Presence Not Performance

Yesterday I had coffee with someone I haven’t seen in 10 years — a mentor, really. The last time I saw her was at my best friend’s funeral.

As I was walking to the coffee shop, tears started rolling down my cheeks. My body knew before my mind did — it knew I was about to be seen.

Seen by someone safe.

Someone who could hold my story without flinching.

For two hours, I shared it all — walking the Camino de Santiago, running out of money on the coast of Portugal and going to the embassy, reuniting with my mom, living in Costa Rica and my NDE, leaving my mom’s house that fateful night, and returning to a city that carries the echoes of so many old versions of me.

Called back to reclaim old stories, release what and who no longer fits, and remember who I’ve been all along.

What stood out most, and what I told her at the end, was this:

“I’ve tried so many healing modalities — you name it, I’ve probably tried it. But nothing, not one thing, is as powerful as sitting with someone who truly sees me. Someone who is present, who makes me feel safe, and who doesn’t judge. Thank you."

Sometimes (I would argue, all the time) being witnessed is the healing.