To Be or Not to Be Seen: A Creative’s Dilemma

An Essay on the Fear of Being Overlooked and the Burden of Being Seen

Is it better to be good at what you do but not acknowledged, or be acknowledged but feel constantly inadequate?

Such a question came to me during my musings over the past week as I became more active on Substack. I remember posting a piece I had worked on for days, feeling both excitement and uncertainty as I hit ‘publish.’ Hours passed, then a day—little engagement, barely any traction. I couldn’t help but wonder: Was it not good enough? Did I miss something? Meanwhile, I saw other writers celebrating milestones, their work resonating widely. It wasn’t jealousy I felt, but a quiet curiosity—what makes something click with an audience? Is it skill, timing, luck? Or something else entirely? While this platform offers a strong support system, some of us inevitably feel like outsiders—I know I am part of that demographic.

Why does this happen? I have no concrete answer. Perhaps someone out there has the statistics to explain what we might be doing wrong when we go unnoticed. The platform is often filled with posts like “10 Ways to Increase Your Subs” or “5 Things You’re Doing Wrong as a Writer.” While these can be helpful to some extent, not everything that works for one person will work for another. Advice should always be taken with a grain of salt.

The Reality of Unrecognized Talent

Now, don’t despair—I have good news: we are not alone in this. In fact, this phenomenon exists in every industry. You’ve likely seen it in your own workplace. A team lead with excellent people skills and business strategies might hit every key metric, yet never receive the recognition they deserve. Perhaps they get some praise, but never the kind reserved for those deemed special. There’s something about those individuals—an aura that makes them stand out while the rest of us must work harder, perfect our craft, and push ourselves just a little further.

Older and wiser voices will tell us, “In due time, you’ll shine.” And while that may be true, there is something about acknowledgment that gnaws at us, haunting us even subconsciously.

Mastery in the Shadows

But while the special ones bask in their recognition, we—the unnoticed—continue honing our skills. Slowly, our storytelling becomes more fluid, our dialogues less forced, our poetry more cohesive. These unnoticed yet brilliant moments mark our growth, and we are the only ones who truly see them. That should hold power. We should have confidence in that. No one else can understand how far we’ve come, and while that may feel lonely, it is also a testament to our mastery.

Of course, recognition may not come in our lifetime. Many great artists were only appreciated long after they were gone. Take Emily Dickinson—she wrote over 1,800 poems, but only a handful were published while she was alive, and even then, they were heavily edited to fit conventional norms. She chose a life of isolation, exploring deeply personal themes of death, immortality, and love. Yet today, her influence is undeniable.

Or consider J.D. Salinger, who, after the success of The Catcher in the Rye, withdrew from public life. He continued writing for his own satisfaction, rarely publishing. His retreat from the spotlight suggests that for some, writing isn’t about external validation but personal fulfillment.

It’s ironic that, even in our modern age, countless creatives with extraordinary talent remain unrecognized—artists whose work truly deserves to be seen and celebrated. I sometimes muse to myself: Is this the inevitable tragedy of being a creative? A fate we cannot escape?

The Burden of Recognition

On the flip side, those who achieve recognition often battle imposter syndrome. They feel pressured to outdo the work that made them famous, struggling under the weight of expectations. Their art is no longer just self-expression—it is scrutinized, measured, and compared. In any profession, we see this pattern: “Why can’t you achieve the same numbers as before?”

In moments like this, I wonder—perhaps the real burden of recognition is simply being known. Your identity becomes public, making you susceptible to scrutiny. And scrutiny is not always about the art itself; sometimes, it is a judgment of the artist as a whole. The line between creator and creation begins to blur, and instead of appreciation for the miracle of what you’ve made, you become the subject of critique—sometimes unfairly.

And so, the stress mounts, the creative process suffers, and what once brought joy can become a source of dread. For artists, this is especially devastating. The fear of peaking and never reaching that height again can be paralyzing. And I cannot imagine hating the one thing I am most passionate about.

Finding Balance

So, how do we navigate this? The key lies in balancing self-validation with external recognition. While acknowledgment can be affirming, true contentment comes from within. In a world driven by validation, we must remind ourselves that it should never be the why behind our art. It should not dictate our creativity or define our growth. And I know—this is easier said than done. After all, we are human, prone to self-doubt or, in some cases, overconfidence.

If I am being honest, perhaps the best way to navigate this is to maintain anonymity—to let our work speak for itself, free from the weight of perception and first impressions. In doing so, we may lose the glory of being known and admired. There is pride in seeing our name attached to what we have created—an addicting sensation when people marvel and whisper praises. You see, anonymity strips away expectations, granting creatives the freedom to express themselves without the weight of perception, the risk of distortion, or the pressure to conform. It allows the art to exist on its own, without the creator becoming the subject.

So, if glory and recognition are what we seek, the question stands: How do we achieve this balance? We have no control over when or if recognition will come. Are we among the special few? How can we know? I wish I had all the answers—I ask myself the same questions.

But here’s what I do know: we do not create to provide answers. We create to provide experience, to offer new perspectives. What society may deem ugly can be made beautiful through our lens. A single idea can inspire another artist to take it further, making something even greater. Art, in its truest form, is innovation.

Thus, as creatives, we must remain grounded in our work and accept that we will never be full masters of our craft. And there is pride in that. Recognition may come early, late, or never at all, but success is not about being seen or heard by the world.

It is about being seen and heard by your truest self.