Sharing Circles – The transformative power of being seen and heard

This article was written by Anastasia Priyamvada.

I was in a group, listening to someone I’d just met and who shared a long and, honestly, painfully boring story. I didn’t resonate at all.

But instead of getting annoyed or disengaging, I found myself captivated by her.

More precisely, by her relationship with attention. The ease she had with being heard. No rush. No self- consciousness. No worry, she might be interrupted.

She didn’t own the space because she’d earned it, but because it likely never occurred to her that she shouldn’t. She wasn’t afraid of being cut off. She simply expected to be heard.

And I remember thinking: Is this what it feels like to have always been listened to? Or maybe just never interrupted enough times to stop believing you deserve to be?”

Later, I casually confirmed part of her story with a mutual friend, and- well, let’s be honest- Ι realised we come from very different childhoods or childhood traumas. Or more precisely, very different experiences of being seen and heard as a child. Sometimes, growing is a time when attention from adults is often conditional on behaviour, achievement, or silence. So, of course, growing up with that, it leaves a mark. It shapes how we take up space later in life.

I’ve caught myself so many times sharing something deeply important – life-changing events, personal breakthroughs – and yet it’s so rare that I don’t feel rushed, anxious, or self- conscious. Like I might be stealing someone else’s time to speak. Or that I’m about to be cut off, mid- sentence.

And maybe that’s why, these days, one of my favourite places to be is in a circle – with people, in nature (or almost anywhere, really) – where one person speaks, uninterrupted, and the rest offer the rare gift of full attention.

Talking circles aren’t just group chats – they’re non-hierarchical, ceremonial, and structured listening spaces where every voice is honoured without interruption. 

Even more favourite, though, is when I’m the one guiding these kind of circles.
Is it, maybe, my small way of contributing- of counterbalancing all those unheard children, teens, and adults?

There’s a moment -before, after, or even during every circle- when I often find myself wondering:
Who in this circle might be receiving full attention for the first time?

How often does an individual find themselves in a space where so many people, at once, are communing in this kind of experience?
We might get glimpses or hopefully versions of it in different environments –  our first friend circles, in school, academic or professional environments, or in activistic setups like circles of sociocracy, but it is still somehow, for the most part, conditioned.

In these sharing circles, we do not experience the performative attention. Not the “I’m listening so I can reply” kind. But the real deal. The kind of listening that says: I hear you. You matter. You don’t have to earn my attention.
You’re safe- even if you’re not making sense yet. That kind of presence is sacred – not in a spiritual sense, necessarily, but in how rare and human it is.

I’ve sat in circles as a participant and as a facilitator- circles of reflection, celebration, grief, exhaustion, resistance. And always, even just for a moment, there’s that quiet awe. The sense that something is happening beneath the surface, beyond our intellect.

What Is a Talking Circle, Really?

Talking circles- also known as sharing circles, council circles, or listening circles- are simple in concept and profound in effect. A group gathers, and people take turns speaking from the heart, often using an object of power as a talking piece (a stone, stick, or symbolic object) to indicate whose turn it is. Everyone else listens- without interrupting, commenting, or offering advice.

But beneath that simplicity lies a whole universe of presence, discomfort, patience, connection, and transformation.

Spanning diverse cultures and spiritual traditions, these circles offer the experience of true community, recognising that each voice needs to be heard, and that every person holds a piece of the whole.

Talking circles are deeply rooted in Indigenous traditions around the world. In North America, various First Nations peoples have long used council circles as sacred practices for storytelling, conflict resolution, and communal wisdom. This wasn’t a technique; it was a way of life.

In South America, many Indigenous communities hold their versions of talking circles, adapted to their specific traditions and languages. These spaces are not just for sharing- they also play vital roles in community resilience, sovereignty, and collective action. Talking circles are places of healing, but also of resistance.

Similarly, the Indigenous Guanche people of the Canary Islands practised communal rituals deeply tied to nature, often gathering in stone circles, or tagoror, for spiritual ceremony and collective decision-making. While less documented, these gatherings were imbued with land-based symbolism, reverence, and oral sharing.

Across many other global traditions- like the griot systems of West Africa, the oral heritage practices of Asia, and the ceremonial listening spaces of Oceania– spoken word, communal storytelling, and shared silence carry immense social and cultural weight. These traditions pass down values, identities, and memories- not just through what is said, but through how it is held.

