When Spaciousness Feels Like Abandonment: On Being Directive Enough

A Sacred Container of Kindness with Structure

Power exists in every relationship. In spiritual companionship, it’s essential to acknowledge that power — not to misuse or ignore it, but to hold it with intention and care. Pretending the relationship is fully equal can actually create harm, especially when the explorer is vulnerable or unsure of the process. 

Ethical companionship means naming and carrying the responsibility that comes with holding space. We don’t dominate or dictate — but we also don’t disappear. The seeker is not looking for control, but for a steady presence: someone who can offer a sacred container where openness is paired with structure, and freedom is framed with kindness.

The relationship between a helper or spiritual caregiver and the person being companioned isn’t a democracy. In fact, trying to give away the power and responsibility that comes with the companion’s role can lead to the explorer feeling abandoned. Often, what the seeker truly needs is hospitality with structure — a compassionate vessel to hold their journey.

I often see a kind of over-correction — in couples, in spiritual companioning, and in well-intentioned attempts to be kind. Someone wants to be generous, open, and non-controlling… but ends up avoiding responsibility altogether.

We don’t want to dominate or control, so we don’t offer structure at all. We say things like:

• “I don't know, whatever is fine.”
• “What would you like to talk about today?”
• “Well, it’s really up to you.”

And those phrases sound kind. But in many moments, they leave the other person feeling… a bit lost. Or even abandoned.

This has me reflecting deeply on what spiritual companionship and leadership require. Sometimes, in our desire to avoid control or hierarchy, we swing so far toward “letting it unfold” that we leave people untethered. Spaciousness becomes vagueness. Non-directiveness becomes abandonment disguised as kindness.

While the explorer (or seeker) might say they want openness, there are moments when they’re actually asking:

“Can you help hold me while I find my way?”

“Whatever You Want, Dear”: Over-Accommodating in Relationships

You’ve probably seen this dynamic: one person in a couple tries to be accommodating by never naming a preference. They say things like, “Whatever you want, dear,” or “I’m fine with anything.” And while that might seem polite, it can become maddening.
Because sometimes, what the other person really wants is partnership. Co-creation. Someone else to carry the load of decision-making. The unspoken question underneath may be:

“Can you help hold this moment with me?”

That kind of passivity — even when well-meaning — shifts all the responsibility onto the other person. And over time, it erodes connection.

Spiritual Companioning with New Explorers: Structure is Care

In a first or early spiritual direction session, the explorer may have no idea what this work can be. Maybe they signed up because they’re seeking, or someone recommended it, or it just felt right.

As a companion, if I open with “So what would you like to talk about today?” — I might be offering freedom. But I might also be offering fog.
If someone is unsure what spiritual companioning is, one of the kindest things we can do is to name the possibilities and offer a gentle framework:

“Some people bring a recent experience or feeling they want to explore more deeply. Others start with a dream, a decision, or even just a longing they can’t quite name. Would any of those feel supportive to you today?”

That’s not directive in the sense of control. It’s inviting with structure. It’s a form of hospitality.

When the Companion Has a Suggestion: Leadership with Consent

There are also moments when I, as a companion, feel an inner nudge to offer something — a question, a practice, an image from a tradition, a shift in focus.
This isn’t “telling the seeker what to do.” It’s offering a possible path with spaciousness and care. The difference is in tone and consent:

“I have something arising I’d like to offer — a possible thread we could explore together. Would you like to hear it?”

Even in mutual models like Anam Cara, where roles alternate and shared presence is central, spiritual direction isn’t a democracy.

 It’s a sacred container, one held with intention and awareness. And containers — to be safe — need shape.

Timbisha Shoshone food/presentation bowl CC0

Particular Focus: When Non-Directiveness Isn’t Loving

In spiritual direction, we’re often trained to hold silence, to wait, to mirror back. That’s beautiful, and often exactly what’s needed.
But not always.

Sometimes, a question like “What would feel supportive to you right now?” isn’t as kind as simply offering:

“Would it be helpful if I named a few ways people navigate this?”

When someone is floundering, we can discern whether they need a mirror to reflect their own knowing — or a lifeline to steady them until they find their footing.

That’s not directive in the controlling sense. It’s offering structure with consent — meeting the seeker’s need with care, not control.

