Mary Jho Moore

This morning at 4:58am I was on the treadmill, laptop in front of me, with zero ganas de escribir.

I just wanted to go back to bed.

But I’d had a very particular dream where, for some reason, I kept noticing people.

I noticed when someone seemed shy and I found a way to make her laugh. I noticed when a young girl seemed self-conscious about her skin, and I told her how beautiful I genuinely thought it was. I noticed someone trying to hide a part of his body he seemed insecure about, and I genuinely thought he looked good, so I told him so. I noticed a painful expression on someone’s face. Nobody in the room had noticed, but I did, and immediately I asked what was wrong.

And in the dream, I wasn’t saying any of this just to make them feel better or telling them what I thought they wanted to hear.

I meant it. That’s genuinely how I saw them.

There were a bunch of other random things happening in the dream too, because… dreams. But I kept reflecting on that little pattern after I woke up.

Reflecting on how I seemed to really enjoy making people feel seen.

So that gave me a question to journal about:

“What does ‘being seen’ actually mean to me?”

And by “seen,” I don’t mean literally being looked at. I mean that “I get you” kind of seen.

After that question came up, I was like, “Oh boy. Here we go again. Sounds like someone’s gonna get sucked into rambling land…”

And yep, that’s exactly what happened.

I kept struggling, thinking, “I’m not even sure how to answer this.”

But I was already on the treadmill with the laptop in front of me, so I figured I might as well start writing and see where the hell the question took me.

The first thing that came to mind was that one of the biggest ways I feel seen is actually when I feel like shit.

When I don’t have the energy to talk. When all somebody sees on the outside is a long face with no expression on it, no words, no energy for anything except to exist. Barely exist.

Obviously someone who cares about me is going to notice and probably worry. I don’t expect them to read my mind, but I don’t have to explain every single thing happening inside my head. I can give them something as simple as “I’m off” or “I don’t wanna talk,” and they get it. They know I’m struggling internally and let me be until I’m ready to talk about it.

They know me enough to know that even when I’m feeling whatever I’m feeling in that moment inside, my discernment is still there somewhere.

And by discernment, I mean they know I’m not going to harm myself or someone else just because I’m feeling that low. If there were some kind of actual life-threatening emergency, I’d say so.

They just trust me and know me well enough to know that.

And then there are the other, obviously much more fun ways of feeling seen.

Like when somebody “speaks my language,” and I don’t mean literally Spanish.

I mean when you like something that you think is weird for you to like, and then it turns out there’s someone who does the exact same thing too and you just click when you find out.

“OH. YOU TOO?!”

It can happen talking about spirituality. Dreams. Nature. Music. Feelings. Weird experiences. Mossy trees. Some tiny random thing that probably means absolutely nothing to anybody else but somehow makes the two of you light up.

That feels like being seen to me too.

But while I was writing that, I started thinking about thoughtful things people have done for me.

Little gifts that showed they remembered something about me. Things connected to places I’ve loved, people I’ve loved, things I’ve said once and forgotten I’d even said.

And I got stuck for a moment there.

I thought, “Maybe that’s thoughtfulness.”

Is thoughtfulness the same thing as being seen?

What’s the difference?

Maybe you have to see somebody in order to do something thoughtful for them.

Maybe you need to be thoughtful in order to really see somebody.

Maybe they can be mixed.

I don’t know.

“DANG IT. This was supposed to be one question.”

So I stared at the white wall in front of my treadmill for a while.

Then drank my tea instead.

Then went back to staring at the wall.

And somewhere in all of this I realized something.

For me, being seen organically doesn’t feel forced or awkward or uncomfortable.

It feels easy.

Effortless.

Natural.

“It’s the plain feeling of EASE.”

And then another thought:

“Feeling seen means being able to speak your mind and talk about pretty much anything without the fear of feeling judged or misunderstood.”

The other person doesn’t even have to agree with me or fully understand what I’m trying to say. My thoughts can change. My beliefs can change. We can see something completely differently.

But I think there’s something about knowing I can say what I actually think and they still see me behind whatever I’m saying.

And then I found it.

“SAFE.”

YES!

“SAFE! That’s the fucking word I was looking for.”

I actually started laughing.

Because yes.

It feels soooo safe to be seen that way.

Like when you fall and you just KNOW for a fact that someone is going to catch you.

And apparently finding one word only creates seventeen more questions, because then I started wondering:

Who is “someone”?

Does it have to be “your person”?

