We often hear that being present is what matters most, that if we could just sit with someone, really sit with them, empathy would grow. There may be some truth in that, but it’s not the whole story. Presence alone doesn’t always heal. I’ve seen presence open hearts, but I’ve also seen it deepen contempt. What makes the difference isn’t presence alone—it’s posture.
In therapy, I’ve learned that simply showing up or telling one’s story isn’t what brings healing. There’s a common idea that if we just “dig up the past,” the truth will set us free. But that’s not how it works. Unearthing what’s buried can just as easily reopen wounds if it’s done without care. Telling the story isn’t enough; healing begins when the story is met with a different posture, one of curiosity, compassion, and a willingness to see what else might be true.
The same principle applies outside of the therapy room too. We can be physically near and emotionally far. We can listen to words and miss the person speaking them. What changes everything is the posture we bring into the space between us.
Posture is the shape of our attention, the stance of the mind and heart. We can hold ourselves toward others with tension and certainty, already convinced we know who they are and what they’ll say. Or we can hold ourselves with openness, aware of how little we know, willing to be surprised.
It’s a subtle shift, but it changes the atmosphere entirely.
Sometimes, when I’m working with a client, I’ll invite them to notice how attention actually works.
We sit quietly for a moment, breathing. Then I’ll ask them to listen, not for anything in particular, just to what’s already there.
And slowly, sounds begin to appear: the hum of the air conditioner, the faint drone of traffic, a bird somewhere outside, an airplane passing overhead.
None of those sounds are within our control. They simply exist. What we do have control over is what we choose to pay attention to.
When we shift our attention intentionally–when we notice the sound of our own breathing, or the texture of the chair beneath us—the whole field of experience changes. This shift from unconscious reaction to intentional awareness is a change in posture.
The same is true in our relationships. We can’t control what others bring into the room, but we can choose how we attend to them. We can let our awareness soften and widen, to hold them with curiosity rather than judgment. That’s what a posture of curiosity feels like; it’s open, alert, but not grasping.
The psychiatrist and philosopher Iain McGilchrist writes that the kind of attention we give the world changes the world we perceive. In other words, attention isn’t passive, it’s creative. The way we attend gives shape to what is real for us. When our posture is open (curious, receptive, relational), the world appears alive with connection. When it’s closed (defended, grasping, certain), the world shrinks into caricatures.
In therapy, I sit with people whose beliefs and choices I sometimes struggle to understand. But my work isn’t to argue or correct, it’s to listen. And without fail, when I listen with curiosity, the caricature falls away and a human being appears.
It’s the same dynamic that plays out everywhere else. Online, at work, in politics, even at home, we’re pulled toward certainty, because certainty feels safe. But as I wrote in A Place to Stand, it’s certainty rather than confusion that gets us stuck. Curiosity loosens that grip. It makes space for something new to emerge.
It’s easy to forget that attention is something we can choose.
But we live in a world that profits when we don’t.
We live inside an economy built to capture and commodify our attention. Every swipe, ping, and headline competes for it, shaping not only what we think but how we think. We give away this precious, limited resource to trivial and often malignant content online.
McGilchrist might say we’ve become entranced by one mode of attention: the narrow, grasping kind that wants to control and categorize. The other, the one that listens and relates, has grown faint.
It’s no wonder we struggle to see one another clearly. The online world flattens people into opinions and performances. It amplifies outrage and obscures nuance and complexity. And with misinformation, deepfakes, and AI-generated images flooding our feeds, it’s increasingly hard to tell what’s real. In that confusion, certainty becomes a kind of refuge. But what we need isn’t more certainty, it’s a different posture, one that stays curious even when reality feels unstable.
In therapy, healing begins when someone experiences another person’s full, undivided attention and care. What if we brought that same quality of attention into our shared life, to our families, our communities, even our disagreements?
We can’t control the noise. But we can control our posture. We can choose to meet one another with curiosity instead of certainty.
Maybe empathy begins there, in the way we hold ourselves toward each other and toward the world.
Ryan Denney is an associate marriage and family therapist, writer, and software developer AMFT #155800, supervised by Rachel Daggett, MS, LMFT #107858