When Someone Finally Sees You

Chapter 4: A Private World

Tahlia moved through her day like she always did—smiling at coworkers, gently guiding toddlers through tantrums at the childcare center, making lists in her head of groceries and bills and whose school event was coming up next.

But all day, her secret was with her.

The soft pink bear socks, hidden beneath her black work pants, were the tiniest rebellion. No one else knew. But she did. And somehow, it made her feel just a little more... real.

She’d bought them on a whim during the last frantic shopping trip, wedged between budget bread and discount cereal. At the time, she hadn’t known why. Now she did. They reminded her of something small and safe. Something gentle. Something hers.

At lunch, she sat in her car with the heater running, scrolling her phone again. This time, she was braver. She clicked into a thread titled:

“Starting out as a Little when you’re a parent.”

She read about women who snuck quiet moments of regression between school pickups and dinner. One mother had a special blanket she used when she needed to feel small. Another had a drawer full of pacifiers and plushies her husband helped her choose. One had a secret coloring book she only touched when she needed to cry.

Tahlia bit her lip and clicked “save.”

That night, after the dinner plates were scraped and the last child tucked in, she crept into her bedroom and pulled out her phone again. She ordered a pastel-colored notebook with rainbows on the cover. And a pack of glittery gel pens.

It wasn’t much. But it felt like claiming a piece of something lost.

Marcus sat in the lounge room, watching the late news, completely unaware. When she walked past, he gave her a nod, then looked back at the screen.

They hadn’t spoken much that week. The air between them was thick with things unsaid.

She wanted to tell him. But how do you start a conversation like this?

Hey, I want to feel little. I want you to take care of me like I’m five. Not in a weird way—in a healing way. Please don’t laugh. Please don’t look at me like I’m broken.

She didn’t say it. Not yet.

Instead, she went into the bathroom, locked the door, and ran a bubble bath.

She added too much soap. She lit the lavender candle she kept hidden behind the sink. And when she stepped into the water, she brought a washcloth and pretended it was a plushy.

It wasn’t the same. But it helped.

She laid there, surrounded by bubbles, imagining what it might feel like if someone wrapped her in a towel afterward, dried her hair, and whispered, "You’ve done enough today. You’re allowed to rest."

And in that moment, Tahlia decided: maybe, just maybe, she deserved more than survival.

Maybe she deserved softness, too.