What does “your person” even mean?

Does this kind of being seen have to come from someone you’re in love with? Someone you love? Friends? Family? All of the above?

I don’t know.

But I kept trying to describe what being seen actually feels like inside for me. And more words kept coming.

Refreshing.

Soothing.

Like air in the lungs.

Or what you feel when your adorable pet that you love so much runs away and then you go out searching and searching until you find it.

“OMG THERE YOU ARE.”

“THANK GOD.”

Relief.

Yes.

RELIEF.

Then I took a break from the treadmill.

I was sitting on the workout bench, just resting and staring at my slightly pale legs (goodbye summer tan, I’ll see ya next year), when another thought came:

“Being seen feels like peace, love and FREEDOM.”

So of course I went back to the laptop to write it down.

I started with “I don’t even know how to answer this” and somehow ended up there.

And at some point during all of this, I stopped for a sec and looked at what I was doing right there and then and wrote:

“I missed this.”

I was smiling by then.

The writing had started feeling like when you know you gotta shower and you feel so lazy to go shower, but then you finally get into the warm water and it feels so nice you take forever to get out.

Once I got momentum, I felt like a fish in water.

And that’s the funny thing about writing for me.

Sometimes I don’t actually know what I think until I start writing whatever comes to mind and see where the hell it takes me.

I still don’t have answers to half the questions I currently have, nor to the ones I ended up asking myself after all my writing and rambling.

And somehow, just being able to put words around something that was floating around in my head made it feel a little less tangled in there.

I finally got a bit more clarity about what being seen feels like for me, which seemed to be the number one question that just needed to be answered during my date with the treadmill.

Back on the treadmill to try to compensate for the abomination of a lunch that I just had: chocolate chip cookies with ice cream. (Yeah, yeah, I’ll go back to eating my healthy foods tomorrow. Promise. Or at least I’ll try.)

Like a kid after a long Halloween night, I’m all shaken up on sugar. So I figured I’d get these fingers moving along with my legs.

I’ve been meaning to write about a question a close friend, who I love very much, asked me:

“Are you happy?”

OOF.

Caught me off guard, not gonna lie.

I mean… where does one, at least one like me, even begin to answer such a question?

I could probably write a book with all the thought rambling that went through my mind before I could answer.

For non-overthinkers, it could probably be a plain yes or no.

Boom. Moving on to the next topic.

For yours truly?

Um, take a couple days of your PTO to read my answer, which would probably still be just the tip of the inner iceberg.

Anyway, it got me thinking. A lot.

Could I say a hard no?

No, because I do have pockets of happiness during my days.

Could I say a hard yes?

No, because I also have the occasional pockets of sadness or emptiness during my days. Although the emptiness has been less intense lately, probably because I took some time to disconnect in order to connect…

—

Sorry, just came back. Had to hop off the treadmill for a moment.

Okay, so… yeah.

I can’t fully give a black-and-white answer to this one. There are too many shades to it.

And to be honest, it’s been very clear to me for a little while now that I value peace of mind more than I value happiness.

Or maybe they’re both in the same ballpark.

Who knows.

I’m no expert.

All I know is that I once read something in a book that resonated with me on a deep level:

Humans are not designed to be happy all the time.

Does that mean we’re not allowed to want to be happy?

Absolutely not.

It just feels right to acknowledge that, so we don’t beat ourselves up too much when we realize we have everything we once dreamed of and still don’t feel that spark of happiness as often as we thought we would.

But do I feel peace?

That’s a question that’s easier for me to answer.

The answer would be: sometimes.

It depends on what my mind is focused on.

When it focuses on things I wish were different and yet have zero control over, I don’t feel much peace.

When I come back to myself and remember that there’s only so much I can do about certain things, and try to trust the process of life to the best of my abilities, I feel a bit more of it.

Being around nature also brings me a mix of peace and happiness.

If not both on equal levels.

And that’s something I didn’t anticipate in the past, to be honest.

I was a city girl.

Part of me still is.

But lately I’ve even cried in awe at nature’s beauty.

Hard to explain, but yeah.

It gives me that air-in-the-lungs feeling that I think I was missing for a long time.

Deep conversations with my closest friends do the same.

And surprisingly, moments in solitude do the trick too.

Of course, like everyone, there’s still inner conflict that blocks my peace from time to time.

Working on that.

Not sure what exactly I’m trying to say here.

I guess I just want to put into words that it’s okay if we don’t feel fully happy, even when, from the outside looking in, it seems like we should.

