I got scan results on a Tuesday afternoon.
I had been refreshing ‘MyChart’ on my phone since the day before, each time holding my breath for just a split-second before each time I clicked open the tab.
If I see a lot of details my anxiety spikes, and if it’s a shorter report then I take a deep breath.
On this particular Tuesday, last fall, I held my breath a little longer.
There was new cancer on my hip. Which, although sounds bad it doesn’t have to be alarming, or considered a red flag. It actually showed that the treatment is still working. My doctor tells me that I can do some radiation for symptom management, but I quickly decided it wasn’t something I wanted to do unless absolutely necessary.
But it was proof, again, that this disease doesn’t leave. It moves slowly and quietly beneath everything. Like an undertow. You can’t see it from the surface, and you can’t outswim it. And on certain mornings, you feel exactly how strong it is.
I’ve been living with cancer long enough that you’d think I’d be used to it, but I’m not. Every scan result, every conversation with my doctor, and every little body ache still catches me off guard. Because no matter how stable things are, I can feel the pull. The reminder that the water is always moving beneath me, on its own schedule, and completely indifferent to mine.
That Tuesday, just a few hours later, I drove to work.
Here’s what I’ve learned over time. And not from a book, not from a framework, but from years of having no other choice: you cannot let the undertow drag you to the bottom of every room you walk into.
Not because it isn’t real. Because it most certainly is. And not because you should pretend the water is still. It isn’t.
But because the people in that room – like your students, your colleagues, your clients, your team – they deserve the version of you that actually surfaced. Not the version still caught in the pull, replaying a phone call or thinking about that message you read in the parking lot.
Radical presence isn’t about leaving your life at the door. It’s about learning the difference between what pulls you under and what makes you a stronger swimmer.
That Tuesday, I felt the weight of the scan result but I did not let it pull me under. The awareness that time is not unlimited, that this work matters, that the people in front of me were worth my full attention all came with me to the surface. The catastrophizing had to stay below.
There’s a difference and it’s a choice. And like swimming, it takes practice.
I teach public speaking. Which means I spend a lot of time watching people almost show up.
They’re physically present, their slides are ready and they know their material. But there’s a part of them – the part still rehearsing the opening line, still dreading the question they can’t answer, still thinking about the email they didn’t send – that never quite breaks the surface.
And the audience always feels it. Not because they can name it, but because there’s a quality to a person who has fully arrived that you can sense. And a quality to someone still fighting the current.
Often we call that gap “nerves.” Surprisingly, it usually isn’t. It’s the undertow coming with you.
I have always believed that there is no real separation between your personal and professional life. Not because work should consume everything because it definitely shouldn’t… but because you are one person. Whatever is pulling at you beneath the surface walks into every room you walk into, so the only question is what you do with it.
The people I’ve watched become genuinely compelling communicators weren’t the ones who learned to hide what they were carrying. They were the ones who learned to swim with it. The pull became awareness and the weight became depth. The fear? Well that became what we call presence.
You don’t have to have cancer to know this feeling. I know you have your own undertow. Maybe it’s a diagnosis someone close to you got, or a relationship coming apart, a job that no longer fits the person you’re becoming, or a life moving faster than you can keep up with.
None of that disqualifies you from showing up fully, it’s actually what makes full presence possible – because you know, better than anyone skimming the surface, that the moment in front of you is the only one you’re guaranteed.
So here’s what I want to offer to anyone who walked into a room today feeling the pull:
You don’t have to outswim it, just don’t let it steer.
Feel the undertow. Acknowledge it. Then surface anyway.
The water is always moving. So are you.
Show up fully, honestly, and presently – while you still can.
Lindsy is a business communication instructor at the University of Toronto School of Continuing Studies and a two-time TEDx speaker. She works with professionals and executives on public speaking, presence, and how to communicate in the rooms that matter most.
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