Bringing Ancient Practices into Modern Spaces

Several modern practices have helped adapt the deep roots of circle-based wisdom into contemporary contexts.
For instance, The Way of Council, developed by the Ojai Foundation, has brought heart-centred listening into education, activism, healing, and community work. What I appreciate most about this lineage is how it treats listening not just as a method, but as an ethic, a way of being together that resists dominance and speed.

I first encountered this form of Council in spaces inspired by Bill Plotkin’s soulcraft work– councils woven not just through what is said, but through how one shows up: in community, in mystery, and in relationship with the more- than- human world.

In a similar ecological lineage, Joanna Macy’s Work That Reconnects uses spiral processes and structured sharing to hold grief, wonder, and ecological awakening. In circles inspired by her model, people often find language for emotions they didn’t know could be spoken in public.

David Bohm’s Dialogue takes a different angle, not necessarily emotionally expressive, but intellectually spacious. It invites us to think together without defending positions, allowing new meanings to emerge from the collective. I’ve seen how powerful this can be when groups resist the urge to solve, and instead practice offering reflective space and staying in the question. 

Many contemporary circle practices are inspired by Indigenous wisdom, whether from the Americas, Africa, Oceania, or elsewhere. It’s important to note that these practices were never just “tools” or “methods.” They were part of holistic ways of life, often targeted or suppressed by colonial systems.

As someone who has been deeply moved by these approaches, I try to hold them with care, humility, and a recognition that I am not from these lineages. There’s a difference between being inspired by a practice and claiming it. I believe in making space to honour origin without appropriation- and continuing to learn how to do this better.

And, perhaps not by coincidence, it was in the spaces where this kind of clarity and respect were explicitly named- that I felt most safe.

Why Circles Work – and Why It’s More Complicated Than That

Researchers in restorative justice, positive psychology, and trauma-informed care all point to the same finding: deep listening and being genuinely heard can activate co-regulation, reduce shame, and strengthen our capacity for connection. Vulnerability in circles is associated with physiological processes linked to bonding, regulation, and social connection, and helps us feel seen, even without words.

From one perspective, it’s all neurobiology, systems thinking, and sociology in motion. When someone truly listens to us, our nervous system registers safety. The brain function shifts from survival into connection. Presence- sometimes even silent- can begin to rewire old trauma and create new pathways for healing.

Kristin Neff, a pioneer in self-compassion research, names “common humanity” as a core pillar of emotional resilience. And that’s what circles reveal: we are not alone.

In parallel, thinkers like Margaret Wheatley describe circles as living systems- relational, not linear. Meaning emerges through connection, not control. Unlike most conversations- fragmented, rushed- sharing circles unfold more like mycelium networks: slow, unseen, deeply connected. And when we gather in nature – in forests, gardens, or riversides- biophilia comes alive. Nature co-facilitates, reminding us we’re part of something larger.

But it’s not just the trees that listen. Circles held in classrooms, refugee camps, community centres, or rooftop gardens can still meet a deep human need: to be seen, to be heard, to heal together.

And still, circles are not magic by default. 

They’re only as safe as the awareness we bring and the agreements we uphold.
Sometimes dominant voices take up too much space. Sometimes, people share more than they wish they had. Sometimes facilitators (even well-meaning ones) miss subtle power dynamics, or confuse emotional intensity with depth.

Circles can hold transformation. But they must also hold humility.

What Stays With Us?

As someone who used to crave intensity, it still surprises me that, looking back at countless workshops, trainings, Erasmus+ projects, and ceremonies, rituals, the moments that stayed with me most… were the quiet ones.

Not the fireworks. Not the breakthroughs or grand declarations. But those almost silent shifts – those few words someone said, often unexpectedly, that landed in the room with a quiet weight. And everything changed, just a little.

Of course, there were other precious moments too- cracks, shifts, a-ha moments, deep reverence for the natural world or the beauty of togetherness. There were brilliant activities and brilliant facilitators.

Some of them were so performatively “brilliant” that their presence eclipsed the activity itself. There wasn’t always enough left for the rest of us to unfold. Sometimes, dominant energies take up too much space. And when that presence is the facilitator’s, circles can be used not just skilfully, but manipulatively.
Holding a circle means holding differences. Not all vulnerability looks the same. Not all healing happens in a visible arc. Sometimes, the most meaningful thing a facilitator can do is to step aside. 

And maybe that’s why these quieter moments stand out. Because they made room. For someone and something unexpected

The Gift of Attention

Despite differences among these traditions- council, soulcraft, ecological spirals, systemic dialogue-  all circles share a common invitation:
Slow down.
Tune in.
Witness together.

That’s why, in some contexts, I call them “The Gift of Attention.”

