The Gaze That Does Not Turn Away
On Shame, Recognition, and the Other Person’s Capacity to Remain
Shame seeks the gaze and fears it at the same time.
A person who feels shame may long to be seen while doing everything possible to avoid visibility. The gaze is lowered. The face is hidden behind the hair. The body contracts. A cushion is held in front of the chest. The words become brief.
Do not look at me.
But also not:
Leave me.
This duality recurs throughout the conversations that formed the foundation of my doctoral dissertation, A Study of Shame. People who had been subjected to sexual abuse described not only shame about what had happened. They feared that the shame had become visible in them—that others could see the uncleanness, weakness, or damaged person they believed themselves to be.
The helper did not necessarily see the same thing.
She saw a person who had been subjected to violation.
The person feared that she saw someone whose very presence was disturbing to look at.
Between these two gazes, a decisive space emerges.
Can a person slowly learn to see herself differently because another person sees her—and does not turn away?
Shame’s Imagined Spectator
Shame may arise when we are exposed in the gaze of another.
We do something foolish.
We stumble.
We are corrected in public.
We say something we immediately regret.
The face grows warm. We want the ground to swallow us. For a moment, we see ourselves as we imagine others see us.
But the deep shame that follows abuse is not always tied to a single situation.
The gaze may move into the person.
The other does not need to be physically present. The person monitors herself from an imagined outside perspective.
What do I look like?
Can they tell that something is wrong?
Can they see what happened?
Can they read the story in my body?
The person thus becomes both the one who lives and the one who watches herself living.
She sits at the table and sees herself from outside.
She enters a room and evaluates how her body appears.
She tells something and simultaneously watches the listener’s face.
The gaze of shame is therefore not merely an external gaze.
It becomes an inner spectator that repeatedly whispers:
Now they see you as you truly are.
When the Other Is Assumed to Feel Disgust
Shame often attributes particular feelings to the other person.
She thinks I am disgusting.
He is repulsed.
They regret letting me in.
The person may be so certain of this that the other person’s actual response barely matters.
A friendly gaze is interpreted as pity.
A professional expression as rehearsed technique.
A pause as disgust.
A question as suspicion.
Shame creates its own interpretation of the encounter.
It says:
You do not know the real me.
If you did, you too would turn away.
In this way, shame protects itself from contradiction. Any sign may be used as proof that it is right.
If the helper is moved, the story was too much.
If the helper remains calm, she does not understand the seriousness.
If she says something kind, she says it only because she is paid to be kind.
A person may therefore be surrounded by recognition without being able to receive it.
The Gaze That Once Turned the Body into an Object
Abuse is not only about touch.
It may also involve the body being looked at in a way that deprives the person of ownership.
The adult’s gaze assesses.
Chooses.
Takes possession.
The child is regarded as a body before being allowed to exist as a whole person.
This gaze may continue to live on.
The person looks at her own body as though it still belongs to the other person’s judgement.
Is it attractive?
Repulsive?
Too large?
Too visible?
Too sexualised?
Too damaged?
The body becomes an object to be examined, concealed, or corrected.
When a new person looks, it therefore cannot be assumed that the gaze will feel caring.
Even a loving gaze may at first feel dangerous.
Being seen once meant being made available.
The person must therefore slowly discover that a gaze can also see without taking.
Seeing Without Making a Claim
There is a form of attention that does not demand access.
The other person notices that something is difficult, but does not press.
She sees that the person hides her face, but does not pull the hair aside.
She notices the cushion held closely, but does not ask for it to be removed.
She sees the silence without filling it with questions.
This is not indifference.
It is disciplined restraint.
Through her manner of being present, the helper says:
I see that you are here.
I also see that you are protecting yourself.
You do not need to reveal more than you choose.
Such a gaze allows the other person to remain a subject.
The person does not become a mystery to be solved or a body to be exposed.
She is allowed to retain an inner space.
A Person Can Be Seen Without the Whole Story Being Known
We easily confuse understanding with complete access.
To meet you, I must know everything.
To believe you, I need the details.
To help you, I must understand the entire chain of causes.
But a person can be seen without being fully known.
I can see that you are struggling without knowing every reason.
I can respect the boundary without knowing the event that created it.
I can believe that something serious happened without demanding a complete account.
I can meet you as a human being even where you remain mysterious to me.
This is an important ethical insight.
The other person never belongs entirely to my gaze.
There will always be something I cannot see, understand, or possess.
Perhaps respect begins precisely where the gaze refrains from making the other person completely transparent.
When the Helper Is Startled
What is told may be difficult to hear.
The helper may feel grief, anger, powerlessness, or disgust at the acts that were committed.
This may show in the face.
A small movement.
A wandering gaze.
A pause that lasts too long.