Only we know what things look like from our own perspective.

And that’s the thing.

I think it’s all about perspective.

Sometimes it differs wildly from person to person.

What would be considered a reason to be happy for one person might not be nearly as meaningful to another.

And now I’m just rambling.

Funny enough, I have this feeling that no matter what we say we want from the outside, obtaining it doesn’t guarantee we’ll be as happy as we think we’ll be.

Whatever “it” is.

In the end, wherever we go, we take our minds with us.

So I can see how, if I’m not at peace in my own mind, it won’t matter what I get or where I go.

That feeling will follow until I’m ready to let it go and embrace the peace that already exists but that I’ve been blocking with my own blurred vision.

Ok. This is it.

This is the type of post that future me will likely cringe about when she reads it.

But I. Don’t. Care.

Gotta mark this moment somehow, even if it’s addressed to my most faithful crickets.

It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Not just here on this website, but here in my zone. Or one of them, at least.

Walking on the treadmill, listening to one lyricsless song on repeat (today it’s Lone Machine by YOTTO), and being interrupted by J, my husband, giving me a kiss, wishing me a good day, and reminding me to be ready at 6 p.m. to go watch a horror movie.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. My treadmill zone.

Typing on my laptop, which is sitting on the best purchase I’ve ever made (apart from my Brooks shoes): a little gray tray that lets me move my laptop up and down as I please. I place the whole thing on a wooden surface J made for me a while back.

So I write and I walk.

I walk and I write.

Forgot how good this feels.

Anyways, here’s more of my characteristic rambling.

What can I say? It’s been a long while, and a lot has happened in this weird transition where I went from Mary Bejarano Moore to Mary Jho Moore.

Where I went from being exhausted on all levels, depleted, depressed, and feeling trapped in my own body, to feeling a big pocket of air in my lungs. Feeling alive. Feeling more aligned with my choices. Feeling more connected and more ready to connect with others.

A few months back, I didn’t want to interact with anyone whatsoever, let alone pour my heart out in writing. The thoughts were too dark anyway to feel comfortable sharing, although I’m sure more than one person would’ve related.

I did write sometimes, but mostly kept it private in my digital journal. I didn’t even have the energy to write in my physical one.

I didn’t want to chat with my friends scattered all over the world (the price of being an immigrant), partly because I was afraid they’d ask how I was doing.

And I didn’t want to answer with the truth.

But I also didn’t want to answer with a vague “fine, and you?” because that would’ve felt like a big fat lie.

I was far from fine.

Too depleted to explain why.

Too concerned about being judged.

Too concerned about being treated like people needed to walk on eggshells around me.

So here I am now, finally done with the nitty gritty of changing my domain to reflect my new name for this temporary lifetime.

Not exactly in a “I AM NOW MARY JHO MOORE!” kind of way.

It’s more like, okay, this is the name of the character playing Mary in this lifetime.

My soul has no name, but it’s flexible enough to accept the ones given to it in this realm.

I do feel excited, though.

Relieved.

Because honestly, I could’ve just canceled the whole thing and moved on from blogging.

Why bother?

I haven’t exactly been consistent, and my insecurities and impostor syndrome tend to get the best of me.

But I was reminded of something I used to say back in my MBM blogging days:

“It’s not a bother. It’s a calling.”

So here I am, slowly dipping my toes back into this calling ocean.

No agenda.

No expectations.

No niche.

No structure.

Yeah, I know that’s probably not the best way to do it.

But I’m bringing two things with me:

Heart and action.

This is me taking action on something I feel utterly unsure about.

The tapping on my shoulder gets annoying if I ignore it for too long.

Not in the “ugh, I HAVE TO DO THIS” way, like doing laundry because otherwise you’ll have nothing decent to wear to work next week.

More like:

I have to do this to nurture my soul.

I’m done with the neglect.

This feels as necessary as water and food.

As music for my ears and air for my lungs.

As pens to draw my doodles.

As healthy hands to pet mossy trees.

As having people who get you without much explaining.

As expressing myself in ways that bring me joy.

So I guess all this rambling is just my way of marking the day I come back.

Not as a new me.

As the me that was always there.

Buried under stress, pressure, depletion, depression, overthinking, and insecurities.

Here’s to more moments like this.

Welcome to my little messy, unniched corner of the internet.

If you want to know what to expect from this blog, just expect unexpected things.

Thanks for reading.

Mary Jho Moore