Sometimes the most powerful thing we can offer is presence
A story and an invitation to gather
I sent a version of this post earlier today.
It didn’t feel quite right to me, so I sat with it for a while.
This is what I really wanted to say—said more clearly, more simply, and more from the heart.
This week, while recording the audio for The One Who Blesses, a memory surfaced—quietly, insistently—asking to be shared.
It was a small story, really.
But it felt like everything.
And I realized: this is the heart of the work.
This is what I’ve always wanted to offer.
But before I tell that story, I want to say this to you:
I know it’s a lot right now.
It’s Easter weekend, and whether you celebrate or not, I hope you’re taking a breath.
We all need one.No assignments this week.
No keeping up.
No pushing through.Just a soft landing.
Below, you’ll find a story that returned to me like a blessing—
and an invitation to gather, gently, next Sunday, if you’d like to come.
The story
This week, while I was recording Module Two, I remembered something that happened when my daughter was a little girl. She’s 34 now, but that day—when she was three or four—is etched into my memory.
She had reached her limit.
Overstimulated, exhausted, overwhelmed by life,
she lay face-down on the floor, sobbing and pounding her tiny fists against the linoleum tile.
It was all just too much.
At first, I wasn’t sure what to do—this was the first tantrum one of my children had ever had.
I remember a moment of panic…
and then, crystal clarity.
I knew what she needed.
Or rather—I remembered.
Because when I was her age, my feelings were often too big for me, too.
Only I didn’t lie on the floor—I raged. I stomped and screamed and wailed.
I slammed doors and threw things.
I spun a tornado of emotion around myself.
And I didn’t just do this when I was little—I did it for years.
I knew how to help my daughter because I knew what I had longed for in those moments:
Support. Attention and gentle, steady presence.
I needed someone to hold me.
I needed to know I hadn’t broken anything important.
So I sat beside her on the floor and spoke gently.
Not trying to fix it.
Not trying to cheer her up.
Just being there, saying:
“I’m here. I know. It’s too much,”
as I touched her hand with one finger—
a point of contact to let her know:
I’m here beside you.
(I wanted her to know: It’s okay to be sad, to be mad.
It’s okay to express all of the all.
I wanted her to know your big feelings can’t hurt you.
And you’re not doing anything wrong.)
That sacred, ordinary moment came rushing back as I read this week’s reflection aloud.
And I realized: I want to tell you that, too.
I want to tell every person who reads my words:
It’s okay to be sad, to be mad. You feel scared because it’s actually scary right now. It’s okay to cry, to withdraw, to avoid the news.
You’re not doing anything wrong.
This is the work that matters to me.
Saying that to you.
Saying it so that I can hear it, too.
This is the blessing—
Just being with each other as we sit with what’s real.
This is why we gather
Because despite what we’ve been told (and sold),
we are not here to become rugged individualists, doing everything on our own.
We are here to accompany one another through all of it.
The hard things. The good things.
And everything in between.
And I can think of no other time when we have needed one another more.
No other time when we need the regulating, soothing presence of another human soul. Just sitting nearby. A finger (or a hand) extended like a bridge across the space between us.
To say:
I am here with you.
I am here with myself.
No matter what happens.
So here’s the invitation:
A Soft Gathering
We haven’t gathered live in a while.
I’ve missed you.
This call will be the first I’ve led since my stroke—and while I look and sound like myself,
I come to you softer.
Quieter.
More honest.
I care (so much) less what people think—
not in a careless way,
but in the way that comes when you witness the profound grace of being with yourself through something that is really hard…
and also really, truly beautiful.
🕊️ A Soft Gathering
Sunday, April 27 at 1:00 PM ET
We’ll meet on Zoom.
I’ll read a poem.
We’ll write.
We’ll sit quietly—together.
No pressure to speak. But you can - if you want to. After the quiet time, if it feels right.
Or just come to share the quiet, the gentle presence.
There is no charge for this gathering - though normally my Zoom calls are behind a paywall. Not this time.
That said, if you want to join the deeper work we’re doing in Sacred Pause: The Reflection Work, you can subscribe here or simply reply to this note if you have questions or need support.
If you’d like to but can’t manage the $8/month fee, email me at amy@amyoscar.com and I’ll comp you in—no questions asked.
This work is for all who feel called to it.
This week, let this be your reflection:
Where do you pound the floor?
Where are you asking—without words—for someone to sit beside you and say:
I’m here. I know. It’s too much.
And… can you be that someone for yourself?
With love,
Amy
PS: If you’re feeling behind—please don’t.
There’s no need to keep up.
No need to add stress to a stressful time.
Just come to the work that calls to you.
Do—or don’t do—the exercises.
Leave a comment when something moves you.
Or just come say hello in my Notes section.
I’ll be there.
Some recent posts to circle back to during the pause:
A free series: Re-Reading Sea of Miracles Together
A slow and surprising reread of Sea of Miracles, the book that I wrote 15 years ago about angels. Slow? We are taking our time. Surprising? There is so much in this little book — notes on intuition and energy, on prayer and the nature of God — and, for me,so many memories. You’ll find the chapters here, along with my own reflections.Inventory of Tenderness: A recorded, guided meditation
”“You are a moon bursting with light and energy and you need to rest now. You need to empty and rest. Exhale all that you’ve been carrying and release it into the ground.“Instead of arguing with the world, we let it touch us
Here’s what I mean when I say, “Bless Everything.”I Keep Forgetting I’m Not Broken: An encounter with What Not To Wear
The mirror, the makeover and the blessing
Thank you ❤️
Thank you. Right on time.