Becoming a Witness

Learning How to Hold Space for Growth

I've decided to start sharing my writing about my friend and mentor, Michael M. Piechowski, more frequently.

For nearly nine years, I've been documenting our friendship: from our first tentative email exchanges in 2016 to our deepening connection that has become one of the most transformative relationships of my life. What began as correspondence with a renowned scholar whose work had changed my understanding of myself evolved into a mentorship that was, by his own admission, reluctant at first but ultimately meaningful for us both.

Michael, now 91, is the scholar who brought Kazimierz Dabrowski's theory of positive disintegration to the field of gifted education in 1979. His work on overexcitabilities has helped countless gifted and intense individuals understand that their sensitivity and depth are not pathologies but possibilities for growth. When I first encountered his writing in 2014, I saw myself reflected in his words in a way that felt like coming home.

But this isn't just a story about discovering a helpful theory; it's about what happens when you reach out to someone whose work has changed your life, and they let you in.

The material I'll be sharing comes from my extensive archives: journals, emails, reflections, interviews, and observations collected over our years together.

A Living Archive

What makes this sharing special is that it's drawn from nearly a decade of real-time documentation. I've kept careful records not because I knew they'd become public, but because writing is how I process and understand my life. The result is an unusual window into how a profound relationship develops over time: the setbacks and breakthroughs, the misunderstandings and moments of perfect connection.

Michael has taught me that the most important growth happens slowly, often invisibly, and always in relationship. Our friendship has been a laboratory for practicing patience, extending grace, and learning to love someone exactly as they are rather than as we wish they were.

These are the words I'm finally ready to share with you.

I'm starting with a piece that captures something essential about the transformation that happened in my life over the past decade, and perhaps something universal about how we grow from seekers into guides ourselves.

This began as a reflection on patience, but as I wrote it, I realized it was really about witnessing: what it means to hold space for someone's growth, and how that capacity develops in us over time. It's about the moment when you stop being primarily someone who needs to be seen and start becoming someone who can truly see others.

It's fitting to begin here, because this shift—from seeker to witness—has been one of the most profound changes in my relationship with Michael, and in my life more broadly.

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There was a time when I didn't know how to be patient. During my early correspondence with Michael M. Piechowski, I was overwhelmed with questions, excitement, and a desperate need to connect. In hindsight, I sent far too many emails. I flooded him with my thoughts, hoping for guidance, validation, or maybe just someone who truly understood.

What's incredible to me now is that, despite my intensity, he remained in my life. Over time, I realized I needed to try harder: to pause, to give him space, and to trust that our connection didn't require constant engagement. And somewhere along the way, I began to cultivate patience.

This story isn't just about learning patience, though. It's about a fundamental shift that happens in our lives, often when we least expect it: the moment we stop being primarily seekers and begin becoming witnesses for others.

Photo by Max Nguyen on Unsplash

The Hunger That Drives Us

I think about that version of myself from 2016—so hungry for understanding, for connection, for someone to see me clearly. There's something both beautiful and painful about that hunger. It's the drive that pushes us toward growth, toward finding our people, toward the mentors and guides who can help us make sense of our experiences.

But hunger can also be overwhelming. When you've spent years feeling misunderstood or isolated, whether because of your neurodivergence, your intensity, your way of seeing the world, finding someone who gets it can feel like discovering water in a desert. Of course you want to drink deeply. Of course you want to share everything, immediately.

What I didn't understand then is that true mentorship isn't about constant engagement or immediate answers. It's about creating space for something to unfold over time.

The Power of Being Witnessed

One of the greatest gifts I received from Michael was his ability to witness my growth. He didn't rush me or try to shape me into something I wasn't ready to be. Instead, he held space for me to evolve. He saw my intensity and didn't push it away. He didn't rush my development or try to fix my eagerness. He didn't shame me for my hunger or my questions. And because he created space rather than trying to fill it, I was able to grow in ways I never could have predicted.

This kind of witnessing is radically different from advice-giving or problem-solving. It's not about having the answers or knowing the path forward. It's about holding steady presence while someone else finds their way.

Learning to Hold Space

I remember the exact moment Michael sent me a message that said, "Patience, patience, patience." At the time, it felt almost cruel. I was burning with questions, with the need to understand, to connect, to make progress. Patience felt like the opposite of what I needed.

But what I was learning—slowly, painfully, beautifully—was how to sit with uncertainty. How to trust that growth happens in its own time. How to find meaning in the process itself, not just in the outcomes I was desperately seeking.

This wasn't easy for someone wired like me. If you recognize yourself in my story, you might understand what it's like to have a mind that moves quickly, that makes connections others miss, that sees patterns and possibilities everywhere. Slowing down can feel like betraying your own nature.

But there's a difference between slowing down and shutting down. Learning patience didn't mean becoming less intense or less curious. It meant learning to channel that intensity in a way that served both me and the relationship.

The Unexpected Shift: Becoming a Witness for Others

At some point, and I couldn't tell you exactly when, the dynamic changed. I started noticing that people were coming to me for guidance. I wasn't just seeking understanding anymore; I was offering it.

This wasn't something I planned or even recognized at first. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was ready. But others seemed to know before I did. It happened gradually, in conversations with friends who were struggling, in moments when someone would say, "I need to talk to someone who understands," and they'd reach out to me.

