential Between the Lines
It was junior year, the type of November that hangs heavy, like wet sand clinging to your boots. I had written an essay about Sarah Orne Jewett’s The Country of the Pointed Firs, a love letter to the Maine coast disguised as extra credit. When she handed it back, I expected a polite “good effort” or neutral “B+,” the hallmark of my steady but unremarkable academic career. Instead, Mrs. Abbot stopped me as I shuffled out of her classroom.
“Charlotte,” she said, fixing me with the kind of look that could slice through fog. “You write like someone who has oceans inside them.”
Oceans. Not ponds. Not puddles. Oceans.
If you’ve ever been a teenager, you’ll know this is the stuff of main character moments. These words landed in my chest like a lobster buoy—bright, unmistakable, and suddenly marking something I hadn’t noticed before.
Until that moment, I’d written because it felt good. But now, I began to write because I started to believe I could do something with it. Suddenly, every blank page wasn’t an empty space; it was an opportunity. And Mrs. Abbot—you delightful, cardigan-wearing oracle—well, she saw it all before I did.
The Ripple Effect of Being "Seen"
Here’s the thing about someone seeing your potential before you do: it doesn’t just nudge you forward. It rewires your internal narrative.
Before Mrs. Abbot’s comment, I worried my love of words was just another quaint part of being a New England teenager, like collecting sea glass or knowing too much about whaling history. (Which, sidebar, might be a niche problem. Just me?) But after that moment, I dove deeper into writing. Instead of treating it like a hobby, I treated it like a muscle, stretching and strengthening it with every essay and short story.
I started submitting pieces to school competitions. Some I even won. I signed up for summer writing workshops and began to see a future beyond the familiar harbor of Kennebunkport. I wasn’t 100% sure where my ship was heading, but I knew one thing: writing would be the wind in my sails.
This shows up in relationships, too. Whether it’s romantic, platonic, or professional, the people who see something unique in you make everything else—rejection, awkward first dates, times you totally misread a situation—feel like a part of the bigger picture. They help you lean into who you are, warts and all.
How to Find (and Be) the Person Who Sees You
Not everyone will have a Mrs. Abbot—a guiding lighthouse cutting through the haze. But we don’t need our “person who sees us” to arrive like some cinematic mentor. Sometimes, their arrival can be as casual as a comment in passing or a small but intentional act of kindness. Here’s how to stay open to it:
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Pay Attention to What Lights You Up
Mrs. Abbot didn’t hand me a guarantee; she just held up a mirror. Her words hit because they pointed toward something I secretly loved but hadn’t yet claimed for myself. Is there a skill, a habit, or even a fleeting interest you can’t stop thinking about? Sometimes what seems too small or silly (hello, Titanic-era sea shanty obsession) is the thing your future self will thank you for nurturing. -
Surround Yourself with Encouragers, Not Critics
The people who “see” us aren’t perfect, but they are intentional. Seek out relationships with those who are more interested in your potential than your flaws. This applies to romance too. Your person—the person—should be able to spot your strengths even when you’re too self-critical to notice. -
Be Open—Even When It’s Uncomfortable
Vulnerability and visibility go hand in hand. If I’d stuffed that Jewett essay in a drawer instead of handing it in, Mrs. Abbot’s feedback might never have existed. Whether it’s sharing a creative project, being honest on a date, or just letting someone into your world, being seen requires showing a little bit of yourself first. -
Be A Person Who “Sees” Others
Seeing someone’s potential costs nothing, but its impact can be priceless. Catch a friend doubting themselves? Let them know the specific way they shine. Is your barista quietly killing it with latte art? Tell them. You never know when a compliment might spark a ripple effect.
When You Find Your North Star
Mrs. Abbot didn’t give me a grand speech or some magical roadmap. Her nine words didn’t just change my trajectory; they made me realize I actually had one in the first place. And who knows where I’d be without her encouragement? Maybe still wandering the beaches of Kennebunkport, wondering what I was meant to do.
Even now, whenever I stare down a stubborn blank screen, waiting for the words to come, I hear her voice: “You write like someone who has oceans inside them.” That simple sentence—just nine words—still feels like a rising tide, lifting and propelling me forward.
If you’ve ever been lucky enough to have someone see you like that, then you know what I mean. And if you haven't yet, hold tight. Whether or not you recognize it, the people who see the “oceans” inside you are out there. You just need to give them a reason to look.
And when you find those people? Hold onto them for dear life. Their belief might just be the compass that leads you home.
