When I was seven years old, something happened that I still think about today.
It was in Astana, Kazakhstan — back then it was called Akmola. After school, I would walk home with my stepbrother, his two friends, and my best friend. It was a quick 10-minute walk, and we usually stopped by her apartment on the way. One rainy day, she invited us in to wait out the rain.
She went to change her clothes. Four of us barely fit on the small couch. I was minding my own business, talking to my friends, when I noticed it: Her Siamese cat was staring at me. I tried to avoid eye contact because it was kind of intimidating. Every time I checked, she was still locked on me. I glanced behind me, thinking maybe she was watching something else, but no…there was a wall. I thought, OK, fine, I do…
When I was seven years old, something happened that I still think about today.
It was in Astana, Kazakhstan — back then it was called Akmola. After school, I would walk home with my stepbrother, his two friends, and my best friend. It was a quick 10-minute walk, and we usually stopped by her apartment on the way. One rainy day, she invited us in to wait out the rain.
She went to change her clothes. Four of us barely fit on the small couch. I was minding my own business, talking to my friends, when I noticed it: Her Siamese cat was staring at me. I tried to avoid eye contact because it was kind of intimidating. Every time I checked, she was still locked on me. I glanced behind me, thinking maybe she was watching something else, but no…there was a wall. I thought, OK, fine, I don’t see you and pretended like all was cool.
At first, I thought it was funny, but then it got uncomfortable. The way she stared — intense, unblinking — made me feel something was off. My friend laughed and said, “Don’t be scared, she won’t hurt you. Just pet her.”
Meanwhile, the cat kept circling closer to me, still staring. My friends were loving every second of it – laughing. Then she suddenly jumped toward my face. She did not scratch me; it was a quick leap — maybe she wanted to sit with me. But I panicked and ran out.
My friends laughed. They thought it was just a weird cat moment. But I could not stop thinking: Why did she only react to me that way?
Years later, when I was 14, something similar happened.
I was spending the afternoon at my best friend’s apartment. I was wearing leggings and a red hoodie, hair down with bangs. It was around Christmas — quiet, warm, cozy, with a decorated tree and lights. Her grandmother, who was about 85, had come to stay. She was sick and moved slowly. I noticed she seemed uneasy around me. My friend joked that her grandmother was scared of me, but I did not believe it.
One day, my friend left me alone in the room with her grandmother. The silence was intense. The old woman sat across from me, looking at me nervously. I tried to smile, to start small talk. She just answered with short words — “yes,” “no,” and then silence again.
Out of curiosity, I decided to test if she was really scared of me. Slowly, I moved a little closer, started acting “weird” — turning my head toward her in slow motion, staring at her— and she literally jumped from her chair, startled. She immediately apologized and asked if I wanted water, trying to cover her fear. I said no, but inside, I was shocked. Why was she afraid of me?
At the time, I did not understand. Now, years later, I see both moments — the cat and the grandmother — as versions of the same question: What is it that people (and animals) sense in us beyond what they can see or hear?
The Science Behind Presence
Psychology calls it affective presence (Eisenkraft & Elfenbein, 2010) — the idea that we all give off a kind of emotional atmosphere. Some people naturally make others feel calm and safe. Others, without meaning to, create unease. And it is not about beauty, clothes, or status. It is about what our inner world communicates through body language, microexpressions, tone, and energy.
Even when we are silent, our nervous system is speaking. Our body posture, breathing, and facial muscles all send signals. Animals and highly sensitive people are often the first to pick them up.
In the cat’s case, I was nervous — and maybe she felt that fear. With the grandmother, she might have sensed the curiosity and energy of a teenager while she herself felt fragile. Both could have been simple emotional communication, but it *felt *different.
We often think reactions like this mean something negative about us — that we somehow carry “bad energy” or that our presence is off. But the way others respond to us reveals the invisible dialogue between two nervous systems. Sometimes your presence feels strong or bright, and sensitive others notice it first. Instead of taking it personally, use it as feedback.
Ask: What am I carrying right now? Calm, tension? What might others be carrying? When we see presence as a two-way exchange, we start to understand ourselves and others with more compassion.
You might wonder, what does any of this have to do with real life? Think about relationships — with partners, parents, coworkers. Have you ever noticed how someone’s mood can fill a room? Or how you can “feel” someone’s stress before they even speak?
Emotional Contagion Essential Reads
In a 2015 study of speed-dating (Berrios et al., 2015), people who made their partners feel good — through their presence — were rated as more attractive and were more likely to be chosen for another date. I am not saying you should start practicing “good vibe aura” just to score dates, but it does show how much such a response shapes who we connect with. Their looks or words mattered less than the emotional tone they created. That is affective presence in action — the silent influence that shapes who we connect with.
Another relevant concept is *emotional contagion *(Hatfield et al., 1993) — the unconscious transfer of emotions from one person to another. When we observe someone’s facial expressions, posture, or tone of voice, our nervous system picks up and mirrors their feelings. Your calm can calm someone else. Your anxiety can make others uneasy.
This is why emotional awareness matters — not only for your well-being but for the people around you.
When you learn to regulate your internal state — through grounding, self-reflection, or calm breathing — you change the emotional temperature of the space you are in. In relationships, that can mean fewer fights. At work, it can mean clearer communication. With children, it can mean safety and trust.
Next time you walk into a room, notice the atmosphere: How do people react? How do you feel?
That is the quiet conversation happening beneath every interaction.
At a time when AI can mimic voices, faces, and even some emotional cues, simple human presence — the subtle ways we affect each other — is becoming one of the most irreplaceable skills we can cultivate. Learning to notice and manage it might be one of the most human skills we will ever need.