Twenty years ago, I sat in my Clinical Psychology Doctoral program, convinced I would become a psychologist who helped others navigate trauma.
I didn’t realize then that I was searching for tools to heal myself.
As a child with a heart anchored in the muck of both devastating traumas and daily wounds of emotional neglect, I became an expert in emotional survival.
My mind perpetually traveled between obsessive past analysis –
“Why don’t they love me?”
“Why don’t they want me?”
and anxious future-casting.
Mentally, I rehearsed countless negative scenarios so nothing could blindside me.
The present moment? It might as well have been a foreign country, and I would have no valid passport to travel there.
Then, I learned about mindfulness—my introduction to the power of present-moment awareness.
The techniques were sound, and the science was compelling. For the first time, I had tools to regulate emotions that felt wildly out of control. But something wasn’t clicking.
The problem wasn’t the practice but the foundation it was built upon.
Mindfulness becomes exponentially more powerful after trauma processing, not as a substitute for it.
I was trying to regulate emotions I had never fully acknowledged, much less healed.
Like building a house on shifting sand, my mindfulness practice kept collapsing under the weight of unresolved pain.
Mindfulness had become another metric of failure—one more thing I wasn’t doing “right.” Instead, the practice that promised peace became another source of pressure, another reminder of how I was coming up short.
Mindfulness had become another metric of failure—one more thing I wasn’t doing “right.”
Years later, while recovering from burnout from working in a ministry that works with sex addicts and their betrayed partners, I discovered something different through a spiritual director named Jody.
Rather than teaching me techniques to improve performance, she introduced me to ancient contemplative practices—Lectio Divina, the Prayer of Examen, Centering Prayer, and sacred silence.
These weren’t strategies for achievement but invitations to presence.
The difference, I discovered, is that mindfulness (at least for me) became another form of self-control.
These ancient practices are about surrender—creating space where transformation can happen to you rather than by you.
That distinction changed everything for me. And it might change everything for you too.
Relationship with Others
Traditional mindfulness practices often focus on individual wellness and performance enhancement. While valuable, they can inadvertently reinforce modern Western society’s tendency toward isolation and independence, creating better-functioning individuals who remain fundamentally disconnected.
Ancient contemplative practices, by contrast, emerged within communities.
Practices like sacred reading in a community (Lectio Divina) weren’t designed for individual life hacking but for collective wisdom.
When leaders engage in these practices, they experience a subtle but profound shift—from seeing relationships as resources for achievement to recognizing them as sacred contexts for mutual transformation.
This relational dimension explains why studies consistently show that spiritually grounded leaders demonstrate higher levels of empathy, compassion, and ethical decision-making.
They’ve moved beyond seeing others as means to organizational ends or a transactional relationship (a relationship that focuses on getting needs or goals met without prioritizing an emotional connection, trust, and long-term mutual support) and instead recognize the value inherent in each relationship.
Relationship with Self
Modern mindfulness often positions itself as emotional management—a way to regulate stress and improve focus.
There’s validity here, but it can create a subtle relationship of control with our emotional lives. We learn to observe emotions, not necessarily to honor them, but to manage them toward productivity.
Modern mindfulness creates a subtle relationship of control with our emotional lives.
Ancient contemplative practices offer a different approach to emotional intelligence.
The Prayer of Examen, for instance, invites us to review our day with compassion rather than judgment, noticing the full spectrum of our emotional responses.
This practice cultivates what contemplative traditions call “holy indifference”—not detachment from emotions, but freedom from being controlled by them. This subtle difference in understanding proved to be my gateway to joy.
People who engage in these deeper practices develop a different relationship with their emotional landscapes. Rather than managing emotions to achieve externally defined success, they learn to receive emotions as messengers pointing toward authentic purpose, meaning, and truth.
Relationship with God
Perhaps the most significant distinction lies in the spiritual dimension.
Corporate mindfulness typically strips contemplative practices of their spiritual roots, focusing exclusively on measurable benefits like stress reduction.
This creates what philosopher Charles Taylor calls “the immanent frame”—a worldview limited to what can be measured and controlled.
By contrast, ancient practices like Centering Prayer explicitly recognize a transcendent dimension to human experience.
They create space for mystery, surrender, and receptivity to Divine presence. These practices aren’t about achieving mastery but cultivating an openness to something—or Someone—beyond ourselves.
Practical Integration: Centering Prayer in Community
On the first Thursday of each month, I join a small group of fellow Christians for a practice that has transformed my approach to spirituality and self-led leadership: communal Centering Prayer.
Unlike solitary meditation, which can become yet another isolated practice, Centering Prayer in a community creates a powerful container for transformation.
Sitting in sacred silence with others is a profound experience—a shared surrender that goes deeper than any individual effort. Our process is simple yet profound:
- Begin with a sacred word or symbol. Each person chooses a simple, meaningful word (like “Jesus,” “love,” or “presence”) that symbolizes their consent to God’s presence and action within. This word isn’t for constant repetition but serves as an anchor to help return to a state of receptivity whenever the mind wanders.
- Find a comfortable position where you can be alert yet relaxed. We sit with our backs supported, feet on the floor, and hands resting in our laps. The posture itself becomes a physical reminder of both intention and surrender.
- Welcome distractions without engaging them. When thoughts, feelings, images, or sensations arise (and they will), we don’t fight them or judge ourselves. Instead, we notice them and gently return to our sacred word. This “letting go” is the heart of the practice. What might feel like a “distracted” session is still fruitful—the willingness to keep returning is itself the practice. Thomas Keating uses the metaphor that our thoughts are like boats floating on a river, representing the stream of consciousness. Keating says that when you notice a thought/boat, let it pass by—no need to get into the boat and float down the river.
What makes this experience particularly rich is what happens after our silent practice.
We gather in small groups first, then as a larger community, to share how we experienced God’s presence.
These discussions reveal layers to the practice and our experience that we might never discover alone. One person’s insight often illuminates something previously hidden in my encounter with the Divine.
A beautiful alchemy happens when we bring our individual experiences into shared conversation—each perspective adds depth and dimension to the whole.
What makes this practice so powerful for high achievers and strivers (like me) is the recognition that we aren’t in control.
We practice being present without an agenda—the opposite of how we typically approach personal and professional challenges.
In this shared silence, we experience what Thomas Keating calls “Divine therapy”—God’s healing presence working within us at levels deeper than conscious awareness.
To integrate this practice:
- Start small: Begin with 5-10 minutes of centering prayer daily, gradually building to 20 minutes.
- Find community: Seek out or create a small group that meets regularly for shared practice.
- Notice the fruits: Pay attention to how regular practice affects your presence, decision-making clarity, and relational capacity. Remember, the goal isn’t perfection or achievement but faithful presence—showing up with openness to transformation that emerges not from striving but from surrender.
The difference between mindfulness and contemplative practice isn’t in the technique—it’s in the posture. One seeks to manage the moment; the other surrenders to be transformed by it.
CHrissy lynn leahy
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