When Time Doesn’t Heal, Presence Might
We like to think that time heals all wounds. It’s comforting, isn’t it? To imagine that with enough distance, the sting will dull, the ache will soften, and the sharp edges of loss or shame will wear themselves smooth. Sometimes, time does help, but what about the wounds that don’t respond to the passing of days? What about the pain that lingers, not because it’s stubborn, but because it was never met with presence?
Time passed… The pain didn’t.
Years ago, I lost someone close to me, a friend, a mentor, someone I deeply respected both professionally and personally. The shock of their death hit me hard, but what followed was even harder, guilt, regret and a sense that I had somehow failed, or hadn’t done enough. The ache didn’t fade with the seasons. In fact, for nearly a decade, it stayed with me. Quiet at times, but ever-present.
What shifted it wasn’t the ticking clock. It was presence.
Not magical, floaty, sit-on-a-mat presence. I mean the harder hitting kind. Turning up for myself. Choosing not to look away. Getting in my body. Letting the emotions come up in therapy. Naming the guilt instead of managing it through distraction or busyness. It was physical, emotional, messy. I started doing the work I now so often advocate for; breath-work, stillness, physicality, self-inquiry. But above all, I found space, relational space, to explore what had been too heavy to carry alone. That’s where real healing began. Not through time alone, but in the presence of someone who could sit with me as I made sense of it all. Eventually, the pain began to move. Not vanish, but move… Soften…Integrate.
When we say “time will heal”… we often mean, “I hope I won’t have to feel this forever.”
Feelings don’t disappear just because we ignore them. They tend to wait, sometimes buried so deep we barely notice, until we do. I see it in clients all the time. The trauma from decades ago that still shows up in the way they avoid closeness. The grief from a loss they never got to speak about. The shame that they think they've outgrown, but which still governs their self-worth.
Time doesn’t heal what we won’t touch, but presence… being with what is… with honesty and compassion, can.
Recovery from trauma isn’t a solo pursuit, it requires the steady presence of another person. Not someone who takes over or rushes the process, but someone who offers safety, autonomy, and genuine connection.
Trauma fractures trust. It disconnects us from others, from our own bodies, from our sense of agency. Healing, then, must reconnect. In therapy, that reconnection happens slowly and relationally. The therapist doesn’t “fix” you, they walk with you. They help you learn that it's possible to feel safe with another human being again. That your story matters. That you have choices. That the mess of emotions doesn’t make you weak, but human.
So what does presence look like?
It’s not glamorous. It’s rarely easy. But it’s transformative. Presence means:
Sitting with your anger without rushing to shut it down.
Letting the tears come even if you don’t understand them yet.
Taking a walk instead of numbing out.
Choosing to talk to someone, even if all you can say is, “I don’t know where to begin.”
Noticing your breath. Returning to it, again and again.
It’s reaching for therapy not because you want to “fix it fast,” but because you’re ready to feel what you’ve been avoiding. Maybe, for the first time, not feel so alone in it.
Time didn’t do the healing, I did.
We wait for time to rescue us. But often, the real rescue comes when we stop running. When we stop hoping we’ll wake up one day and magically feel better. Instead, we show up, for what hurts.
If you’ve been carrying pain that time hasn’t eased, it might be time to meet it differently.
Therapy offers a space where presence isn’t just possible, it’s held, welcomed, encouraged. Where the silence between your words still speaks volumes. Where nothing is too messy or too much.
If time hasn’t healed it, presence still might.
You don’t have to keep waiting, and you certainly don’t have to carry it alone.