As an author, you need both visibility and the experience of being seen. They aren’t the same—and both matter.
I landed in Paris on Thursday. After dropping off my bags at the apartment I’ll be staying in for the month, I took a walk. Almost immediately, I felt something stir in me—a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time. It took a moment to place it.
I felt seen.
It’s a strange sensation. As a woman over 50 living in the United States, I’ve grown used to a kind of invisibility. In some ways, it’s a relief. But it can also feel like you’re disappearing—like you don’t count, don’t matter. People look through you, as if you no longer exist.
If you ever wanted to become a thief or commit a crime, this is the age to go undetected. Just get older.
Of course, we don’t derive our entire sense of self from how others see us. I have a strong internal compass—I know who I am, without external validation. Still, there’s a quiet sadness in entering this phase of life where you’re no longer seen. Because on a fundamental, human level, being seen is life-affirming.
In Paris, I noticed it right away: I felt seen. Not in a lewd or uncomfortable way—but in an appreciative, respectful way. Especially by men. There was a warmth, a subtle acknowledgement. I’m not suggesting those looks were devoid of desire—but the energy felt different. Not objectifying. Humanizing.
And it wasn’t just men. An older woman caught my eye while I was sitting at a café having breakfast. She stopped to tell me how much she loved my hat—mon chapeau. Just a simple exchange, but I felt noticed. Valued.
That’s different from visibility.
When I sat with the question—what’s the difference between being seen and visibility? — here’s what came to me:
Visibility is about reach. It’s being in front of people, showing up across platforms. It can be bright and attention-grabbing, like neon lights on the Las Vegas Strip. Or it can be consistent and subtle, like showing up every Wednesday in the same space with something meaningful to offer.
Being seen is deeper. It happens on a soul level. It’s the glance from a stranger that says, I see you. It’s the feeling of being recognized and appreciated—not for what you do, but for who you are.
As an author, you need both.
You need to be visible—so readers can discover you. But you also need to be seen—and to see your readers. When a reader feels seen by your book, that’s when it resonates. That’s when it leaves a lasting imprint. It feels like you’ve read their diary, or whispered directly to their inner voice—with compassion, clarity, and knowing.
This is why I have the authors I work with spend so much time crafting their book blueprint. We get crystal clear on who the book is for, what transformation it’s meant to spark, and what format will best serve that outcome—whether it’s a handbook, hybrid memoir, self-help guide, or another type of book. The goal? To make the reader feel like the book was written just for them. To make them feel seen.
Yes, visibility matters. You need to be findable. Your ideal readers need to know your book exists.
Visibility can be bought, outsourced, even AI-assisted.
But being seen—that requires depth. It calls for honesty. It asks you to look inward, and then to look into the eyes of your readers with empathy and understanding.
Have you ever read a book—or hadan experience—that made you feel truly seen?
This post first appeared in my newsletter The Non Fiction Author Lab
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