Finding your footing in moments of intensity, uncertainty, and care.
Sometimes being with another person asks more of us than we expect.
This reflection is for those of us who work closely with others — therapists, teachers, facilitators, caregivers — and who notice how easy it is to focus on appearing steady while internally losing touch with ourselves. I’m exploring what it’s been like to shift from managing the moment to staying connected inside it, especially when the work feels hard.
There are moments in this work when I notice myself feeling pulled off balance — when a session feels heavy, a conversation feels charged, or uncertainty is in the room. I don’t experience this as failure. It feels more like being human in the presence of something that matters.
Many of us are told or instructed to stay steady, grounded, and available no matter what arises. We often pick up concepts and language for this early on. And yet, finding our footing in real time can feel much harder than the theory suggests. I’ve come to see that this isn’t a sign that something is wrong. It’s a reflection of how real this work actually is.
When I hear people talk about being “centered,” it can easily sound like calm, neutrality, or emotional control. That framing never quite fit for me. What I experience instead is a sense of internal orientation — having somewhere inside myself I can return to, even when things feel messy, unclear, or emotionally charged.
I’ve noticed how easily steadiness can turn into something we try to show for others. We’re often encouraged to appear grounded so the other person can feel safe. But when steadiness becomes something we perform, it can quietly pull us away from ourselves. I feel this when my attention shifts toward how I’m coming across rather than staying connected to my own experience.
For me, orientation has less to do with how I look and more to do with where my attention lives. When I’m oriented within myself, I’m aware of my responses without being overtaken by them. That internal reference point makes it easier to stay present in relationship — not distant, not over-involved, just here.
I also see how easily steadiness can slide into control. Especially in moments of intensity, there’s often a pull to manage the room, manage the other person, or manage myself. I understand this impulse. It usually comes from care. And I’ve learned that the more I try to manage the moment, the more I lose access to myself. Orientation feels more like allowing responsiveness than enforcing stability.
This capacity hasn’t come from a single insight or moment of understanding. It has developed slowly, through lived experience. Early on, I had to work much harder to find my way back to myself. Over time, with consistency and patience, it has become more familiar. Not always available — but easier to recognize when it returns.
This internal orientation doesn’t pull me away from others. It actually supports connection. When I have access to myself, I’m less likely to disappear into the other person’s experience or brace against it. I can stay engaged without losing myself. That balance has come to feel important in this work.
I don’t experience this as something I can force. It feels more like something I allow — a remembering rather than an achievement. And when it’s there, it supports connection in a way that feels honest and relational. It feels lighter — and more real
Wishing you wellness,
Keri Sawyer
Stepping into Wellness 