Fear of Being Seen
“My fear of being real, of being seen, paralyzes me into silence. I crave the touch and the connection, but I’m not always brave enough to open my hand and reach out. This is the great challenge: to be seen, accepted, and loved, I must first reveal, offer, and surrender.”
―Anna White,Mended: Thoughts on Life, Love, and Leaps of Faith
Bell Rock in Sedona, Arizona, USA
November 10th, 2025
📍Salida, Colorado, USA 🇺🇸
Greetings from the wilderness!
I'm tired today. I haven't been sleeping well because of night sweats. I'm normally a really good sleeper (just ask my Oura ring), but these new estrogen transdermal patches I'm on have been throwing my systems into whack. I was feeling great going into October, after recently starting Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT) post-hysterectomy. But I clearly haven't found the right mixture yet.
Next, I'm going to try hormone pellet therapy, something I have already looked into starting once I'm back in Mexico. After spending thousands of dollars on doctors, blood work, and supplements this year, I will be one of the 1.4 to 3 million people per year who travel to Latin America as medical tourists (40-60% of those individuals coming from the US).
When I started this blog and my nomadic travels, I promised myself and you that I would not sugarcoat or choose only the Instagrammable moments to share. I wanted to tell the truth—the whole messy, holy, human truth. The wins and the weariness. The sacred and the sweating. Because everything we experience is a potential source of wisdom. And right now, in this season of life, I’m learning about menopause.
No makeup covering the perioral dermatitis
The vain parts of me are struggling to watch my body change so quickly—and so far beyond my control. While I'm proud of how the photos from my Sedona photo shoot turned out (pictures above), I’m also aware that I was wearing heavy makeup to hide a stubborn case of hormonal perioral dermatitis, worsened by SPF, heat, and stress.
My hair is thinning. The skin on my neck is sagging. My nails are now brittle. None of these things defines me or my worth, yet they still get under my skin—literally and figuratively. Lord, forgive me my vanity.
Much of this road trip through the American Southwest has been an excavation—walking through the valley of the shadow with Jesus once again. Another dark night of the soul that began during my COVID delirium.
Nothing has been off the table. Everything hiding in fear's shadow is being brought into the Light. And if I'm honest, I don't like all that I see. Menopause is revealing that I still have more layers of body-image wounds to heal—and that my people-pleasing tendencies still have more power over me than I'd like to admit.
Slide Rock State Park, Sedona, Arizona
This winter will be a descent—a season to dig deep into the hidden parts of myself, to turn inward, to let the mountains and their darkness hold me as I face my own.
I know this residual fear of being fully seen—in my truth, in my body, in my voice—has kept me playing small. But next year is calling me into expansion, into more trust, into a bolder embodiment of what I've been cultivating all along on my healing journey. These mirrors I face are preparing me for what's to come. Without this uncomfortable erosion process, I wouldn't have the Self-awareness to steward the coming abundance well.
Growth is painful. But growth means life. And my heart is grateful that I don't walk through this dark night of my soul alone. My Creator is with me, even here, whispering Love through the cracks.
With Love, unconditionally—
Jennifer
P.S.—To my sisters walking this peri-menopause/menopause path—drop me a note in the comments. I'd love to hear about your journey through this threshold season. How are you holding up in the process? 👇
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