There are certain wounds that bleed in silence. Wounds that aren’t easy to explain to people who haven’t walked through the same fire. One of them is this: the deep, piercing pain of not being loved out loud.

It’s a pain that doesn’t always come with tears. Sometimes it’s just a quiet ache in your chest. A slow-burning loneliness that rises every time your phone lights up with a message that ends in, “Keep this between us.” Or when you show up for someone again and again, but they never show you off, never claim you in the light.

You start to wonder:

Am I asking for too much?

But this isn’t about vanity. It’s not about needing to be someone’s Instagram post or holding hands in public just for show. This is about visibility. It’s about truth. It’s about healing.

And for survivors of incest, being kept a secret in a romantic relationship doesn’t just sting—it shatters.

The Wound Beneath the Surface

If you are an incest survivor, you’ve already carried a secret that was too heavy for your body. You were made to hold someone else’s shame. You were silenced. Conditioned to believe that your pain wasn’t real. That love meant secrecy. That being chosen meant being hidden. That being wanted meant being used.

And now, in adulthood, when someone you love tells you—directly or indirectly—that you’re not to be seen, that they’re not ready to make your relationship public, it cuts open something ancient.

This is not just about the now. It’s about every moment back then that you couldn’t cry out for help. Every time you were told to smile and act normal. Every time your suffering was swallowed whole to protect someone else’s comfort.

To be kept hidden today can reawaken those ghosts from the past.

Let’s name what it stirs.

Shame Resurfacing: “I Am Something to Be Hidden”

One of the most insidious lies that incest plants deep inside us is this: You are shameful. You are wrong. You are to blame.

When a partner refuses to acknowledge the relationship publicly, it doesn’t just hurt your feelings—it triggers a lifetime of internalized shame. That same narrative begins to whisper again:

Your love is shameful. Your presence is unwanted. You are not meant to be seen.

Even if you know better with your logical mind, your nervous system remembers. It remembers what it was like to be touched in the dark and told not to tell. To live a double life—one where you had to pretend everything was okay while dying on the inside.

So now, when someone keeps your relationship a secret, your body doesn’t just feel “hurt.” It feels exposed. Vulnerable. Ashamed. As if the truth of you must once again be tucked away to protect someone else’s image.

Abandonment and Rejection: “I’m Not Worth Claiming”

Being kept a secret can feel like emotional abandonment.

It may look like casual denial: “I just don’t like to post about my personal life.” Or, “I’m not ready to go public yet.” But what your nervous system hears is:

You’re not important enough. I’m not proud of you. You’re not safe to stand beside me in the light.

For someone who already carries abandonment wounds—especially those rooted in childhood betrayal—this can feel devastating. You might find yourself asking:

Why am I never the one who gets chosen openly? Why am I always the secret?

The fear of not being “enough” starts clawing at your insides. You may even begin to shrink yourself, contort yourself, overextend yourself—just to finally be chosen.

But love that makes you disappear is not love that heals.

Invalidation: “My Feelings Are Too Much Again”

Survivors of incest are often gaslit—by abusers, by family members, by culture itself. So many of us were told our memories were lies, our boundaries were selfish, our pain was inconvenient.

Now, when you bring up how the secrecy in your current relationship makes you feel unsafe or small, you might be met with dismissal:

• “It’s not a big deal.”
• “You’re overreacting.”
• “You’re being insecure.”

This can feel like emotional time travel—right back to the moments when your truth was ignored or twisted. You begin to question your own perceptions. Again.

Maybe I’m the problem. Maybe I’m too sensitive. Maybe this is what I deserve.

No. You are not too much. Your feelings are real. And your desire to be publicly loved is not a weakness—it’s a human need.

Powerlessness: “I Don’t Get to Choose How I’m Loved”

Incest strips children of their autonomy. It teaches them that their bodies are not their own, their voices don’t matter, and their boundaries are negotiable.

In adulthood, when a partner dictates the terms of visibility—when they decide who gets to know about your relationship, how it’s talked about, or if it’s acknowledged at all—it can reawaken those early feelings of powerlessness.

