Blinded by the Light
As you step into this piece, notice what begins to open inside. You may find the light you’ve been looking for… was there all along.
As you read this quietly to yourself or listen to me read it to you, notice how the light changes within—and shifts between.
When I was a little kid, I would often build forts and hide. The goal was that I could see others, but they couldn't see me. And if they did, I had a way to escape and hide again.
I still play that game—not to hide, but to help those who have something inside that is still hiding… to feel safe enough to be found.
After all, I always knew that little boy wanted to be seen—but had to hide. He didn’t know he was dimming the light within, so he wouldn’t lose the hope of being loved.
I guess a lot of people do that these days—not just kids, but the adults they’ve become. Some have gotten pretty good at it—and it's often hard to tell if they’re still hiding or speaking the truth.
Sometimes they don't even know it themselves—hiding behind their words, or a special Springsteen song about searching for the light in all the wrong places—instead of within.
They learn early on that to be seen can have negative consequences—feeling judged and put down. Sadly, as time goes on, some don’t want to see what really happened. Instead, they feel responsible for the pain… that they’ve done something wrong—and abandon themselves.
To make things worse, some might see those who are hiding in negative terms and give them a label that describes what they do, not who they are—or what they carry inside. Some may take it a step further and call them a hurtful name. Either way, it says more about the one sending the message than the person receiving it—but that often goes unseen.
Whatever way you look at it, some may use the light to cover up or bypass the pain—but that can also be a way of hiding. It may work temporarily, but it doesn’t resolve the problem. And it often creates another one… a problem that becomes even harder to face.
Sometimes we get blinded—not by darkness, but by light we don’t yet understand or know how to feel… even in children who learn differently than others—but are still gifted in many ways that can be hard to see.
Many of these kids also learn how to hide as adults… and no one ever knew they just wanted to be seen, even if they were different—especially by those they expected to protect and help them.
Becoming invisible, inside and out, often becomes the best way to protect themselves from the shame of having a label—one that blinds others, who may never see them the same way again.
I hope you can see that there are many twists and turns in this hiding game, depending on where you’re sitting in the room, and how the light is hitting you. Perhaps you can see someone close to your heart—even yourself—or are thinking about another way of hiding I’ve not mentioned here.
Like a lot of the work I do these days, the best way to truly understand this is to look in the mirror—and to notice what our words light up within and between—through space and time.
I write as a way to help us look at ourselves so we understand our own pain before we try to help others with theirs. You don’t have to be a therapist to be kind and compassionate—and support someone in need. Even if we get lost, we all know the way—by heart.
In the moment, I can feel myself slowing down—in body and mind, not just aging, but feeling the inner growth and wisdom that come with age and experience. I imagine that I’m right there with you… and we’re doing this work together, not necessarily as your therapist, just a fellow traveler… trying to be human, feeling the love in my heart.
As you sit with my words, I encourage you to look inside and tune into what you’re experiencing. You may notice some fear… maybe sadness. You might even feel some anger… or shame. Hopefully, there’s also some joy and love. There’s a lot to this story of ourselves—happening between the lines.
That’s where a lot of people tend to get lost or hide, but for me, that’s what I like to bring to light… layer by layer. I know you know there is something inside you that wants to live in the light and doesn't want to stay stuck in the darkness of the past. But the little ones living within don’t always know that, yet.
That's the thing… When hard things happen growing up, and the adults aren’t listening in the way we expect and need, or don't seem to care, we get locked in time and space.
It’s like we get stuck with the same thoughts and feelings we experienced back then—even if we only felt them in our bodies, often coming up later with the words: no one really cares… what I feel doesn't matter—I’m alone.
Sadly, many kids have a lot of light, but the adults in their life have a hard time seeing it—somehow feeling like it will blind them if they do.
At times, it can feel like an endless cycle of despair and trauma that will carry from generation to generation, where we keep coming up with more and more ways to block the light—making it even harder to feel and think… and connect to our humanness.
Despite the growing number of diagnoses and treatments for this kind of “light blindness,” the wounded parts inside keep reminding us that there’s something more underneath that we aren’t seeing or feeling.
If we stop listening to what the part is trying to say, we lose sight of the meaning of the symptoms—and what is still there, regardless of what we call it.
Sometimes it’s just hard to connect the dots. And it affects how we handle things in our lives—like relationships, our jobs, our health…especially our own kids who have a hard time being alone and letting us hide. Even when bombs are dropping and people are dying in front of our eyes, it’s hard for some to connect the dots—and see the light.
I know… how bad it can feel when that happens as it often sneaks up on us with no warning—or we feel something unexplainable in our bodies.
Maybe that's happening now—or it's hard to read this, and you’re not sure why. Or you know why, and it’s just hard to do anything—like being frozen in time.
That’s not as bad as it sounds. I think of it as a door opening inside—but it can be really hard if a lot of doors open at once. It’s like the Museum of You, a video zine my son Adam started before the pandemic—but had to pause until he resumed on Zoom. I still hold the hope that more people will see it—and in doing so, see the light inside themselves.
For me, some of the rooms are about things that happened to us, while others are about things we need that we didn't even know we were missing.
You might want to pause a bit and think about that—or better yet, notice what you’re feeling inside.