People could see that I had gotten to a place where they hoped to be. Not because I had all the answers or had figured everything out, but because I had learned how to hold space for complexity, for not-knowing, and for the messy process of growth itself.

John Welwood wrote about his work with clients in a way that resonates deeply with what I was learning to do. While describing work with one of his clients, he said:

"I provided an environment of attentive listening and presence that welcomed her experience in an attuned, accepting way. The kind of holding environment I gave clients was the bedrock of therapeutic healing."

This is exactly what I found myself offering. Not as a therapist, but as someone who had learned to witness. I learned to listen without immediately trying to fix or solve. I learned to sit with someone's confusion or pain without rushing to make it better. I learned to trust that people have their own wisdom and timeline for growth.

What Witnessing Actually Looks Like

Real witnessing isn't passive. It's not just sitting quietly while someone talks. It's active presence: being fully there, tracking both the words and the emotions underneath, and becoming aware of the patterns that emerge over time, and the moments when something shifts.

Sometimes witnessing looks like reflecting back what you're hearing: "It sounds like you're feeling torn between what you want and what you think you should want."

Sometimes it's asking questions that help someone go deeper: "What would it mean if you trusted that instinct?"

But often, it's simply being a steady presence while someone works through their own process. It's creating safety for someone to think out loud, to contradict themselves, to not know what they think yet.

I've learned that one of the most powerful things you can offer someone is the experience of being truly seen without being judged or fixed. So many of us are hungry for this—to be witnessed in our full complexity, to have our struggles normalized, to feel less alone in our questions.

The Responsibility of Witnessing

Holding space for someone's growth is a privilege, and it comes with responsibility. You're not responsible for fixing their problems or making their path easier, but you are responsible for maintaining the quality of presence that creates safety for their exploration.

This means being honest about your own limitations. It means not taking on more than you can hold. It means being clear about boundaries while still offering genuine care.

I think about all the ways I could have damaged my relationship with Michael in those early years—by demanding too much, by not respecting his boundaries, by expecting him to fill roles he wasn't meant to fill. The fact that he stayed, and that he continued to offer guidance even when I was overwhelming, taught me something profound about grace.

Now, when I'm in the witness role, I try to offer that same grace to others. Not everyone will learn boundaries as quickly as they need to. Not everyone will know how to receive guidance without becoming dependent on it. Part of being a good witness is holding space for people to learn these things in their own time.

The Mirror of Growth

One of the unexpected gifts of becoming a witness is how it reflects back your own growth. Every time someone comes to you for guidance, it's evidence of how far you've traveled from that earlier version of yourself.

I think about the person I was in 2016, so desperate for validation, especially for someone to tell me I was on the right path. That person couldn't have imagined becoming someone others seek out for perspective and support. The transformation wasn't a straight line, and it certainly wasn't quick, but it was real.

This is one of the beautiful paradoxes of growth: the more you learn to hold space for others, the more space you create within yourself. The more you practice witnessing without needing to fix or change, the more patient you become with your own process.

When You're Still Seeking

If you're reading this and you're still in the seeking phase—still looking for your mentors, your guides, your people who understand—I want you to know that your hunger is not a flaw. Your questions are not too much. Your intensity is not something to apologize for.

But I also want you to know that learning to seek with patience will transform not just your relationships with others, but your relationship with yourself. When you can sit with not-knowing, when you can trust that growth happens in its own time, you create space for insights and connections that can't be forced.

The mentors and guides you're seeking? They may be looking for you, too. But not all mentors arrive ready. Some need time. Some never become what we hoped. And sometimes, before anyone else can truly see us, we have to become our own best witness first. That, too, is part of the journey.

The Long Arc of Becoming

What I understand now that I couldn't have grasped in 2016 is that becoming a witness isn't a destination—it's a continuous process of deepening. Every person I hold space for teaches me something new about presence, about patience, about the complexity of human experience.

I'm not witnessing in the same way Michael witnessed for me, because we are different people with different gifts and different approaches. But I carry forward what I learned from him: that true mentorship is about creating conditions for someone else's flowering, not shaping them into what you think they should become.

I remembered Michael’s words often: Patience, patience, patience.

It took years, but I understand now. Patience isn't about slowing down your natural intensity or curiosity. It's about trusting that the most important transformations happen in their own time, often in ways we can't predict or control.

The person you're becoming, the witness you might someday be for others—that's emerging too, in its own perfect timing.

A Final Reflection

Sometimes people ask me how I knew I was ready to step into a guiding role with others. The truth is, I didn't know. It happened organically, as these transitions often do. One day, I realized that I was spending more time listening than talking, more time asking questions than seeking answers, more time holding space than trying to fill it.

If you find yourself in a similar transition—if people are starting to come to you for guidance—trust that you're ready for whatever comes next. You don't need to have all the answers or be perfectly healed from your own struggles. You just need to be willing to show up with presence and patience for whatever someone else needs to explore.

And if you're still in the seeking phase, still hungry for witnesses in your own life, know that your process is unfolding exactly as it should. The right mentors will appear. The right guidance will come. Your questions will find their answers, often in ways more beautiful than you can imagine.

Both seeking and witnessing are sacred roles. They require courage, and both transform us in ways we can't predict.

All we can do is show up with as much presence, patience, and grace as we can manage—and trust that growth, in all its forms, knows what it's doing.

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What has your experience been with mentors, guides, or witnesses in your own life? Have you noticed yourself shifting into a witnessing role with others? I'd love to hear your thoughts!