Vulnerability Archives - Pandora's Curio

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Journal,

There are days when I don’t recognize the sound of my own voice. Not because it has changed pitch or grown hoarse—but because it no longer feels like mine. It echoes with other people’s inflections, softened by politeness, sharpened by fear, filtered through expectation. Somewhere along the line, I started adjusting to the volume of other people’s comfort, and in doing so, I think I lost the tone that was unmistakably my own.

This happens more than we admit: the shape of our speech, the rhythm of our thoughts, the emotions we let ourselves feel—how much of it is truly ours? Studies on emotional contagion have shown that humans can unconsciously mimic others’ facial expressions, posture, and emotional states simply by being in proximity. It’s a mechanism tied to empathy, but also one that can cloud selfhood.

Hatfield, Cacioppo, and Rapson (1994) described this as primitive emotional contagion—an automatic mirroring that helps us connect. But what happens when your mirroring outpaces your anchoring? When you pick up emotional residue from everyone around you, do you ever stop to wash it off?

There’s a kind of heaviness in becoming what everyone needs. You become fluent in others’ desires and simultaneously mute in your own. I remember countless moments where I anticipated the needs of others so well I forgot to ask myself what I wanted. Or when I held back an opinion not because I lacked one—but because I couldn’t bear to be misunderstood.

This internal tension is often framed by what Leon Festinger (1957) called cognitive dissonance: the psychological stress experienced when holding conflicting beliefs or values. For me, that dissonance sits in the disquiet of being praised for adaptability, while quietly grieving the erosion of authenticity.

It’s easy to mistake flexibility for peace. To think, “if I just bend a little more, things will stay calm.” But I’ve come to realize that peace without personal truth is not peace—it’s performance. And the longer I perform, the further I drift from the version of myself I once knew.

In childhood, I learned early on to interpret moods, to pivot my behavior, to soothe discomfort in others. That skill has been useful—but also costly. I’ve often wondered: who might I have become if I weren’t always busy adjusting to everyone else’s emotional weather?

Some researchers refer to this as parentification—when a child is placed in the role of caregiver, mediator, or emotional regulator within their family system. Hooper (2007) suggests that this can impair identity development, making it difficult to later recognize one’s own emotional needs. I think I carry echoes of that.

And so, I’m learning—slowly, sometimes clumsily—to find my voice again. Not the agreeable one. Not the reactive one. But the voice that emerges when I’m fully present with myself. The one that stammers when I’m afraid, that trembles when I speak a hard truth, that cracks open when I dare to feel everything.

Lately, I’ve been whispering things out loud when no one’s around. Just to remember the cadence of my own thinking. I’ve started journaling with fewer filters. Even reading poetry aloud in the kitchen, just to feel words that weren’t shaped for anyone else’s approval. It’s strange—but freeing.

It might take time, but I believe we can come home to ourselves. That voice is still here. Beneath the borrowed tones. Beneath the silence. Waiting.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S. Have you ever paused to wonder whose voice you’re using when you speak? If this entry resonates with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment, or connect with me on social.

References

Hatfield, E., Cacioppo, J. T., & Rapson, R. L. (1994). Emotional contagion. Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139174138

Festinger, L. (1957). A theory of cognitive dissonance. Stanford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1515/9781503620766

Hooper, L. M. (2007). The application of attachment theory and family systems theory to the phenomenon of parentification. The Family Journal, 15(3), 217–223. https://doi.org/10.1177/1066480707301290

Title inspired by the song “Breathe Me” by Sia. All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dearest Diary,

A stranger held my gaze today. Not in passing, not the polite glance we offer at grocery store lines or elevator doors. This was different. It lingered. Not confrontational, not flirtatious. Just… still. And I panicked.

I don’t think we talk enough about how unsettling it is to be truly seen. Eye contact, when it lingers past the social script, becomes a kind of mirror. It feels like someone might catch a glimpse of the parts we’re still unsure about. The version of us that doesn’t know all the answers, the flicker of sadness we haven’t named yet, or the quiet longing we hide behind composure.

My instinct was to look away.

But I didn’t. I held the gaze. And it stirred something I can’t fully name yet. I walked away with my heartbeat too loud in my chest. Not because I was afraid of them, but because, for a brief moment, I wondered if they saw me before I did.

According to a 2007 study by Hietanen et al., prolonged eye contact activates areas of the brain associated with emotional processing and social cognition.⁴ It makes us more aware—of others, but especially of ourselves. That’s why it feels so vulnerable. Eye contact isn’t just perception; it’s recognition.

It reminded me how often I perform presence without offering it. I show up with my body, smile on cue, nod at the right moments. But am I truly there? Or am I curating who I think I should be in that space?

There was a time when I thought invisibility was safer. If no one looked too closely, they couldn’t judge what they didn’t understand. But what I didn’t realize is that hiding has a cost: we start to believe we are the version we pretend to be.

Even now, there’s a part of me that flinches at the idea of being seen—not because I don’t want to be known, but because the fear of being judged still lives in me. What if they misunderstand the silence? What if they assign meaning to something I’m still figuring out?

It’s easier to be the observer. The quiet one in the room, scanning the dynamics, knowing more about others than they know about you. But every now and then, someone catches you off guard. They don’t just notice your presence—they look for you. And you find yourself wanting to be found, even if just a little.

There is still a part of me learning how to let others witness my becoming. I don’t always feel brave enough to hold eye contact with the world. But I’m trying. Trying to let my guard down without needing the perfect words. Trying to believe that I don’t have to have it all figured out to be worth seeing.

So eye contact—unfiltered and undesigned—is terrifying. But maybe it’s also healing. It offers a kind of accountability to our inner self. A nudge that says, “Hey, I’m still here. Look at me.”

I don’t want to perform my existence anymore. I want to live it. Which means being seen, even when I’m not polished. Even when I’m uncertain. Even when my eyes betray the steadiness my voice tries to fake.

And maybe that’s the gift of today. A moment that didn’t ask for anything but honesty. Not even words. Just a willingness to not look away.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S. Have you ever had a moment where someone saw you before you did? I’d love to hear about it. Leave a comment or connect with me on socials.

Study Reference:
Hietanen, J. K., Leppanen, J. M., Peltola, M. J., Linna-Aho, K., & Ruuhiala, H. J. (2007). Seeing direct and averted gaze activates the approach-avoidance motivational brain systems. Neuropsychologia, 46(9), 2423–2430.
Link to study

Title inspired by the song “Somebody Else” by The 1975. All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

Pandora's Curio

The day’s end, another moment to reflect. Let's go on a self-discovery journey.

Posts Tagged → Vulnerability

Day 12 – Breathe Me – Sia