As many of you know, it gets harder to hide as our lives get more complicated. That’s often what brings people into my office, where I try to help them open the doors to their museum and explore the rooms—so they can find the treasures buried deep inside.
You may feel like you’re going crazy—but that's not who you are, and it doesn’t mean you’ll feel that way forever. I truly believe we all have the light inside. That's our Core Self, that knows that the darkness is just a sign that the light is close by. It helps us hold the hope in the middle of a storm.
As I often say, the work of life is like going out on the ocean and riding the waves. But it's important to know that someone is there with you, and will help you get back to shore if the winds kick up and you lose your way. That’s also our Core Self, the light inside that is always there—guiding the way.
Life isn't a video game. We can learn to tap into our natural vision inside where we can trust ourselves and know that the truth holds strong.
Yeah… I know this is a lot to digest. It might help to turn off some your devices, and notice the quiet. Maybe do a little knitting—inside and out. We’re all human and it’s not about being perfect. There’s a lot going on, and we all miss a stitch from time to time. We are all perfectly human and our beauty shines from within—despite the holes in our tapestry.
You get the point—I'm just giving you the instructions to this game, or the roadmap, but I know that even setting the stage is part of the experience and can get things rolling downhill—too fast.
Slow it down. Life is a marathon and we need to pace ourselves. Whether that's the case or not, just go back to your breath, so you can remember who you are and what you’re learning about yourself from this experience we’re having together.
I may not know exactly what’s happening with you, but I want you to know I’m feeling courageous and vulnerable at the same time, and believe that you have the same light inside you.
That’s what I call the light of invisibility, my way of helping people connect with their Core Self, to shine a healing light on their trauma—transforming the darkness into light—in a real way that will stick.
In the moment, I imagine the kid I spoke about at the beginning of this story feeling good about what I'm saying, and no longer wanting to be stuck in the past—hiding up in a tree.
If you look closely from a different angle, you might even see a few others up there you recognize. They’re still blinded by the light and are looking for a safe way home. I think that kid is tying his shoelaces, getting ready to take the leap—but he just wants to check if he can trust me first… Smart kid.
It’s the moment where he knows that I see him, and he can't hide anymore. We’ve been there before. I think he needs to know that he lives in my heart. I'm not just feeling sad about what happened to him, but I'm feeling the sadness he has lived with inside myself. It feels real now. I can feel the love in my heart surrounded by the light—and that helps him know that I see him… and he’s not alone anymore.
I’m imagining the little guy, around 7 or 8 years old—bringing him into my heart. I look him in the eyes and, with a smile, say… “tuna fish.”
That’s it—two words are the key to opening the door inside. He loved tuna fish sandwiches as a kid, and I still do. I hear a familiar giggle… and then I burp. We laugh together. Something settles in my body. The trust is there—and suddenly it feels like the child is quiet.
I know he’s in my heart now—and I’m driving the car, with the dashboard lit up brightly. I’m strangely calm… but getting hungry.
I hear the words in my head as I connect to my Core Self: “I know, it’s sad. I'm listening better now. The child lives in my heart with the others I love and cherish, and there’s no need to go off and hide anymore. That would be like hiding from myself—my Core Self, the person I was born to be.“
Taking a breath to feel the quiet, the words flow naturally, as I gaze lovingly into the child’s eyes: “Hey, Little Cec, thanks for being a great kid. You have a big heart—always trying to help those in need. Sorry you had to go through so much on your own. I’m here now, the man you grew up to be.”
Bathing in the silence, I continue… “There's a lot going on right now. Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. You live in my heart. Since you are me, I'm pretty great too. And I know now that doesn't mean I have to be blind to be safe in the world. Real safety comes from being able to see the light inside ourselves—and others.”
I hope those reading or listening know that even if you’re alone, it doesn’t mean you’re hiding or lost. You can think of me writing to you in the light, so you’ll always remember that you’re not alone—and your little ones inside can come out of the tree when they’re ready.
I hear some familiar echoes in the distance: “Ready or not… here I come. I’ve got you—no longer hidden in plain sight—or blinded by what once looked like light.”
I respond, “We’re alive and living in the light of invisibility. You don’t have to fear the light when you know it lives inside.”
Take this message into your life and pass it forward. Make it your own. Don’t worry if you need to go back to the tree. Just know… I’ll be here in the light when you return—helping you cultivate and celebrate your presence… so you can see it better tomorrow.
Thank you for joining me on this journey. Here’s a question to chew on as we come to the end of this time together, so the light can continue to burn brightly within and between: What did you learn about me today?
When you answer this question, I think you’ll discover something about yourself as well—no longer blinded by the light, feeling the container of our light within and between instead.
Even if you can’t feel it yet, I’ll still be holding the light—trusting it is always there… inside both of us and around the world.
Gratitude: In appreciation of those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine. Hats off to my son, Adam Cecil, and his many wonderful creations over the years. If you’d like to see more, here’s the first episode of Spacebook, a series he created years earlier—now living within the Museum of You on YouTube:
It is very much him—and his dear friend, who has also become one of mine.
Confidentiality note: This story is a composite of many of our stories. Any resemblance to your own life or our shared experience is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.
About the author: Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated-experiential model grounded in our capacity for adaptive change to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.