The person telling the story often watches closely.
There it was.
Now she too sees something disgusting.
But the helper’s disgust may be directed towards the perpetrator’s actions, while the person experiences it as directed towards herself.
Sometimes this difference must be stated aloud:
I am reacting to what was done to you.
Not to you.
The act was violating.
You are not disturbing to be with.
In this way, the feeling is given a clear address.
The helper does not need to pretend that the story leaves her untouched. But she must carry her response in a way that does not make the survivor the object of yet another rejecting gaze.
Remaining Without Becoming Cold
Professional calm can be protective.
But calm may also become so controlled that it feels distant.
The person telling the story may meet an unresponsive face and think:
She is not listening.
This means nothing to her.
I am merely another case.
Ethical presence therefore lies between two dangers.
On one side, the overwhelmed helper, who is so deeply affected that the person must comfort her.
On the other, the unaffected helper, who protects herself through distance.
Remaining does not mean being without feeling.
It means being affected without falling apart.
Close without taking over.
Calm without becoming cold.
The Gaze That Remembers
Recognition is not shown only in the moment.
It is shown when the other person remembers.
You told me this last time.
I know it is difficult when someone stands behind you.
We agreed that the door should remain slightly open.
You said that you did not want any more questions about this for now.
When the helper remembers, she shows that the story did not disappear into emptiness.
The person did not make herself visible in vain.
At the same time, memory must be used carefully. What the other person has shared should not continually be brought forward as an explanation for everything.
Remembering is not the same as holding a person captive in the past.
It is carrying the knowledge without making it the whole identity.
When Praise Slides Off
A person who carries deep shame may struggle to receive positive judgements.
You are brave.
You are a good person.
You are strong.
You are beautiful.
The words do not enter.
They may feel like exaggeration, politeness, or therapeutic technique.
This does not mean that the person does not desire recognition.
It means that the recognition collides with a more fundamental experience:
If you truly saw me, you would not say this.
Praise often attempts to change the self-image from above.
Shame lies deeper.
It cannot always be contradicted with better adjectives.
Replacing “disgusting” with “wonderful” is of little help if the person still believes the other has not seen what she herself sees.
Recognition must therefore often first appear in action before it can be received in words.
The other person returns.
Keeps the agreement.
Respects a no.
Tolerates the silence.
Does not leave the room.
In this way, a new self-image may gain an experiential foundation.
The Gaze That Does Not Turn the Person into a Victim
Compassion may also become a problem if it sees only vulnerability.
Poor you.
How have you managed to live with this?
You must be so damaged.
Such responses may be kindly intended, but they may reduce the person to what was done to her.
The human being becomes the victim in the other person’s gaze.
Everything else recedes.
Work.
Humour.
Anger.
Knowledge.
Love.
Resistance.
Ordinary life.
A recognising gaze sees the wound without turning the whole person into a wound.
It may say:
This was serious.
You were violated.
And you are more than the violation.
Not as empty reassurance, but as an actual way of meeting the other person.
The Other Person’s Gaze Cannot Save by Itself
It is tempting to make recognition into a solution.
If only someone sees the person correctly, shame will disappear.
But the other person’s gaze has limits.
No one can see another human being entirely free from personal experience, needs, and interpretation.
Nor can the person carrying shame always receive the new gaze.
A supportive encounter may be followed by intense self-contempt at home.
A recognising relationship may coexist with a still brutal inner gaze.
Change happens slowly.
The other gaze must be repeated, tested, and sometimes rejected before it can become an inner possibility.
Nor is the goal for the person to remain permanently dependent on someone else seeing her correctly.
The other person’s gaze may open a path.
But in time, the person must also develop a less violating gaze upon herself.
Borrowing the Other Person’s Gaze
At first, this may be difficult.
The person sees only what she has always seen.
She may then temporarily borrow the other person’s gaze.
What does she see when she looks at me?
Not what shame says she sees.
But what her actions actually show.
She invites me back.
She sits beside me.
She does not withdraw.
She speaks to me in the same way after she knows.
She respects my boundaries.
Perhaps her gaze can be used as a counter-image:
I cannot yet see myself as a person of value.
But I can notice that she treats me as though I have value.
This is not blind faith in the other person.
It is a cautious opening to the possibility that shame’s view is not the only possible reality.
The Other Person’s Face
A face can express more than words.
It can be open or closed.
Receptive or judging.
Present or absent.
In encountering another person’s face, we are reminded that a human being is never merely a thing.
The face says:
Here is someone who can be wounded.
Here is someone who cannot be completely reduced to my object.
Here is a life that makes a claim upon me.
For someone who has been subjected to abuse, this claim was once violated. The adult saw the child but did not meet the child as another human being with boundaries of their own.
A recognising encounter cannot undo the violation.
