“In care work, and perhaps in life itself, it’s not about what you do for someone — but how you are there. With attention. Without judgment. In connection.”
I wrote this blog about 15 years after a profound interview I gave to a young student. It’s a reflection on my professional journey in mental health care (GGZ in Dutch) and how spirituality has nourished and inspired me throughout.
Some time ago, I was approached by a young student of Turkish-Dutch background. As part of her education, she was conducting research into meaning and purpose in professional practice. She was looking for people who could speak from experience about how they find meaning in their work, and how personal beliefs or worldviews play a role. Since she had a genuine interest in Sufism — not just as a tradition, but as a way of life — our conversation immediately felt open and meaningful to me.
Her questions were sincere, open-ended, and at the same time sharply focused. She didn’t just want to know what I do, but how I am when I do it. What happens to me in contact with others. What meaning looks like in moments when everything falls silent.
It made me reflect. Because meaning isn’t something you can simply define or grasp — it’s something you feel, experience, and share. And perhaps that, I thought, is the most valuable part of my work.
On Work and Meaning
As a care professional, I work daily with people who have lost their way in life. Most of them participate in daytime activity programs; others live independently with some support. They don’t come to us to be ‘cured’ but to begin shaping their lives again. That, I believe, is the essence: people want to feel seen, supported, even when life gets messy.
We often speak about limitations, but I prefer to look at what’s still healthy. At strengths, resilience, potential. That sometimes takes patience, sometimes confrontation — but always presence. Real listening. Not rushing to fix. First, just meet the person where they are.
Those were the nuances the interviewer wanted to explore. Her questions invited me not only to speak about my work, but also about what this work does to me — how it shapes me as a human being.
Meaning Is Already There
We ask participants what they want to work toward. What they find important in life. Sometimes, answers come quickly: a hobby, reconnecting with family, finding meaningful work. Sometimes, it takes months before someone finally says, “I just want to belong.”
And that’s when something begins to shift. Because when someone can contribute — even if it’s just sweeping the floor or making coffee for the group — something changes. They become part of something again. In that connection, meaning arises. Not as a lofty idea, but as something lived through small, everyday acts.
What Sufism Brought Me
I’ve been familiar with Sufism for many years, though I prefer not to call it a ‘path’ or a ‘system.’ For me, it has become a way of being — one that continually brings me back to presence, to connection, to honestly seeing myself, even when that’s uncomfortable.
I notice it in my work. In how I try to be present — without judgment. In how I listen not only to what someone says, but to what they might be trying to say. And in how I keep learning, even as a guide.
I worked with a participant with severe autism. His reactions were so immediate, so intense. No buffer, no delay. Together we practiced mindfulness. Not to change him, but to create a little space between stimulus and response. That, too, I see as Sufism: the practice of attention.
The student recognized something in that practice and asked if it had something to do with spirituality. Her question touched me. Because yes, for me, spirituality lives in the everyday: in how you are present, how you breathe, how you listen.
Closeness and Boundaries
Good care requires a paradox: to be close without losing yourself. People can sense immediately whether you’re truly present. But you also need to know where your own boundaries lie. That’s not a technique — it’s something that grows over time. Through experience. And perhaps also through your own path of transformation.
It’s not always easy. At times, I’ve felt discouraged. The pressure in the sector is high. Reorganizations, time constraints, systems that don’t fit the people we serve. I, too, have feared losing my job. But I keep reminding myself: I’m not here to stay in control. I’m here to be of service. And if that role ends, then that, too, is something to face with honesty.
The Student and Her Fears
At the end of our conversation, the student shared something about her own struggles. She spoke about her fear of flying — a fear that holds her back from traveling, exploring new places, and embracing new experiences. She saw it as a metaphor for life itself: you want to venture out, to discover, to learn — but something inside keeps holding you back. I found her openness touching. It made the interview even more human. It showed that the search for meaning isn’t just theoretical — it’s something we all wrestle with, in our own ways.
What Remains
If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: presence is more powerful than solutions. Many participants feel judged even before you’ve said a word. In such moments, your quiet, non-rushing, non-judging presence may be the greatest gift you can offer.
And that takes courage. And practice. And gentleness — toward the other, and toward yourself.
“Perhaps that’s the essence of what Sufism has taught me: that the path doesn’t run from outside to inside, but from inside to outside. And that sometimes, it’s only in meeting the other that you discover where you truly stand.”