How I learned to be seen.

The story behind the praise—and the boy underneath it.

Hey, it's Sunday Morning.

"Terrific."

I heard that word so many times early in my career it made me blush. Strange, isn’t it? A word that once meant terror has come to mean excellence.

But I wasn’t always “terrific.”

In elementary school, learning came easy. No homework marathons, no extra projects—I just showed up, paid attention, and things clicked. I was the kid teachers liked.

Then high school happened. I was terrible, and I fell apart.

I tanked classes, and my grades dropped sharply. So I adjusted by making people laugh, acting the fool, and becoming the class clown. Disruptive, loud, funny—whatever it took to fit in.

Eventually, I became so skilled at disappearing into the background that I forgot what it felt like to be seen. But hiding can only last so long. The jokester ran out of tricks, and my GPA wasn’t laughing.

In college, I changed. I became more serious, focused, and dedicated. Hard work became my new facade, and it gained recognition. It helped me get through university, into my career, and climb the ladder.

“Terrific,” they called me.

But I started to wonder—what if the praise wasn’t for me, but for the performance?

What if I stopped trying so hard to blend in?

What if I just stood still long enough to be seen?

It took years, but I made it. I survived—not because I was exceptional, but because I was honest with myself and others. I stopped hiding behind the hustle, blending into the crowd, and I started showing up as my true self.

We spend so much time trying to blend in with the herd. But that’s the thing about your stripes: they’re not for hiding, they’re for standing out.

This letter is a reminder, maybe also for you, that we don’t need to disappear to feel safe. We don’t survive by hiding — we survive by being visible.

So here’s my question for you this Sunday Morning: When was the last time you paused long enough to be truly seen?