Why the Same Test Feels Different Over Time
The Lens You Choose Decides What You Feel
22 December 2025, around 11:04 p.m.
Some nights do not end with an argument. They end with a question that stays awake longer than you do.
I have a very strange character.
I am much more than an introvert. In Chinese, the word is 孤僻. Not just “quiet.” More like someone who feels too far inside his own world, until it looks like he is avoiding people altogether. The closest English word I can think of is antisocial, but even that feels incomplete. It is not hatred of people. It is that my default mode is invisible.
I do not like replying texts. I do not like answering calls. I can function perfectly when I am not seen.
That is why I have always had this wish, to be invisible. Not non-existent. Not absent. Just unseen. People can see the impact, but they do not need to see me.
Footsteps without a face. Outcome without applause.
I enjoy that. I have enjoyed that for years.
But that same wiring creates a tension. Because the moment you are close to people, especially family, you are no longer invisible. And the moment you are no longer invisible, you are exposed to the thing I struggle with most: the feeling of being disrespected.
A remark came in, just a few minutes before this reflection, and it triggered me. Not the kind of trigger where you explode outward, but the kind where something inside you tightens and your mind starts sprinting.
One thing I cannot tolerate is disrespect. When I feel I am being disrespected, it lands somewhere deep.
I do not want this reflection to become negative. I also do not want to pretend.
So I asked myself, what lens am I looking through right now?
Same Stairs, Same Height, Different Man
There is something I used to do before my slipped disc days. I climbed 70 floors every day. Staircase workout. 35 floors up, take the lift down, then another 35 floors.
At the beginning, the first time, I remember stopping more than 10 times. It felt crazily tough. My body complained. My mind complained. I was literally cursing the stairs.
A year later, I climbed it in one go. No stopping. One shot.
Has the stairs changed? Not by a bit.
That is the part I keep returning to. The environment did not change. The staircase did not become kinder. The laws of gravity did not adjust themselves for my comfort. Only my capacity changed.
And here is a strange thing I noticed over time. When your capacity grows, your perception changes first. The climb feels different even before the results show. The same steps, but your mind stops describing them as impossible. Even your body begins to interpret the effort differently.
That is why the staircase story keeps coming back to me whenever I feel triggered. Because the trigger feels like the stairs. It feels external. It feels unfair. It feels like something that should not exist.
But if I am honest, sometimes the trigger is simply revealing a gap in my endurance.
That is why, when disrespect hits me, I can feel 2 things at the same time.
First, the raw emotion, this is not acceptable.
Second, the inner voice, if you respect yourself, why does this land so deeply?
I do not like that second voice, because it removes my ability to blame.
Yet it might be the only voice that leads me forward.
What This Trigger Is Really Testing
The remark came from my spouse, and that is why the test feels so high.
In life, your spouse gives you the highest level test. You can explain away almost anyone else. You can reason with almost anyone else. But your spouse can trigger you in a way that bypasses your leadership voice and hits your identity directly.
That happened to me just now.
- The easy lens to look at personal trigger is the personal lens. From the personal lens, the conclusion is simple. She is disrespectful. I am right to feel offended.
- The second lens is the third-person lens. From the third-person lens, I can say, she is not well. She is tired. Stress does something to people. Sometimes when people are overloaded, their patience collapses. Their tone changes. Their words get sharp. Their empathy reduces. That lens calms me down, but it can also become an excuse if I use it wrongly.
- Then there is the leadership lens. The leadership lens forces a different question. What is my responsibility in how this lands? Nobody can make me feel disrespected unless I allow it. That sentence sounds brave until you actually try to live it. Because living it means you stop outsourcing your inner stability to somebody else’s tone.
It is like the stairs again. Same stairs. Different endurance.
This is also where my faith lens enters.
Love is long-suffering.
The Bible also says rejoice in suffering. Not enjoy suffering. Rejoice in suffering because suffering is not meaningless. Rejoice because God knows what is happening. God is in control. He does not allow you to bear beyond what you can bear.
That lens is powerful. It does not deny pain. It gives pain direction.
But here is where I feel stuck, and I do not want to sound spiritual to hide it.
In a marriage, how do you endure for long without becoming numb?
