The Person I Became When Nobody Was Watching

Today, I was completely lost.

So I decided to draw.

I opened my sketchbook, picked up my colours, and started painting a woman sitting quietly on the floor, with her knees pulled close to her chest.

And yes...

I drew her naked.

Now I can almost hear you asking me:

“Ateet, are you that vulgar?”

“Why would you draw a naked woman?”

“Isn't that disgusting?”

Maybe, if you only look at the painting.

But look at her again.

There is no makeup on her face.

No jewellery.

No expensive clothes.

Nothing to make her look prettier.

Nothing to hide the parts of her she might be insecure about.

Just a woman.

Completely herself.

And maybe that's exactly what I wanted to draw.

Because isn't that what we do every day?

We put something on before we let the world see us.

Makeup.

Nice clothes.

A smile.

Confidence.

Sometimes even a completely different personality.

We spend so much time making ourselves look beautiful from the outside that we forget to ask:

“What is happening inside?”

I didn't realize it at first, but while I was drawing that woman, I wasn't really thinking about her.

I was thinking about me.

And that's where this story actually begins.

You might be wondering...

“Okay, Ateet. But why are you telling me all this?”

Honestly?

I didn't plan to.

I was only supposed to draw a picture.

Drink my tea.

Maybe listen to some music.

And forget whatever was going on inside my head.

But then I looked at that woman again.

She looked so free.

She wasn't trying to impress anyone.

She wasn't worried about whether someone would call her beautiful.

She wasn't wondering whether someone would love her.

She was just sitting there...

being herself.

And suddenly I wanted to know something.

When was the last time I was completely myself?

Not the version of me my friends know.

Not the version I show people outside.

Not the version that laughs, talks, jokes and says, “I'm fine.”

I mean the real one.

The one who comes out when the door closes, the phone stops ringing, and nobody is watching.

Who was that person?

I honestly didn't know anymore.

So I did something strange.

I put my pencil down...

walked to my old things...

and opened my diary.

I hadn't read those pages in a long time.

And maybe I should have left them closed.

Because the moment I started reading, I didn't feel like I was reading my diary anymore.

It felt like I was meeting an old version of myself.

A version I had tried very hard to forget.

And the first thing I found was one simple sentence:

“Life isn't easy.”

I stared at those four words for a long time.

Because I remembered exactly who had written them.

Me.

The person who had spent so many nights crying silently.

The person who had sat on the bathroom floor under the shower because he didn't want anyone to hear him cry.

The person who had spent nights thinking about people who probably weren't thinking about him at all.

The person who kept asking:

“What's wrong with me?”

“Why don't people like me?”

“Why don't I look like everyone else?”

“Will anyone ever love me?”

And eventually...

“How much longer can I keep doing this?”

I turned the page.

And that's when I realized something that scared me.

I wasn't reading a diary.

I was reading evidence of the person I had become when nobody was watching.

And maybe...

you have a version of yourself like that too.

The one nobody knows.

The one who cries after everyone has gone to sleep.

The one who smiles outside and falls apart inside.

The one who keeps saying “I'm okay” because explaining the truth feels much harder.

Maybe you've met that person too.

I know I have.

And this...

is what I found when I finally stopped running from

 them.

I turned another page.

This one was about how badly I wanted people to like me.

I used to change myself so easily. If someone didn't like the way I looked, I questioned myself. If someone misunderstood me, I thought I must have done something wrong.

And when someone left?

I blamed myself.

Was I really that difficult to love?

That question stayed with me for years.

I hated the way I looked. I thought I was too fat, too unattractive, too different. Whenever I went somewhere, I felt like I was the person who didn't belong.

But then I started noticing something.

Some of the most beautiful people I knew were unhappy too.

And that's when I wondered—

If a beautiful face can't guarantee happiness, why was I treating my face like the reason for all my problems?

Maybe I wasn't ugly.

Maybe I had simply spent too many years looking at myself through other people's eyes.

And love wasn't any easier.

I wanted someone to choose me so badly that, for a while, I started searching for love instead of living my life. I downloaded dating apps, hoping someone would make me feel wanted.

Instead, I ended up in situations that hurt me even more. Someone even tried to take advantage of me.

That night, I looked at myself and thought:

“I was so desperate to be loved that I forgot to protect myself.”

And that was the moment something finally clicked.

What if nobody chose me?

Could I choose myself?

It wasn't a dramatic transformation.

I didn't suddenly wake up loving myself.

I just started doing little things differently.

I stopped begging people to understand me.

I stopped changing myself for every person who entered my life.

And slowly, I became comfortable with the idea that not everyone has to like me.

Because I finally understood something:

Being unwanted by someone doesn't make you unlovable.

Sometimes, it simply means...

they weren't your person.

I closed my diary for a moment and looked back at the girl I had drawn.

She was still sitting there, completely unhidden.

And I smiled.

Because maybe I hadn't drawn her to show her beauty.

Maybe I had drawn her to remind myself that I don't need to hide anymore.