On Reverence.
What no one tells you about the quiet holiness of healing.
I’ve been doing this work long enough to know when something lands differently. This did.
With permission, I’m sharing a reflection that has stayed with me.
“For some reason, our call just drained everything out of me — like it released something I’d been holding. Minutes later, I got news my dad was really sick. My sister was panicking. And instead of spiraling, I was able to be calm, grounded, present.
That same day, I led a manager training, handled an injury at work, made an emergency decision about our system going down, and still showed up for a dance practice with my daughter I wanted to skip.
Through it all, your voice was in my head:
‘You can feel like shit and still show up as the person you want to be.’This week would have taken me out a few months ago.
Now? I’m tired — but I’m standing.That’s because of you.”
The feeling came after a recent session.
One I’ve felt before—
but never quite known how to name.
It rises slowly.
Somewhere between gratitude
and awe.
It’s the feeling of bearing witness
to someone who has done the hard,
brave work of healing.
Not in a single moment,
but over time.
Showing up.
Digging deep.
Making space for something new to grow.
And then suddenly…
you see it.
That shift.
That softening.
That strength.
It’s not just pride…
(though, I’m so proud of them.)
It’s not just joy…
(though, my heart is so full.)
It’s something more like reverence.
A quiet, sacred kind of awe.
The kind that humbles you.
The kind that makes you remember
why you ever said yes to this work
in the first place.
This is the part no one tells you about in training.
We spend years learning the models,
the evidence, the techniques.
(And they matter.)
They give us ground to stand on
when everything feels uncertain.
But they didn’t teach me this.
They didn’t prepare me for what it would feel like
to sit across from another human being
and sense the moment something inside them
begins to soften…
or strengthen…
or settle.
They didn’t teach me the quiet holiness of witnessing someone return to themselves.
That part?
You taught me that.
You — and so many others —
who’ve let me into the messy, sacred middle
of your stories.
And maybe it hits harder this year.
Because everything in me
has been stretched.
I’ve carried more than I thought I could.
I’ve had moments
(..long ones..)
When I wasn’t sure
I had anything left to give.
But somehow,
I’m still here.
Somehow,
this work still meets me.
And somehow,
it still matters.
It’s you,
still showing up.
And me,
sitting there
in awe of your courage.
Today, I felt it.
And I needed to write it down.
(mostly, so I don’t forget.)
Because many days,
it’s heavy.
But some days,
it’s complete
and utter
light.
Dr. Jenny Shields is an American psychologist, healthcare ethicist, and writer. She is known for her public advocacy in mental health, her work addressing moral distress in healthcare systems, and as one of a small number of practicing psychologist-ethicists in the U.S. She is the founder of Shields Psychology & Consulting, PLLC, a private practice devoted to supporting healthcare professionals, high-functioning adults, and those navigating burnout, trauma, or identity transitions.