That structure is often what allows them to re-center, rather than drift away.

Try It: Reflect on These Questions

1. Have you ever hesitated to offer guidance for fear of being too directive? What happened?
2. What helps you know when a seeker wants choice versus when they need structure?
3. In group settings, how do you hold shared leadership while still offering direction and care?

Leading with consent and hospitality doesn’t mean abdicating your role. True presence includes noticing when structure is needed and offering it without control. That’s part of the sacred trust we carry — not to steer someone’s journey, but to help hold the vessel as they navigate it. When we honor the power that comes with this role and offer it with transparency, kindness, and humility, we create a space where seekers can rest, risk, and return to their own deep knowing.

Beloved, you are whole, holy, and worthy,

Rev. Amy

Kindness in a Time of Claws

Searching through the Rubble for Kindness

When layoffs were sweeping through my workplace many years ago, I watched people I had thought of as kind and decent become cruel. Colleagues who once smiled in the hallways began hoarding resources, undermining one another, and snapping at anyone they perceived as vulnerable. I was shocked—and to be honest, deeply disillusioned. It was one of my earliest adult encounters with how fear and scarcity can twist people.

I did some reading at the time, trying to understand. The answers were complicated—and they still are.

Image Credit: Bonsales, Shutterstock

I want to believe people are good. Some might call that Pollyanna-ish, especially when we’re surrounded by cruelty, bullying, or indifference. But even if some people lose their way, that doesn’t mean we should stop believing in goodness—or trying to practice it ourselves.

Recent research reveals that in disasters, many people do rise to the occasion. Sociologists studying natural disasters like hurricanes and earthquakes have found that people often show extraordinary generosity and cooperation—what some call catastrophe compassion. When the world collapses around us, many of us build communities rather than barricades.¹

But that’s not the only pattern. When people feel threatened—whether by job loss, cultural change, or political power shifts—they can also behave like trapped animals. They snap at the hands trying to feed them or free them. This isn’t just metaphor. Neuroscience tells us that when we perceive danger, our amygdala (the threat detector) overrides the parts of our brain responsible for empathy, reason, and long-term thinking. We go into survival mode.²

That’s where we find ourselves now. I see this in the MAGA faithful. I see it in those who are drawn to fascist ideologies—even those who would be targeted by such regimes. It’s disheartening. And infuriating. And painful.

But it may also be fear.

That doesn’t excuse hate. It doesn’t mean we don’t set boundaries. But it may mean that kindness—real kindness, the kind that is rooted in strength, courage, and healthy boundaries—has more power than we think. That gentleness is not weakness. That compassion doesn’t mean avoiding the truth, but facing it with dignity.

We can be good even when others are not.

And sometimes, people surprise us. Even those who’ve lashed out in pain may, someday, reach back in peace. I’ve seen it happen. It may not be everyone. But it might be someone.

What about bullies?

Bullying isn’t always about cruelty for its own sake. Psychologists point out that many bullies act out of a need for control, fear of being powerless, or a belief that harshness is the only way to be safe.³ In the same way that political extremism can become a hard shell around fear or shame, bullying can be a survival tactic that outlasts the original threat. But people can grow beyond it. What helps? Real relationships. Accountability. New narratives about who they are and what strength looks like. I’ve seen it happen. People can soften. People can change.

So let’s practice kindness—not just for them, but for ourselves. Let’s find refuge in our own integrity. Let’s be the kind of neighbor we’d want to search for in the rubble.

Try It: Reflecting on Courageous Kindness

• Recall a time when you felt backed into a corner. What helped you not lash out—or helped you return to kindness later?

• Is there someone you’re tempted to write off as “irredeemable”? What do you imagine they’re afraid of? (This doesn’t mean excusing harm, nor putting yourself in harm's way—but it might offer insight.)

• Practice one act of proactive kindness today—especially one that’s a bit uncomfortable. Kindness is easy when you think someone deserves it. Real courage shows up when kindness is not returned.

You might find grounding in this practice:

https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/04/metta-meditation-holding-infant.html

I'd love to receive your responses to this. It is a challenge to balance kindness with boundaries, a passion for justice with compassion. What's working (or not working) for you?

Beloved,

You are whole, holy, and worthy,

Rev. Amy