Privacy, Hiding, and the Spaces In Between

At what point does being private become hiding?

I have been thinking about this question lately, particularly as I consider returning to a space I deliberately stepped away from some time ago.

Social media.

There was no dramatic exit, no announcement, no particular incident that made me decide I had had enough. I simply stopped showing up. And the longer I stayed away, the less inclined I was to return.

I enjoyed the quiet. I still do.

There is something deeply satisfying about living through experiences without feeling the need to document them for an audience. To celebrate milestones without announcing them. To do meaningful work, enjoy the satisfaction that comes with it, and move on to the next thing.

For a long time, I thought nothing of this. Until recently.

I began reflecting on some of the opportunities I have had and the things I have been privileged to be part of over the years.

Not long ago, I worked on a book that was eventually launched at an event attended by some very distinguished personalities. It was an interesting experience, one I thoroughly enjoyed. I cannot share much about the project because of a confidentiality agreement, and that is perfectly understandable.

But there have been other experiences without such restrictions.

I worked on a documentary exploring the sexual and reproductive health of women who use drugs. I was involved in its production and even lent my voice to the narration. It was an important piece of work, telling stories that are often overlooked and bringing attention to realities that deserve far more consideration than they receive.

The documentary premiered.

And I barely said a word about it.

Not because I wasn’t proud of the work. I was. Not because I thought it unimportant. Quite the opposite.

I simply didn’t feel the need to share.

And that is where my questions began.

Why didn’t I share? And perhaps more importantly, why should I have?

I have always believed that an experience does not become more meaningful because other people know about it. An achievement does not become less significant because it wasn’t announced. Some of life’s most beautiful moments happen away from cameras, applause and public acknowledgement.

I still believe that.

But I am beginning to wonder whether there is a difference between being comfortable with privacy and becoming so accustomed to invisibility that one no longer considers the possibility of being seen.

Could something that began as a conscious choice gradually become a habit?

And could that habit, however comfortable, eventually become a limitation?

I don’t know.

I think about how easily we encourage people to put themselves out there. To build visibility, tell their stories, showcase their work and create opportunities by allowing others to see what they do.

There is merit in that advice. I know this, particularly because I work in communications. I understand the value of storytelling, visibility and the opportunities that can come from both.

The irony is not lost on me.

I spend a considerable part of my professional life helping people and organisations tell their stories, communicate their value and make their work visible. Yet, when it comes to my own experiences, I am often content to leave them undocumented.

Perhaps that is contentment.

Perhaps it is habit.

Or perhaps it is a little of both.

There is also the question of what we lose when we choose not to share. Not necessarily in terms of attention or recognition, but in the conversations we never start, the people we might have encouraged, the connections we might have made and the opportunities that may never present themselves because nobody knew what we had to offer.

Still, I am reluctant to accept the idea that everything meaningful must be made visible to be valuable.

Surely, there must be room for people who simply want to live without constantly narrating their lives.

And perhaps there is an even more uncomfortable question beneath all of this.

Is hiding always a bad thing?

We often speak of hiding as though it must come from fear, insecurity or a lack of confidence. But what if sometimes it comes from a genuine desire to protect what is personal? What if being unseen is not an indication that someone is afraid to be seen?

Then again, how does one tell the difference?

How do you know when you are protecting your peace and when you are simply avoiding the discomfort of putting yourself out there?

I haven’t quite figured that out.

What I do know is that I miss writing. I miss putting my thoughts into words, exploring questions without necessarily arriving at answers, and having conversations that begin with nothing more than curiosity.

Perhaps that is what this return is really about.

Not an attempt to become more visible for visibility’s sake. Not a sudden desire to document every experience or turn my life into content.

Just a willingness to share a little more of the thoughts, experiences and conversations I might otherwise have kept to myself.

So, I am considering TikTok. Of all places.

And I find that rather amusing.

Maybe I will enjoy it. Maybe I will discover that I still prefer the quiet. Maybe I will find a comfortable place somewhere between the two.

For now, I am not particularly interested in deciding.

I am simply curious.

And perhaps curiosity is as good a reason as any to begin.

After all, being private and being present need not be mutually exclusive.