Brave Space

“This is not a safe space”, I told a room full of workshop participants.

Not because I want people to feel unsafe [quite the opposite, obvs] but because I’m not going to pretend I can control what feels safe for every nervous system in the room.

I said: “This space might be uncomfortable at times because we’re doing big, important work. I’m committed to shepherding us through the muck as thoughtfully as possible, but if it gets too much I trust you to step out, take a break, do what you need to do to stay regulated.”

I’d built the session with care: trauma-informed design, flexible participation, clear expectations. But even the best intentions can’t predict everything. Someone could be triggered by chamomile tea and dolphins. Maybe they got second-degree burns from a herbal brew while watching a documentary called “Flipper’s Final Journey.” Or maybe just sitting in a room with lights, perfume, and noise is beyond what they can handle right now.

The point is: saying “this is a safe space” doesn’t make it one. Would you declare a cold piece of bread “toast” if you haven’t bothered to toast it? Safety isn’t a vibe or a disclaimer at the start of your workshop. It’s a practice, but unlike the idiom it will never be perfect.

So if you dare, next time someone says somewhere is a safe space feel free to ask: “How do you know?” “What have we done to make that true?” “How can we be sure it’s safe for *everyone*?” [spoiler: you can’t]