Holding Space
Life often confronts us with choices, but true dilemmas demand something deeper. Picture a man strolling peacefully through a forest, breathing in the crisp autumn air, when a sudden rustle reveals a mountain lion glaring at him with predatory eyes. For a fleeting instant, he admired its power and beauty until it lunged. Heart racing, he sprinted through the trees, yet the beast closed in with terrifying speed. Desperately, he spotted a ledge and hurled himself toward it, clinging to the hope of escape down the mountainside. But his relief shattered as his eyes locked onto another lion, crouched and waiting below. Hemmed in by death on both sides, his mind spun in panic—until something unexpected pierced the moment. From a crack in the rock, a single wild strawberry glowed red against the stone. He reached out, plucked it, and in the shadow of certain doom, savored its astonishing sweetness.
In the midst of chaos, escape feels impossible, but the present moment is the only refuge we have. Here, in the present moment, fear has no foothold. Fear belongs to shadows of time that do not exist: the ghosts of the past and the illusions of the future. Our anxieties are born out of memory and imagination, stitched together from scars we carry or terrors we’ve borrowed from others.
Some fears prove as hollow as the cowardly lion of Oz, yet we grant them the power to dictate our steps. Too often, we gamble our lives on this fragile circus of old wounds, resentments, and imagined dangers. Fear becomes a smokescreen, blinding us to the sparks of hope, the quiet joys waiting, and the moments of happiness forever within our reach.
Stress Looms
When we’re under stress, it’s easy to look at our options and feel defeated. Emotions begin to surface, often taking the shape of self-blame. What was I thinking? The woods are full of mountain lions. Why did I go in alone instead of finding others to join me? Regret lingers. I should have known better—there’s safety in numbers. What will people say when they hear about this risky choice? I should have stayed home, where it was safe.
Self-Recriminations
Self-recrimination can blind us to the small glimmers of hope and the quiet opportunities for joy. Yet even in the hardest moments, life offers us gifts to ease the burden. Sometimes, those gifts come in the form of people, open-hearted souls who are willing to sit with us in our pain, our stress, or our sorrow. Whether we feel their support often depends on our own openness, our willingness to listen, to allow, to receive. And while it may seem that accepting help is a sign of weakness or a challenge to our independence, it is often the very thing that brings us strength.
Changes Change Us
I often hear people mark time as “before the pandemic” or “after the pandemic.” For me, the marker is different: before cancer (BC) and after cancer (AC).
BC, I was defined by stubborn independence. Shaped by disappointments and betrayals, I believed my safest choice was to rely only on myself. Even if I was standing on a ledge with lions closing in, I was convinced no one would come to my rescue—so I had to figure it out alone. That independence was stitched together from pride, sadness, and grit.
AC, everything shifted. The cloak of independence could no longer protect me. I thought I had understood gratitude before, but often those thoughts were fleeting, words without weight or remedy. After my diagnosis, being alone on the edge was no longer an option. I learned to be truly grateful for every gesture, every prayer, every treatment, and every person who thought of me, supported me, and cared for me.
When Someone Holds Space for Us
When someone holds space for us, it is one of the true gifts of belonging to a community. To hold space is to act with compassion, to be a nonjudgmental witness to another person’s experience. It creates a safe and supportive environment where we can feel seen, heard, understood, and gently uplifted. In that space, listening becomes the heart of it, listening not to fix, but to understand, to reflect the truth of another’s experience.
Holding space means being fully present, even when the other person’s story is painful or very different from our own. When we are aware of the unresolved pieces of our own story, we are less tempted to “fix” someone else. To try and fix them is not only to deny their agency, but also to chase an unfinished part of ourselves. Our story does not belong in their healing space.
If we remember that every person comes into our life for a reason, one that unfolds as we listen, we begin to recognize the beauty of emotional validation. We release the urge to center ourselves in their story and simply honor what is true for them. Whatever they feel is valid. However they express their anger, frustration, or pain is valid too. Without this space, lion-sized fears creep in, trying to crowd out safety and replace it with fear and distrust.
Holding Space for Ourselves
Holding space is not only something we offer to others—it is also a gift we can offer to ourselves.
We hold space for ourselves when we:
Listen to our hearts and allow our feelings to be known.
Practice self-compassion, sitting with our emotions and letting negative thoughts pass without clinging to them.
Hear another’s perspective without needing it to mirror our own.
Commit to self-understanding and give ourselves grace.
Grow comfortable with silence.
Stay open to learning and remain rooted in authenticity.
When we practice lovingkindness and compassion—whether for ourselves or for another—we create room to step away from the lions of fear and doubt. We nurture the quiet space that allows us to walk through life with greater freedom, trust, and peace.
Peace and Blessings,
Ndidi
Beautifully written, Eleanor. I made it my meditation prompt this week. Remember the strawberry!