But it may restore something of the ethical order:
You are not here for my use.
You are not to be adapted to my needs.
Your face and your body place a limit on what I may do.
When the Gaze Becomes Too Intense
Good eye contact is often understood as a sign of safety and openness.
But direct eye contact may also feel invasive.
A person who feels shame may need to look away in order to speak.
It may be easier to walk beside one another than to sit face to face.
Easier to talk in the car.
While making coffee.
While the hands are occupied.
A demand for eye contact may make conversation more difficult.
Look at me when you speak.
I need to know that you are present.
But the person may in fact be more present when the gaze is allowed to rest elsewhere.
Recognition does not require constant visual contact.
It may be present in the voice, the distance, the pace, and the way silence is carried.
Looking Away Can Also Be Care
We often think that a good helper never turns her gaze away.
But looking away may sometimes be an act of respect.
The person may need a moment without being watched.
Tears may need to come without the face being examined.
The body may need to find a position without every signal being interpreted.
The helper may turn her attention towards the coffee cup, the window, or her notes without leaving the relationship.
The difference lies in how the gaze turns away.
Is it flight?
Disgust?
Discomfort?
Or is it space being given?
The gaze that does not turn away therefore does not mean a gaze that never moves.
It means a presence that does not abandon the person.
Tolerating Misunderstanding
A helper may do many things well and still be perceived as rejecting.
An expression may be misunderstood.
A pause may awaken old experiences.
The person may think:
She does not want me here now.
It is important that the relationship can tolerate this being examined.
When you looked away, I thought you felt sickened by me.
The helper may answer:
I looked away because I wanted to give you some space. But I understand that it could feel different.
Such a response does not defend the helper’s good intention at the expense of the person’s experience.
It opens the possibility of correction.
The relationship becomes a place where misunderstanding does not automatically lead to rupture.
This may be a new experience for someone who previously had to adapt to the adult’s version of reality.
The Gaze in the Group
In a group, there are several gazes.
This may be frightening.
More people can see.
More people can judge.
But the group may also break shame’s isolation.
One participant tells something she believes applies only to her.
Another nods.
A third says:
I have thought that too.
Suddenly, the experience is no longer located in one person alone.
The group’s gaze becomes not an audience, but a circle of recognition.
There is still risk. The group must protect confidentiality and boundaries. But when it works, it may offer an experience that a professional alone cannot always provide:
They know something of this from within.
And they do not see me as strange or damaged.
When the Survivor Turns Her Gaze Towards Others
Recognition does not move in only one direction.
In the conversations, participants could look upon one another with a gentleness they struggled to offer themselves.
The other person was not seen as unclean.
Not guilty.
Not ridiculous.
A question then arose:
Why does this understanding apply only to her?
Why are her actions interpreted as survival, while mine become evidence of weakness?
The encounter with the other person may reveal shame’s double standard.
I grant you humanity.
I deny myself the same.
When a person sees another human being without turning away, she may gradually discover that her own face also deserves such a gaze.
Looking at Oneself in the Mirror
The mirror provides a concrete gaze.
It shows the body without speaking a judgement.
Yet the person may fill the image with accusations.
Too ugly.
Too large.
Too sexualised.
Too old.
Too marked.
The mirror becomes a place where the inner spectator has free rein.
Changing this relationship does not necessarily mean standing before the mirror and declaring oneself beautiful.
It may begin more modestly.
This is my face.
These eyes have seen much.
This body has carried me.
I do not have to evaluate it right now.
Seeing without immediately ranking may be a new experience.
A less judgemental gaze towards oneself may grow before a loving self-gaze becomes possible.
Being Believed
The gaze that does not turn away is also a gaze that does not automatically distrust.
Many people fear not only disgust.
They fear doubt.
Is this true?
Do you remember correctly?
Why did you not tell earlier?
Why did you continue seeing the person?
Suspicion may be present in the very way the question is asked.
Being believed does not mean that no detail may ever be examined, especially in legal settings. But in a human encounter, it is possible to listen without placing the person in the dock.
I hear that this is your experience.
I see that it has had serious consequences.
You do not need to convince me through suffering.
Such a gaze gives the person a different position.
Not someone who must prove innocence.
But someone who is allowed to speak from her own life.
The Helper’s Gaze upon Her Own Power
The helper is not merely a neutral observer.
She has power.
She may ask questions.
Write records.
Define problems.
Grant or deny help.
Assess credibility.
The silence and gaze of a professional may therefore carry great weight.
Ethical work requires the helper also to turn her gaze towards herself:
What do I expect this person to show me?
Why do I need this detail?
Am I interpreting silence as resistance because I myself feel uncertain?
Do I see only vulnerability and overlook strength?
Am I making my understanding the only valid one?
