There are very real contributions that each person brought to our group from song, poetry, basket making, foraging, stew and tea making, fire starting, fire tending, and firewood collecting to their very presence as a human being. It’s amazing how much someone gives to another just by being there, holding space. Reflecting in the weeks since attending the Art of Mentoring, I have come to recognize that while I see and feel others’ presences, I often don’t think about my own and how it may be received by others.
While saying goodbye, a classmate in her 60s thanked me for my “steady” presence. I had never thought of myself as steady. As an introvert, I often take the wallflower position in new groups and experiences. I’m the observer: quiet and contemplative. After a while, I get more comfortable and share a bit more of my personality, but it takes time for me to want to come out of my shell. I can feel embarrassed for not being more open, more social, more loud--all ways I think of to make your presence known.
And here I was being appreciated just as I was, and even was gifted a name to call it. Steady.
She followed her words with a question that struck a tender chord. “Do you know you have a presence?” Tears welled in my eyes as a puzzle piece fell into place. Of course I had a presence. We all do.
What she asked me reached far deeper into an irrational place of fear: of wanting to be loved, to be noticed, and to be valued. I hugged her with tears rolling down my cheeks and her question echoing in my ears like the toll of a bell.
I turned to another woman, one of my group leaders, and thanked her for her role during the week. She thanked me for my “steadiness.” I was dumbstruck. Who is this person they are describing? I shared my previous conversation and that I don’t see myself that way. She said that so often we cannot see our gifts. Steadiness, a gift. My gift--to myself and others.
I’ve begun to own my steadiness, to view it as a strength. Even if I’m not always sure that I embody it; I am steady.