There is a weightedness of grace at the core of being present. There is an ache in the question, “What could I possibly offer?” that becomes the very threshold that ignites the alchemy of wholeness. Moments—gut-wrenching, soul-breaking moments—when someone comes to me as everything in their world is falling apart. Not just falling apart… but annihilated. Evicted by abuse. Blindsided by trauma. Betrayed by systems that were supposed to help. When someone turns to me, shattered by truths too big for words, all my training, all my degrees, all my coaching frameworks go out the window. It all becomes utterly irrelevant. What Could I Possibly Offer? Initially, I ask this in abject bewilderment. I haven’t a clue what these individuals expect I have that could possibly help them in their dire situations. Truthfully, I love my work—but I hate these moments. These moments when someone expects something of me—something I do not know exists. (Except… I do.) Because this is the moment when “offering something” isn’t the point. This moment invites in something far deeper. This is when being in presence is all there is. Not pretending I have the answers. Not fixing—not even soothing. Just Being With. It’s exquisite. And it’s excruciating. Two Recent Moments Pierced Me Open in this Way One client had to flee her home because of an abusive, manipulative individual. The systems failed her—no help from police, no safety net. She called me because she had no one else to turn to—no one else who would simply be