Interweaving this with personal experience, I’ve come to structure the circles I lead in ways that feel inclusive, spacious, and adaptable. 

First, we get clear on the intention of the circle.
What are we here for? What are we honouring, exploring, or allowing?
What is the question or the theme we’re invited to taste?

Then, we name a few simple, powerful agreements:

– Speak from the heart. Not to respond or perform, but to share your own truth.
– Listen from the heart. With presence, not replies.
– Speak to the heart of the matter. Say what’s essential, not everything.
– Protect each other’s hearts. What’s shared in the circle stays in the circle. Confidentiality isn’t a rule- it’s an act of care.

As someone who often worries about oversharing- or is hyper-aware of “taking up too much space”- I’ve grown to love timeframes. Not as rigid rules, but as gentle structures. Frames that offer freedom. A two- or three-minute speaking window doesn’t limit expression- it holds it. It helps those who tend to drift come back to their essence. And it gently encourages the quieter voices to take up space, too.

One of my favourite formats is the object round. Each person is invited to choose something connected to the theme- an item from their bag, pocket, or even the space- and share its story. What does it mean to them? What it brings up.
A regular round of “introduce yourself” rarely touches the same layers. But with objects, suddenly we’re time travelling. Across continents, family memories, peculiar habits, heartbreaks, and joys.

If only I could share some of those stories- just to show the beauty, the depth, the unexpected magic. But I won’t. Because one of the most important principles we hold in these circles is confidentiality. We don’t carry someone’s story outside the space. We hold it with care and respect. We witness- and we let it stay.

The container- the circle- is temporary in structure, ephemeral in time.
But something stays. A trace of presence. A felt sense that we were here

Not Perfect, But Real

Romanticise them or not: talking circles aren’t a magic solution. They won’t replace therapy, systemic change, or the long work of healing. But they do something quietly radical.

They offer space.
Time.
Presence.

A place to speak and to be heard- even if just for two minutes. A structure deceptively simple can hold a surprising amount of depth.

The architecture is humble but deep: cultural roots, psychological grounding, practical tools, and personal weaving. It’s not just about what we do in the circle, but how we show up- with others, and with ourselves.

If you didn’t grow up in a place where people paused to listen when you opened your mouth- if your voice was ignored, interrupted, or shamed- a circle might feel strange at first. It might also feel like a kind of remembering.

If you were always heard, praised, spotlighted, centred- for better or worse- then maybe a circle becomes a place to share the spotlight. To pay attention to the ones who rarely speak. To listen without needing to lead.

And if you’re somewhere in between- as most of us are- then a circle might simply be the space you didn’t know you needed.
To slow down. To recalibrate. To remember.

They won’t change the world overnight. But they might change the room. And sometimes, that’s enough to begin.

Sources / Bibliography

Meta description :

An honest exploration of what makes sharing circles work- and what doesn’t. Through personal experience and practical tools, this article dives into presence, deep listening, and the subtle power of being truly seen and heard.

Further reading :

• Natalie C. Fleury, The Center Will Hold: An Overview of Circle Processes and Their Potential Use in Academic Medicine and Other Organizations

• Neff, K. D. (2003), Self-compassion: An alternative conceptualization of a healthy attitude toward oneself

• Brown, B. (2006). Shame resilience theory: A grounded theory study on women and shame. Families in society, 87(1), 43-52.

• Davidson, R. J., & McEwen, B. S. (2012). Social influences on neuroplasticity: stress and interventions to promote well-being. Nature neuroscience, 15(5), 689-695.

• Van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score.

About the Author and Project

Anastasia Priyamvada Charitidou is an  experiential educator, theatre pedagogue, and founder of Olotites. She is also a project manager and creator of EU- funded initiatives focused on compassion, wellbeing, and empowerment. With a background in embodiment, compassion- based education, and international youth work, she explores how inner well-being and social change are deeply interconnected. She currently co-leads the Erasmus+ project “comPASSION is sexy” across Greece and France.

About this article:
This article was written in the context of the Erasmus+ KA210- YOU small-scale partnership project “comPASSION is sexy” (Project Code: 2024- 3- FR02- KA210-YOU-000295806), co-funded by the European Union. The project is a collaboration between Les Philentropes (France) and Olotites (Greece), focused on compassion-based approaches to youth empowerment, inclusion, and well-being.

Funded by the European Union. Views and opinions expressed are, however, those of the author(s) only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union or the European Education and Culture Executive Agency (EACEA). Neither the European Union nor the granting authority can be held responsible for them.

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