The Sacred Space We Hold

"So, what do you do in your sessions?"

This is hands-down the most common question I get as a Spiritual Director—from friends, family, and even strangers making small talk. And you know what? It’s not an easy one to answer. Maybe that’s why the search for the perfect title feels endless: Spiritual Director, Spiritual Counselor, Spiritual Guide, Spiritual Companion, Anam Cara. Each one tries to encapsulate the work in a single phrase, but the truth is, spiritual companionship isn’t about what we do—it’s more about what we don’t do.

As humans, our instinct when we see someone in pain or distress is to step in. We want to fix, to help, to soothe, to make the discomfort go away. It’s natural and even expected. But spiritual companionship is about offering something else entirely. Instead of solutions, we offer a place to rest. We sit together in the discomfort, without rushing to ease it or push it aside.

When we’re at our best, we don’t offer platitudes or judgments. We don’t try to “fix” you or pretend we have all the answers. We don’t believe we know your journey better than you do. Instead, we listen. We hold space. We honor your tenderness. And we remind you of what’s already true—you are wise, you are enough, and you’ve got this.

And yet, we are human. Holding this space is a practice—a skill we train for, refine through experience, and approach with deep intentionality. To truly be a safe landing place for someone’s raw, vulnerable self requires continuous care and effort.

Sometimes I stumble. I forget to notice where that urge to help is coming from. I forget the trust I have in the person I’m companioning. I falter in holding the sacred space we’ve created together.

During a recent session, I noticed that familiar pull—the urge to jump in with answers, share my perspective, or offer advice. It’s such a tempting reflex, born from empathy, care, and, if I’m honest, my own discomfort with sitting alongside someone else’s suffering.

When I notice those urges, I gently remind myself of the truth: the person sitting with me is a beautiful, unique soul. They are wise. They know their journey better than anyone else ever could.  My role isn’t to lead them somewhere—it’s to walk beside them as they remember their own wisdom, their own divinity.

And when I stumble—because I do—I’m profoundly grateful for the grace extended to me by those who trust me to companion them. It’s a gift I hold close to my heart.

The Sacred Space We Hold*

We, the companions of the spirit,

stand as quiet sentinels,

gentle hands stretched not to shape

but to witness.

We are the guide that whispers,

soft as the breath of dawn:

"You already know the way."

We are the director,

not of paths, but of love,

not of answers, but of compassion,

an unshakable friend to your soul.

In this sacred space,

there is no need to turn your head

to catch another's view,

no one holding a mirror

to shift the shape of your truth.

Here, your knowing stands whole—

not questioned, not fractured,

but revered.

No hands reach to fix,

no voices rush to help,

no advice breaks the stillness

that holds your tender being.

For this is where every part of you

belongs—nothing denied, nothing erased.

In this space, you breathe freely,

your shadow dances with your light,

your heart beats in its rhythm,

and we honor its song.

May we always remember

to hold this space sacred,

a sanctuary of acceptance,

a wellspring of grace,

where you need not change to be loved,

and every piece of you is holy.

*Note: This poem began as a personal reflection in poetic prose. I collaborated with ChatGPT to shape it into fuller poetic form—using AI to help draft and develop ideas, then editing and refining the piece until it felt true to my voice and experience.