The difference between helping and healing

The Quiet Art of Bearing Witness in Motherhood and Medicine"

My daughter suddenly started crying loudly- a typical thing when youre a mother of young children. It was not a skinned-knee kind of cry, but rather a deep, guttural sob that comes when something hurts in a way we can’t quite name.

I ran to her, maternal instinct kicking in. I wanted to fix it. Solve it. Say something wise or soothing to make her pain stop.
But instead, I sat beside her, took a breath, and said nothing. I just stayed.
Eventually, the tears slowed. A small hand reached for mine. And in that quiet space, something shifted.

This moment reminded me of a lesson I've learned countless times in my oncology practice, yet still forget regularly in motherhood:
Helping and healing are not always the same.
And often, the most healing thing we can do… is to simply bear witness.

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Helping is Doing. Healing is Being.

As mothers, we are hardwired to fix. When our children struggle, our nervous systems activate with the intensity of a fire alarm. We leap into action—offering solutions, distractions, or quick fixes. It's beautiful, this instinct to protect and mend. But it often puts us in a position of control—I know what you need, and I will give it to you.

As an oncologist, I've watched this similar pattern play out. A patient shares their fear about a diagnosis, and immediately family members jump in with reassurances: "Don't worry, you'll be fine." "Stay positive." "Everything happens for a reason." The words come from love, but they often shut down the very conversation that needs to happen.

We help when we solve problems.

Healing, on the other hand, asks something harder.
It asks us to be still. To stay present in the discomfort. To trust that pain, while unwelcome, can be a teacher.

We heal when we create space for the full human experience to unfold.

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The Wisdom of Bearing Witness

There's a concept in Zen Buddhism called "bearing witness"—the practice of staying present with what is, without immediately rushing to change it. In my mindfulness practice, I've learned that this isn't passive; it's one of the most active, courageous things we can do.

When I bear witness to my patients' fears, something remarkable happens. They often find their own words for what they're experiencing. They discover their own strength. They remember they are more than their diagnosis.

When I bear witness to my children's struggles—their disappointments, their big emotions, their growing pains—I give them something more valuable than solutions: I give them the experience of being fully seen and accepted in their pain.

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In Medicine: Sitting with the Unfixable

I see this truth play out most profoundly in oncology. There are times when no treatment can cure. And yet, those moments—those deeply human, heartbreaking moments—are often where the deepest healing happens.
Not in chemotherapy or scans.
But in the way we show up- with eye contact, with silence, with truth.
In allowing someone to be fully seen, even in their most vulnerable state.

Last month, I sat with a patient who had just received difficult news about her cancer progression. Her husband immediately began researching clinical trials on his phone. Her daughter started making a list of second opinions to seek. Both responses came from deep love, but the patient looked more isolated with each passing minute.

"What do you need right now?" I asked her.

"I just need someone to sit with me in this," she whispered.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Her family slowly put away their phones and lists. We all just breathed together in the quiet heaviness of the moment.

Later, she told me it was the first time since her diagnosis that she felt truly accompanied rather than managed.

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In Motherhood: Letting Feelings Be Felt

As mothers, we want to make everything okay. We want to kiss away the hurt, distract from the tantrum, solve the social drama.
But our children need something more enduring than solutions.
They need to know that all parts of them—the sad, the angry, the confused—are welcome.
They need us to stay. To bear witness.
To show them, in our stillness, that they are not alone.

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Mindfulness as the Bridge

Mindfulness teaches us how to sit in that sacred pause.
Not rushing to fix, not offering advice, but breathing with another person’s pain.
It helps us move from:

• “How do I make this go away?”
  to

• “Can I be present with this, exactly as it is?”

This shift—while subtle—can be profoundly healing.

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Practicing the Pause

The challenge isn't learning to care less—it's learning to care differently. Here's what I've discovered about creating space for healing:

Notice the impulse to fix. When someone shares pain with you, feel the energy that rises in your body. Notice the urge to immediately offer solutions, advice, or reassurance. This awareness is the first step.

Ask instead of assuming. "What do you need right now?" is often more helpful than "Here's what you should do." Sometimes the answer is practical help. Sometimes it's just presence.

Trust the process. Healing isn't linear or efficient. It doesn't follow our timelines or preferences. It unfolds in its own mysterious way when we create the conditions for it.

Remember your own experience. Think about times when you were in pain and someone truly saw you versus times when someone tried to fix you. Which felt more healing?

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The Ripple Effect

When we learn to bear witness—to sit with discomfort without immediately rushing to eliminate it—we give our children an extraordinary gift. We show them that difficult emotions are not emergencies to be solved but natural parts of being human.

We teach them that they are strong enough to feel their feelings, wise enough to navigate their own inner landscape, and worthy of being loved exactly as they are—scraped knees, broken hearts, and all.

This doesn't mean we never offer comfort or practical help. It means we lead with presence first, solutions second.

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An Invitation

As I prepare to launch my mindfulness program for mothers, I'm reminded that our greatest healing often happens not when we learn new techniques, but when we remember ancient wisdom: the power of simply being with what is.

This week, I invite you to practice bearing witness.

When someone you love is hurting, pause before offering help.
See what happens when you simply stay.
You may find that what they needed all along was not your answer, but your presence.

With love and presence,

ps- If you'd like to join me in exploring these practices more deeply, I'll be opening registration for my mindfulness program for mothers soon. Reply to this email if you'd like to be added to my priority list.