You may feel voiceless. Controlled. Like the love you’re receiving isn’t really for you—but for the version of you they want to keep behind closed doors.

That’s not just painful. It’s retraumatizing.

Hypervigilance and Anxiety: “What Are They Hiding?”

Secrecy can breed suspicion. If someone won’t be open about you, your trauma-trained mind might begin spiraling:

Are they seeing someone else? Are they ashamed of me? Are they lying about who I am in their life?

Even if the relationship is otherwise stable, the lack of transparency can trigger deep anxiety and mistrust. Especially if your past involved gaslighting or emotional manipulation.

You may become hyper-aware of tone shifts, text responses, social media patterns—anything that could signal betrayal. This isn’t because you’re paranoid. It’s because your body has learned that danger often hides behind smiles and sweet words.

You’re trying to protect yourself. And that deserves compassion.

Low Self-Worth: “I’m Not Good Enough to Be Seen”

When someone won’t claim you, it’s hard not to take it personally. Your inner critic begins to howl:

You’re not pretty enough. Not smart enough. Not lovable enough. If you were better, they’d be proud to show you off.

You may start comparing yourself to others—especially to the people they do acknowledge. You may spiral into shame, trying to prove your worth by doing more, loving harder, staying longer than you should.

But your worth is not up for debate. It is not dependent on someone else’s comfort or capacity.

Being hidden is not a reflection of your inadequacy. It is a reflection of their unhealed parts.

Loneliness: “I’m Here, But No One Sees Me”

There is a particular loneliness in being with someone who keeps you in the shadows. You may be together all the time—talking, texting, sharing your heart—but if no one else knows, it can feel like you don’t exist.

That ache is compounded for survivors who have fought to reclaim their voice. Who have clawed their way out of secrecy. Who have chosen truth, even when it cost them everything.

To go back into hiding isn’t just painful. It’s soul-wounding.

Because you’re not just being asked to dim your light—you’re being asked to betray your own becoming.

What This Pain Reveals

This pain is valid. It is sacred. It is pointing you back to your truth.

Your trauma may try to convince you that silence is safety. That secrecy is love. But real love doesn’t ask you to disappear.

You deserve to be seen. Not because of what you offer or how “healed” you are—but simply because you exist. Because your story matters. Because your love is not something to be ashamed of.

You are not someone’s dirty little secret. You are someone’s miracle.

So What Now?

If this post has stirred something in you—an old ache, a fresh heartbreak—I invite you to pause.

Put your hand over your heart. Take a breath. And let yourself grieve.

Grieve the parts of you that were taught to accept crumbs. Grieve the relationships that made you feel invisible. Grieve the younger version of you who stayed silent to survive.

And then—if you’re ready—begin to reclaim the truth:

• You are not “too much” for wanting to be acknowledged.
• You are not “needy” for wanting to be seen.
• You are not “insecure” for wanting to feel secure.

Those are basic needs. Not burdens.

Finding Safety Again

You do not have to walk this road alone.

If your current relationship feels unsafe or triggering, consider working with a trauma-informed therapist. They can help you unravel the knots between past and present, and support you in building relationships that affirm your worth.

You might also seek out a survivor community—a space where you don’t have to explain yourself. Where your pain is believed, your needs are respected, and your healing is celebrated.

At Holey House, we know that healing doesn’t always come in big revelations. Sometimes, it comes in the quiet decision to stop hiding. To speak your truth. To believe you deserve more—even when your trauma says otherwise.

A Final Word to the One Still in the Shadows

If you’re reading this and thinking, This is me, I want you to know:

You are not crazy. You are not broken. You are not asking for too much.

You are simply waking up to the reality that your love deserves light.

That you were never meant to be a secret. That your body, your heart, your story were never meant to be hidden.

So keep healing. Keep choosing yourself. Keep moving toward relationships that feel like sunlight.

You are not something to be ashamed of.

You are something sacred to be loved out loud.