Play As Presence

Play as Presence

The greatest gift we can give a child is presence.

Not just being in the same room—but being with them. Fully. Gently. Without needing to fix, explain, or rush them toward something else. Presence starts with us: our own ability to pause, to breathe, to sit with what is. To stay open to whatever arises—grief, laughter, silence, chaos—without turning away.

Presence is a quiet kind of power. It doesn’t look impressive. It doesn’t always look like therapy. But for a child who has lived through trauma, it can change everything.

When a child has experienced adversity—grief, violence, poverty, racism, abandonment—their body adapts to survive. They stay on high alert, scanning for danger, ready to protect themselves from the next blow. In this state, play becomes nearly impossible. It’s not that they don’t want to play—it’s that their nervous system doesn’t believe it’s safe to let go.

That’s why we return to play again and again. Because play is more than a pastime. It’s a form of healing. It is presence in motion.

So, how do we actually cultivate presence through play?

• We let the child lead. Whether it’s gathering sticks, mixing mud, or pretending to be a superhero, we follow their cues. This tells the child: your ideas matter, your voice matters, and I trust you.

• We slow down. We resist the urge to redirect, structure, or solve. If a child wants to scoop water into a bucket for 45 minutes straight, we stay with them in it. No goals. No expectations. Just being together in their world.

• We stay regulated when they are not. When a meltdown happens over a stick being taken or a turn missed, we don’t rush to discipline or distract. We breathe. We kneel beside them. We offer a calm, steady presence that says: you are safe, even now.

• We offer symbolic play as a way to process big feelings. In the forest, a child might build a home for a lonely fox, or dig a grave for a bug they name after a loved one. These stories are rarely random—they are reflections of their inner world, told in the language of imagination.

• We sit in silence when needed. Sometimes, presence means doing nothing at all. Just being close, not asking anything of them. Letting them know they don’t need to perform or please to earn your attention.

Through these small, consistent acts, we create the conditions where play becomes possible—and where healing can begin.

For children who’ve experienced trauma, presence through play offers something that words and conventional therapy often cannot. It meets them where they are—on the ground, in the mud, at the edge of a sandbox or deep in a story of their own making.

Play gives them a way to express what they can’t yet say. A chance to be the hero. A space to rewrite the story their body has been carrying.

And when we show up for that—when we hold space for play with care, slowness, and respect—we’re not just helping them cope. We’re helping them thrive.

We are saying, with every small act of being-with:
You matter. You are not alone. You are allowed to be exactly who you are, right now.

That is the gift of presence. And that is the power of play.