For so long, everyone could see—everyone but me.
Friends, acquaintances, even strangers would mention the eyes.
They’d say there was a coldness, a discomfort, an uneasiness in the way he looked at them.
An emotionless face.
A cold demeanour.
Body language that pushed people away.
A lack of social skills that left rooms feeling heavy.

And while they saw it from the start, I explained it away. I made excuses—he’s tired, stressed, misunderstood. I tried to fill the silence with my own energy, my own warmth. That’s how I ended up doing most things alone.

Maybe, in a strange way, that was preparation.
Preparation for knowing I can be on my own.
Preparation for discovering that I don’t need to apologise for someone else’s shadows.

Neuroscience tells us that our brains adapt to the environments we live in—sometimes so well that we stop noticing what’s harmful. The amygdala (our threat detector) can be lulled into ignoring warning signs when we’re emotionally invested. We literally train our brains to overlook what others see clearly.

But here’s the beauty: neuroplasticity works both ways. Just as we learned to ignore red flags, we can learn to notice green ones—the warmth in kind eyes, the comfort of healthy company, the joy of being in spaces where we feel safe.

Now, I don’t make excuses for coldness.
I embrace just being me.
And that, I’ve learned, is more than enough.