DREIESKIVA​|Roald Kvam

In a world moving at full speed, where notifications ring louder than intuition and attention is fragmented, it is easy to forget the profound power of simply being present. But presence—true, soul-level presence—is more than just showing up. It is a gift. It is healing. And it matters more than we might ever realize.

We are all, in our deepest essence, yearning to be seen, to be heard, and to be loved. We long to live as the radiant, open, spiritual beings we are and have always been. And yet, for most of us, something happened along the way. Life—especially the formative years of childhood—taught us that our full presence wasn’t always welcome, safe, or enough.

So we shut down. Bit by bit. A little here, a little there. Maybe we learned to stay quiet when we wanted to speak. Maybe we learned to be the helper, the pleaser, the achiever, the strong one. Maybe we learned to hide our sensitivity, our joy, or our pain. We did what we had to do to survive. And in doing so, we created protective patterns—armor around the heart—that made us feel safer but also more distant from our true selves.

This shutting down is the tragedy so many of us carry in silence. And yet, within every one of us, there is a whisper—a memory of who we were before the world told us who we had to be. That whisper is calling us back to presence.

Because your presence matters.

Your presence matters in every room you walk into. Your groundedness, your attention, your ability to hold space—not just for others, but for yourself—creates ripples. You don’t need to be the loudest, the most charismatic, or the most articulate. You just need to be here. With yourself. With others. With life.

The truth is, people don’t always remember what you said. But they remember how they felt in your presence. Did they feel safe? Seen? Like they didn’t need to perform or hide? That is the power you carry. Not through perfection, but through authenticity.

And yet, presence is not always easy. Being present requires a quiet kind of bravery. It asks us to soften, to slow down, to feel—sometimes things we’d rather not. Presence brings us face-to-face with the parts of ourselves we’ve exiled: the fear, the grief, the tenderness, the longing. But it is in that very contact that transformation begins.

It’s not about fixing all your wounds before you can be present. It’s about letting your heart open, even while it’s still healing. It’s about showing up as you are, with all your messy humanity, and letting that be enough. Because it is enough. You are enough.

You don’t have to be a guru, a therapist, or a teacher to impact lives. Just by being attuned, available, and sincere, you offer something increasingly rare in this world: genuine connection. You become someone others can exhale around. Someone who doesn’t need them to be anything other than who they are.

And here’s the paradox: the more we allow ourselves to be—without hiding, rushing, or proving—the more others feel permission to do the same. This is how presence becomes contagious. It’s how healing spreads. Because one person sitting in their truth creates space for another to do the same.

This is especially important in relationships. Many of the wounds we carry were created in the absence of presence—in childhood moments where a parent was emotionally unavailable, distracted, or disapproving. We internalized the message that our emotions were too much, our needs inconvenient, our authenticity unsafe.

Now, as adults, we often reenact these patterns unconsciously. We become the unavailable one. We numb out. We chase achievement. We scroll endlessly, not realizing we’re starving for intimacy—not just with others, but with ourselves.

But every moment gives us a chance to choose differently. We can pause. Breathe. Feel our feet on the ground. Come back to our body. Notice what’s here, right now. That is presence. And from that place, we can begin to meet the world with softness, curiosity, and love.

It’s easy to underestimate the impact this can have. But presence doesn’t need a spotlight. Its effects are often quiet but profound. A mother sitting in stillness with her anxious child. A friend who listens without interrupting. A nurse who meets an elderly patient’s eyes with warmth. These are the holy moments. The moments that stitch a broken world back together, thread by thread.

Presence is a form of love. And love, in its purest form, does not need to fix, rescue, or perform. It just is. It says: I see you. I am with you. You matter.

And yes—your presence matters to others. But it also matters to you. When you are present, you get to inhabit your own life more fully. You get to taste your coffee, feel the sunlight, cry your tears, laugh from your belly, notice the wind. You stop outsourcing your worth and return to the sacred home within yourself.

From this place, everything becomes more alive. You become more alive.

So if you’ve been feeling disconnected, numb, or not enough—know that it’s okay. You’re not broken. You’re human. And you’ve had good reasons for every wall you’ve built. But maybe now, just now, there is space to soften. To be seen. To see.

You don’t have to change everything overnight. Just begin with a breath. A moment of noticing. A willingness to meet yourself where you are, with compassion.

Your journey back to presence doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be yours.

Let your eyes meet the eyes of the people you love. Let your shoulders drop. Let your laughter rise when it wants to. Let yourself cry if you need to. Be with this moment. It’s where your life is happening.

And remember: even when you feel unseen or uncertain, your presence is still making a difference.

More than anything you do, achieve, or say—

Your presence matters.