The more I do this work, the more I realize that presence, not words, is the key that helps others heal.
I’ve been doing Tarot sessions close to a decade now and have read for thousands of clients from all walks of life. But there are times I wonder whether I’ve said anything valuable that will help them.
Said being the operative word.
My clients ask direct questions such as, “Will my house sell?” “How’s my child?” “Will I leave my job?” I encourage this directness by asking them to focus on what they want (this is incredibly difficult for some).
But when they ask, I don’t really give a direct answer.
Why? It’s not my place to do so, even though I often want to.
It’s up to my client to make the wisest choice. I offer possible outcomes, if shown in the cards. Sometimes the Tarot says: be still. Stop. Consider. There’s a reason why things don’t seem to be moving right now.
Yet there is a need in me – call it nurturing, call it anxiety – that wants to fill that uncomfortable space for my client. I want to make it all better. I want them to leave with hope, not despair. And I’ve caught myself casting words into the void for such reasons. They have to get their money’s worth, right? They’re not paying for silence.
Actually, silence is as valuable as words spoken with loving intent.
As I’ve gone through a loss recently, I’ve realized that what I need from those who love me is silent understanding as much as an ear. It’s not like we haven’t been here before. We all know loss, and we all know how deeply personal and lonely it can be. It is the presence of my friends that heals me, as much as their words.
I’m allowing more thoughtful pauses in my sessions now – offering silence a space to encourage healing. Within that silence, I’ve had clients say incredibly illuminating words as they contemplate the spread. As irony would have it, the sessions closely align with what’s happening in my own life. It’s like I’m in constant therapy!
So, give yourself a break if you think that you either didn’t say the “right” thing in a session, said too much or not enough. It is your presence – your empathy, your understanding and pure humanness – that helps another heal.
Yes, I so agree. I have wondered about that too. Is it really tarot, EFT, reiki, massage, counseling words etc. that are healing? Yes, those are the tools, the channels for the energy, but “it” unfolds in a different place, a space that the practitioner needs to hold.
Well said, Carna. Empathy is what the client feels from us — the tools just help reflect it.
Love this Raven!
I’ve longed believed that every one of us on the planet simply wants to be HEARD. Some would call it witnessed. When we are thoroughly and deeply heard by another human we are gifted with our own truth, aren’t we? Sometimes that is scary, but it also lifts us up. You articulate it beautifully with this line:
“offering silence a space to encourage healing”
In hand analysis the gift marking of the healer comes with some penalties — and the way to get out of the penalty box is to create a safe space for others to heal — to recognize that your gift as a healer is NOT in FIXING others (or filling the void with prognostication, deep insight or whatever else we most want to give) but to create that space and let others BE. Let them be heard and see how they transform. Gorgeous Raven.
Thanks, Peggie! That’s an interesting thought about the gift marking of the healer. Love that. I think it’s time to get my palm read!
I totally agree with this!! I know for myself it is so tempting to fill that space, to make it right, make someone feel better and yet when I leave that space open and don’t say anything I can feel such a difference in the energy.
“Actually, silence is as valuable as words spoken with loving intent.” I love this and it can be so easy to forget that sometimes silence can be just as “loud” and helpful as words that we speak. I find this to be true when I am on the receiving end and in need of support, that so frequently all I want is for someone just to listen,give me a hug and just be with me wherever I am.