A gaze does not become recognising merely because it is friendly.
It must also be aware of its own power.
Recognition Without Taking Over
To recognise a person is not to redefine them.
You are not weak; you are strong.
You are not damaged; you are whole.
Such statements may be kind, but they may also become new claims the other person is expected to fulfil.
Perhaps she feels weak.
Perhaps she experiences herself as divided.
Recognition should not force a more positive self-image.
It may instead say:
I see that you are struggling.
I also see that you are trying to live.
You do not need to be strong in order to have value here.
You do not need to feel whole in order to be met as a whole person.
In this way, the helper does not take over the right to define the person.
She meets her where the experience actually is.
The Gaze That Makes Space
Some gazes fill the room.
They assess, examine, and expect.
Other gazes make space.
They allow the person to emerge at her own pace.
They tolerate the hidden face.
The absent words.
The changing story.
The fact that the other person does not respond as the helper hoped.
Such a gaze is not passive.
It keeps the room open.
It says:
You do not have to perform your pain for me.
You may be here even when you cannot explain.
I do not see only what you reveal.
I also respect what you protect.
A Sentence for the Person Who Fears the Gaze
Perhaps the person who feels shame needs to hear:
I do not see the person you fear that I see.
I see that something painful was done to you.
I see that you protected yourself as best you could.
You do not need to show your face all the time.
You do not need to convince me.
You are allowed to be more than the story.
And I remain here even when you look away.
Turning the Gaze Back Towards the World
Shame lowers the gaze.
It turns the world into a place where everyone else is judging.
The person moves as though always standing on a stage.
Gradually, something may change.
The gaze lifts.
Not necessarily because shame has disappeared, but because it no longer owns the whole room.
The person sees the other.
The window.
The people in the living room.
She sees that they too are occupied with their own lives.
The world is not merely an audience.
It is a place in which to participate.
This is an important movement.
From being the one who is seen to also being the one who sees.
From being an object of others’ imagined judgement to becoming a participant in a shared world.
When the Other Person’s Gaze Becomes an Inner Possibility
A recognising gaze may gradually remain even when the other person is absent.
The person may stand in a difficult situation and think:
She would not look at me with disgust now.
He would remind me that the responsibility was not mine.
The others in the group would understand this reaction.
The external encounter becomes an inner voice.
Not as dependency, but as a new possibility in the relationship with oneself.
The gaze of shame is no longer alone.
Beside it, another gaze exists:
A gaze that knows something of the story and still sees a human being.
Being Seen and Remaining Free
Recognition does not mean becoming trapped in another person’s benevolent gaze.
Even a loving gaze may become controlling if the person must live according to how the other sees her.
You are so brave.
You are a survivor.
You are strong.
Perhaps she cannot always bear being these things.
A liberating gaze therefore allows the person to be more than even the positive descriptions.
She may be strong and vulnerable.
Brave and afraid.
Participating and withdrawn.
She is allowed to change without betraying the identity others have given her.
Being seen should not mean being fixed.
A Gaze That Remains
The gaze that does not turn away is not heroic or intense.
It does not stare.
It does not scrutinise.
It does not demand the entire truth.
It is an ordinary and enduring presence.
It meets the person again the next time.
It remembers without holding captive.
It is moved without collapsing.
It tolerates not knowing everything.
It sees the wound without turning the person into a wound.
In this way, shame may slowly encounter an experience it cannot explain away:
I showed something of myself.
The other person saw.
And the relationship endured.
The person may not immediately feel worthy.
But a small break has appeared in shame’s logic.
Visibility did not lead to annihilation.
The gaze did not become disgust.
The other person did not leave.
From Being Observed to Being Met
The violation made the child an object of the adult’s will and gaze.
Shame continued this objectification from within.
The person regarded herself as a body, a fault, or an exposed secret.
The recognising gaze does something different.
It meets.
An encounter takes place between human beings whom neither fully owns nor completely understands.
It requires distance and closeness at the same time.
I see you.
But I do not make you mine.
I listen.
But I do not demand everything.
I am affected.
But I do not take over the story.
Within this encounter, the person may gradually emerge as a subject in her own life.
Not because the other person gives her dignity.
The dignity was already there.
But because the other person refrains from violating it—and through her presence helps the person experience it again.
Shame says:
When they truly see you, they will turn away.
The recognising encounter does not first answer with arguments.
It answers by remaining.
Shame says:
When they truly see you, they will turn away.
The recognising encounter does not first answer with arguments.
It answers by remaining.
This essay was developed through a new reading of the focus-group discussions and in-depth interviews that formed the foundation of my doctoral dissertation, A Study of Shame (2009). The text is part of the series Conversations About Shame and was written in conversation with OpenAI/ChatGPT.
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