Brave Presence.

Working as a professional coach I have focused diligently on my image as a leader, source of transformation, and supporting credentials.

But one area I have not written about yet is presence. We show up alongside people (and animals) in so many different ways and there is not just one right way to listen, hold for and support another. There is bold presence, silent presence, bright presence, etc.

This series will cover the power of presence in potent settings (prisons, hospice, psychiatric hospitals, etc.), places people rarely get an inside look into, sourced from my thirty plus years of experience.

I have attempted to share these stories with curious people before. But I quickly learned that such stories would silence the best of dinner table conversations. Like hearing of an accident or disease, we rush to get information, but in the end can’t tolerate the graphicness. These situations stir up our fears about the world and ourselves, the things we would rather not know about and are glad someone else deals with. However, these settings have taught me more about humanity than you could ever imagine. These stories want to be told.

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Today we start with brave presence. 

What I often hear from people when I tell people I have worked with the dying, or incarcerated or homeless mentally ill is “Oh I could never do that.” They may add that I must have a special gift that allows me to tolerate these environments. 

I do not.   

I have strong feelings from the experiences I have witnessed. There are times I have been in danger, deeply saddened or had no idea if I could handle the crisis before me. There are some jobs I was grateful to get in on and equally grateful to get out of.

What I do have though is willingness to bring an honest level of respect and unconditional positive regard for someone in the moment. I don’t think about anything else - past or future. It is just that moment. It is a space we share and create together. It has its own texture, its own type of air, its own temperature. It can last 12 seconds or two hours. I open it by being able empathize with a person in their place in life and respond at their eye level. It has nothing to do with whether I agree or not; it is that the person in front of me usually needs some empowerment, reassurance, a clue to get through what’s before them, or just to be heard. I can do that. If the door to that space can be opened, I can help them.

The key part to generating presence is showing up.  Sometimes showing up means stepping into the unknown without a comfort zone.  It requires being incredibly brave.

For a few years I worked in high security prisons as a therapist. One night I was called to see an inmate who was not be treated by female staff. But because the warning was literally a note taped to his medical chart and I used the prison computer to get his cell number and review his charge, I never saw it.

When he arrived I sized up a strong younger man, clean, well kept. I was alone in an office connected to another office with people, but they were long and narrow spaces in an old building with an unused shower and other nooks. I did have a body alarm. His issue was that he was denied access for a phone call that he insisted was causing him mental health distress. While he was not going to get a call out of me, I was willing to assist him in coping with this limit of prison life; it can be a severely isolating. He was polite and it seemed as though we were unpacking his stress.  As the session progressed however, he became fidgety, restless, speaking too fast. He was unusually nervous for what we were talking about and I could sense was some gigantic static I could not get past. The door to connection was closed. After his hand (first accidentally I thought) then repeatedly hit his crotch, I politely but swiftly wrapped up the visit. He said thank you and went back to his unit without issue.

It was when I went to document in his medical chart that I saw the warning—that he was never to be alone with any female. He had aggressively assaulted a woman working in the last prison he was at. I truly believe that my respectful willingness, encased in strict boundaries, may have saved me that night.

Other times I was able to have a more healing impact.

Once I got a request to see a man on the PC (protective custody) unit. Inmates on this unit are either too dangerous or too at risk of being attacked by other inmates (crime, gang affiliation, a police offer turned bad) to live in the regular section of the prison. This inmate’s crime was particularly heinous and he was not well liked or respected by either other inmates or the officers. He knew it. 

I can’t say I wasn’t nervous walking onto this unit. The PC unit was a tense place on a good day and there are hundreds of eyes watching a female walking around this all male unit. It was common to hear inmates yelling out loud whatever thoughts they were projecting onto me, carefully measuring how I responded - to see if they could make me afraid, angry, or weakened in some way. In addition, the officers could have made fun of me for talking to “Hal” courteously, or as not staying long enough with him, or judged as being too friendly if I stayed too long. It’s a very fine line. I focused on making eye contact and listening. 

Hal explained through the little window in his door, that he had heard a loud voice yell a word like “Staddon.” He was deeply concerned that it had meaning he was supposed to decode, or that it could somehow harm him. Hal had occasionally had auditory hallucinations in the past, but it was not common for him and he was scared. He asked me if I could research the word and let him know it’s meaning.

It was a simple request. I checked inside and didn’t sense anything manipulative. I agreed.

Later, I did a relatively thorough search on the internet and found that other than it being the name of a park in a distant town after a founding family, there was nothing associated with the word other than being a surname. I returned to his cell the next day and told him I found nothing that indicated an evil force or reference. For safety reasons, I could not give him printouts from the internet, so he had to take my word for it. Thankfully, he did. The relief this brought to him was palatable. I could see it. He thanked me not just for the information, but for my tone in the way I interacted with him. In this case, the door had opened.

Had he not believed me, Hal would have remained in a state of unnecessary fear. He had to trust what I told him in an environment where people were not always consistent or saw the need to keep their promises to him. While I did not feel sorry for him in any way, I could hold presence and I believe this is what he responded to.

As I walked off the unit I said to myself, “Well, I guess I can talk to people who have done that kind of thing.” I didn’t feel like I had earned a badge, but it was a check off inside of me that I had the ability to call on that source of compassion and courage. I could hear that check mark hit that box and somehow I felt that something important had happened inside of me, had been healed or amplified or supported. 

I never intended to share these stories because the full details of either crime would derail any kind of relaxed discussion. However, the value of these moments caused me to reveal them here: That in holding presence for someone, entering that other space without needing anything from them, being willing to listen but also keeping boundaries, is powerful.

I think we all have this skill on same level, if we choose to open it. I have heard of people rescuing dangerous animals or getting a homeless person out of the middle of the road with affirmative words. And while I don’t expect that many of you have had experience inside a prison, I am sure that there are some potent settings where you have been able to bring a quality greater than yourself to the setting.

If any of this story resonates with you, or you want to know more about bringing this kind of impactful presence into your life and career, message me below or reach out to me on my website goodbrink.com. 

In the meantime, keep an eye out for my next article on Bold Presence.