Yes, we endure out of obedience, out of commitment, out of hope. But we do not enjoy it. Long-suffering is real. But long-suffering without renewal becomes something dangerous. It becomes quiet bitterness. It becomes emotional withdrawal. It becomes the kind of invisible that is not humble anymore, it is self-protection.
And this is the paradox. The opposite of being seen is not humility. Sometimes the opposite of being seen is hiding.
That is why I said I am stuck.
Maybe I need to seek external help. But at least I know what the real question is. The real question is not whether disrespect exists. The real question is whether my inner capacity is growing faster than my triggers.
The Practice of Choosing Lenses in Real Time
Today is the second day my helper is away.
Just two days and life can be so chaotic.
I underestimated the amount of housework needed while juggling work at home. I had Zoom meetings. I had kids. I had an infant. Not toddler, not yet, infant. I had noise. I had interruptions. I had the kind of disorder that does not feel heroic, it just feels messy.
It grounded me at home.
And I found myself counting down to Friday because on Friday we get a new helper.
That alone tells me something. It tells me how quickly I can become dependent on support without noticing it. It tells me how much stability is built on systems we take for granted.
But this is where the lens practice became real, not theoretical.
I chose to look at it from two lenses.
First lens: What is good out of this?
Second lens: What does God want to say in this season, right here, right now?
Is there absolutely nothing to be grateful for, despite discomfort?
Of course there are things I am grateful for.
I got a chance to spend time with my children, especially my youngest daughter. I was worried she might not recognize me already. So I fed her. Bathed her. Carried her.
And I saw something else. Timing.
If this happened a week ago, it would have been a disaster. I was too busy. But right now, when my world of busyness slowed down, I suddenly had capacity to take care of my own kids, my own household.
It was not planned. It was forced.
And that is why it was a gift.
I also allowed my children to do housework. Not because I wanted to build a perfect family culture. Simply because we needed help. Yet in that need, they got an opportunity to practice responsibility.
This is another thing I noticed. Children learn stability more from your nervous system than from your instructions. When you stay present in chaos, you teach something deeper than “do the chores.” You teach that chaos is survivable, that home is still safe, that love does not disappear when the routine breaks.
And it reminded me again of how I have always lived.
When I meet someone with potential, I cannot unsee it.
Recently I talked to another helper and I told her something very direct. If you are my helper, I would not allow you to continue to be a helper. Because you have potential. You are powerful, talented. It is a waste. It is like a crime to lock you into a role that does not match your capacity.
That is what I do.
If I meet a teacher who can rise to be an entrepreneur, I will make him an entrepreneur. If I do not, I will not forgive myself.
Growth is so important to me.
Her response was remarkable. She said, Daniel, that is why you are so blessed by God.
And then the old wisdom surfaced again, it is more blessed to give than to receive.
I have never been bothered about my stuff. People took away my stuff, things like that. Because I never fully saw what I had as mine. Everything I have is a blessing from God. It is for stewardship, not ownership. If what is taken away blesses someone, then fine. That is the point.
Of course, giving must be wise. Wise as serpents and harmless as doves.
But giving, when it is real, does something strange inside you. It enlarges you. It steadies you. It makes you less desperate to be understood, less desperate to be validated, less desperate to control how people see you.
And that links back to my invisible desire.
Maybe I do not want invisibility because I am humble. Maybe I want invisibility because I want freedom from emotional cost.
But what if the deeper goal is not to be invisible?
What if the deeper goal is to become so anchored that visibility and invisibility both become harmless?
The Strongest Leaders Leave Evidence, Not Noise
Here is the reversal that lands quietly for me tonight.
The staircase never changed.
My capacity did.
And the same is true of respect.
The world will not stop testing you. People will not stop being imperfect. Spouses will test you at levels that feel unfair. Children will still be children. Housework will still multiply when support disappears. Remarks will still come out wrong. Tone will still sting.
The question is not whether the test exists.
The question is whether your lens is mature enough for the weight you are carrying.
Respect is not something you beg for. It is also not something you demand.
Respect is something you stop needing in order to remain whole.
That does not mean you tolerate everything. It means you stop letting someone’s tone decide your inner stability.
Some people become visible because they are loud.
Some people become invisible because they are hiding.
But there is a third kind of invisible.
The kind that does not need to be seen because the work speaks.
Footprints without a face.
Impact without performance.
A life that leaves a trail.
Good night.
