Your First Language Is Presence

Your first language is the language of presence.

In my clinical work, I (thankfully!) get to rely on the healing power of really being present with someone.

Most of us kind of know it helps to have someone near—just silent and present. But over the years, I’ve had to find out how much I truly believe in that. How much I’m willing to stake on presence alone.

And I’ve come to this:

Presence is more powerful than I am. More powerful than my words are.

That last part was hard for me.
I mean—I love words. They fascinate me.

I Remember When I Fell in Love with Them

I still recall the moment in 4th grade when I was introduced to diagramming sentences. I can see Miss Foy at the chalkboard, drawing lines and arcs, labeling parts of speech. I remember wanting to say to the class, “Hey—does anyone else see how amazing this is?!”

Honestly, I’m a little surprised I didn’t say it out loud. It would’ve been in character for the younger version of me—a little early for kindergarten, full of words, trying to keep up with kids who’d had a whole extra year to figure out how this “school” thing worked.

Back then, my words were how I stayed afloat. The older kids were taller, louder, more sure of themselves. But every now and then, I had something to say. If I timed it just right—while the teacher paused for a breath—I could squeeze in 6 to 8 words. More if I talked fast.

I had to make them count.
I got good at words.

But They’re Not First

With time—and practice—I’ve learned that words don’t come first. They’re not the foundation. They’re not what’s most powerful in a healing room.

Words are our second language.

Our first? It’s presence.

Before speech, we lived in the language of the body, the breath, the unspoken nervous system exchange between a mother and child. Even after birth, long before we could speak, we knew when someone was attuned to us. We felt it in their gaze, their rhythm, their nearness.

That’s what heals. That’s what soothes. That’s what steadies us—often more than anything we could say.

Sometimes, being present is all we have to give.
And in those moments—it’s enough.

For others. And for ourselves.

What We Lose—And What We Can Reclaim

When we’re trying to recover from injury or emotional loss, one of the most underappreciated resources we have is the catalog of things we used to know. Not just intellectually, but deeply. Embodied knowing. Felt truths.

But if those resources stay buried, “in there somewhere,” they can’t help us.

It’s like losing part of ourselves.
And that part isn’t optional. It’s vital.

We lose, in a real sense, the comfort of our own presence.

Beyond Words: Self-Talk in a First Language

Verbal self-talk is good. If you’ve worked at improving it—good! It helps. It can calm your thoughts, interrupt a bad mood, stop a spiral.

But there’s another level.
A more ancient one.

If you want to take your self-talk deeper, try reverting to your first language.

Wait.
Let yourself catch up with yourself.
Be still until your presence arrives.

Feel what you feel.
Then feel what you feel toward that part of you.

Notice how your nervous system responds—first with a kind of quiet excitement at being seen, then with a gentle exhale as it settles beside itself.

That, too, is healing.

That, too, is communication.

And for some of us—for the first time—
it may be the moment we finally enjoy the comfort of our own presence.