If we were all blind, what would we “see?” I can answer that. We would listen more intently, act more compassionately, and connect more deeply. Ultimately, we would respect each other’s points of view and experiences. In working with many overweight individuals over the last three decades, I often said, “If no one could see you, how would you feel about yourself? And if everyone could see you, the real you, what would they see?”
To maintain a high quality of life, we need the basics: food, shelter, and clothes on our backs. Maintaining a sufficient level of self-esteem, balancing emotions, and identifying ways to align with our purpose and passion fuels our existence. But to keep our souls alive, we need more. WE NEED TO BE SEEN and have a sense of belonging.
I ask you to close your eyes. Imagine yourself walking into a convenience store. You sense someone is close by, but you are “blind.” You cannot see them. Likely, you will say hi because you cannot see their, “I’m homeless. Anything Helps” sign, if they are 100 pounds overweight, wearing a Pride sweatshirt, or flaunting Donald Trump combover. You are not fed the information to judge precluding you from eye contact and conversation.
“If you were unable to see someone, would you treat them differently?”
Regardless of our weight, color, religion, sexual preference, financial status, or for those unsheltered, battling addictions, or suffering from mental health, we all want to be seen. Seen for are incredible brilliance—who we are not what we drive, where we live, or the size of our physical vessel.
For over half of my life I have been obsessed with helping people help and in turn help themselves and others. Over the years as a trainer, sports performance nutritionist, corporate wellness coordinator, and transformation coach, my niche morphed naturally; stirring the pot of humanity with sprinkles of health and happiness. But regardless of the “reason” we connected, my mission continued to blink like a cheap “We’re Open” sign. Help everyone…no one escapes. I have always “seen people.”
In my 20s, bodybuilding and fitness competitions became more mainstream, and big bucks went into gym franchises such as Golds. As a competitor myself, I spent countless hours training and teaching dozens of group exercise classes a week, thus, my clientele fell naturally into the lanes I walked. (My poor children; we lived at the gym.). Though there was a focus on the exterior, PEOPLE WANTED TO BE “SEEN.” The more externally focused on one’s appearance, the louder the cry. DON’T YOU SEE ME?
In my 30s, corporate wellness consumed me. My intent was to create the most healthy and happy employees on the planet. Stop the revolving door…decrease turnover. It seemed simple: listen to their needs, stop talking out of the side of your mouth, and deliver. PEOPLE WANTED TO BE SEEN.
If I shared with you how many think-tank debates—I mean “conversations” [insert eye roll]—I have led or participated in, we would both want to fall on an ice pick. I was charged with dragging in healthy vending machine options, converting supply rooms into on-site gyms, and made endless attempts to increase attendance at all employee meetings. Yes, I clicked play on many a boom boxes to rile up the employees before the CFO dribbled through the monthly financials. “Hit it, Peggy…Pump, Pump the Jam.” PEOPLE WANTED TO BE SEEN. I heard it over and over…”I work morning, noon, and night, ‘Don’t they see me?’”
In my 40s, my focus shifted from small to large employer groups with upwards of 10,000 employees nationwide, and a stint working with bootcamp spin-offs from the ABC TV show Extreme Weightloss. I wanted to reach the masses, listen to the real problems of real people, and find real solutions…Kill the Cookie-Cutter Monster; no one is the same, so how can the solutions be? People want to be met where they are…not where everyone else is. PEOPLE WANT TO BE SEEN.
In my 50s, my focus intensified on making things even more personal. If someone worked two jobs and had three kids, creating lengthy food menu or working out five times a week is not as feasible as a 25-year-old who wants to run a marathon and can eat, drink, and sleep the gym. Literally. Whether someone wants to write a book, start a business, reduce their alcohol consumption, or get their master’s, it still has to be personal. I pressed for the Who. What. Why. Where. When. How.
I have worked with thousands of individuals whether they weighed 70 pounds or 357, were 90 years old or a toddler, those with trauma, multiple disease states, addictions, were immigrants, or even homeless elementary school children. What do they all have in common? They don’t want to be judged. They want food, shelter, clothes on their back and a sense of belonging. PEOPLE WANT TO BE SEEN.
As I head towards 60, I have become obsessed with storytelling. As you can imagine with 34 years in this “help others help themselves” arena, I have read a few do-it-my-way books and watched a ton of “never-been-seen-before” webinars. People are sick and tired of being told what to do and not having things personally designed. They are not being heard. Many of the tips and tricks proposed by others are unfortunately short-lived. Telling stories inevitably causes connection. PEOPLE WANT TO BE SEEN.
If you have lost a child, others will connect to your experience and be inspired by how you picked yourself back up and tried for a fifth time. If you have lost your job, home, or relationship, others will connect and not feel alone. Stories are endless. They are colorful, emotionally packed, diverse, creative, and very, very, very personal. Only you can tell your story. It is my way to contribute to their undying request: I JUST WANT TO BE SEEN.
Health and wellness have changed dramatically, but, in my opinion, is still the same. Everyone wants to feel good, be happy, and make a difference. And with that, everyone wants to be seen.
The next time you shift your eyes so you do not “connect” with that man sitting on the street corner, pretend not to hear a mom yelling at her son, or think you know why a three-hundred-pound person is in a wheelchair, ask yourself if you really “see” them.
