For anyone who holds space for other people – facilitators, coaches, managers.
The promise and the evidence
The expression "this is a safe space" is often heard in workshops, team away-days and coaching rooms. Facilitators usually offer it with good intentions, hoping to reassure participants that they can speak openly without fear of judgement or professional penalty.
Before questioning that promise, it is worth being clear about what psychological safety actually is. In her foundational workplace research, Amy Edmondson defines psychological safety as "the belief that one will not be punished or humiliated for speaking up with ideas, questions, concerns, or mistakes, and that the team is safe for interpersonal risk taking". In an organisational setting, this condition is vital. Teams cannot innovate, admit costly errors or challenge bad decisions if speaking up feels professionally hazardous. The same dynamic applies in coaching or developmental spaces where people are asked to explore sensitive subjects or examine their own behaviour.
Wanting to offer people that level of security is entirely understandable. The difficulty is not with the concept of psychological safety, but with the assumption that a facilitator can simply announce it into existence.
Why safety cannot be given
Safety is rarely a simple property of a room; it is primarily an internal perception formed by the person sitting in it. Whenever someone steps into a facilitated group or a coaching session, their nervous system immediately runs an internal risk assessment. They are not simply listening to the facilitator's assurances; they are evaluating what they see and feel.
In practice, a participant is asking themselves questions like: "Will they keep my story confidential?", "Do they have my best interests at heart?", and "Are they reliable?" If they have experienced institutional betrayal, systemic discrimination or personal trauma, that risk assessment is heightened. No declaration from the front of the room can override past experience or silence the nervous system's threat response.
My own experience of psychological safety is an embodied one: safety, for me, happens in the moment I feel I can take off some of the ‘body armour’ of habitual muscle tension, unclenching my jaw and shoulders without looking around for signs of danger. That shift only tends to occur when there is a felt sense that relationships can survive challenge.
Because safety is an internal somatic state, not just a set of external conditions, a facilitator cannot bestow it. You can set an intention, but you cannot manage the judgements forming in the minds of twelve participants, nor can you anticipate every trauma trigger in the room.
One thing that can influence safety is committing to avoid making promises we can't keep – "this is a safe space" would be an example of such a promise.
What we can actually offer
What we can offer instead is a ‘safer’ space, built around the practice of creating a strong container. This involves attending to both the physical and relational setting: ensuring privacy, minimising distractions, and establishing clear boundaries around time, format, and confidentiality. It also relies on a practitioner who is sufficiently resourced and grounded to hold what emerges.
A container has the best chance of holding what it needs to if it’s built collaboratively. Rather than presenting a pre-cooked set of ground rules, I find it more effective to co-create a working agreement with groups. We often begin with an unhurried check-in, giving people space to name how they are arriving in the room, whether that is carrying the irritation of a delayed train or the residual tension of a difficult morning. This simple step helps the group land together and acknowledges our shared human baseline before tackling complex topics.
From there, we explore expectations and resistance together. In organisational sessions, participants might arrive with reasonable scepticism, anxiety about being judged, or reluctance about being required to attend. Inviting people to voice that hesitation openly, rather than demanding immediate compliance, can be a constructive place to start. We negotiate agreements about how we will listen, how confidentiality will be maintained, and how we will respond when disagreements arise. Crucially, this includes offering choices and adaptations, giving participants permission to manage their own bodies, take breaks, or opt out of specific exercises to regulate their own nervous systems.
Alongside group agreements sits what psychologist Carl Rogers termed "unconditional positive regard", an intentional discipline of meeting clients with consistent acceptance and respect, without conditions of worth. Paired with reliable practitioner boundaries, this helps to create an environment where people may begin to take interpersonal risks. But even with careful contracting and mutual rapport, this remains a practice of intentional mitigation, not an absolute guarantee of safety.
When safety needs compete
The clearest argument against promising absolute safety is that in any diverse team, safety needs can directly contradict each other.
I was once brought in to facilitate a team navigating entrenched conflict. Early in our work, an irreconcilable divide emerged in how different members experienced safety. Several team members felt fundamentally unsafe whenever there was unexpressed tension in the room; for them, silence felt passive-aggressive and dangerous. To feel secure, they needed direct, immediate naming of thoughts and feelings.
Other colleagues experienced that same directness as aggressive, confrontational and overwhelming. Being pushed into an apparent confrontation caused them to shut down.
No facilitator could create a single container that felt simultaneously safe to both groups in that moment. What represented relief and calm for one person was an active source of stress for another. If I had opened that session by promising a safe space, I could have alienated half the room before we had even begun.
When needs compete in this way, the work is not about forcing an artificial harmony, but about supporting the group to negotiate those tensions honestly and thoughtfully, recognising that discomfort is often an inevitable part of honest communication.
Three commitments for space holders
Ultimately, for facilitators, managers and coaches who hold space for others, this points toward three working commitments:
Aim for a 'safer' space rather than an absolute safe one. Acknowledge the boundaries of what you can control. State clearly that while you will actively hold boundaries and challenge harmful behaviour, you cannot promise freedom from friction or distress. This honest approch can provide a container sturdy enough for people to take necessary interpersonal risks.
Support participants to develop their own agency and regulation. A sustainable space gives people explicit permission to monitor and attend to their own needs. This includes normalising taking breaks, moving the body, declining to answer certain questions, and recognising when an environment is not right for them. Safety grows when participants feel less ‘done to’ and more in charge of their own limits.
Treat psychological safety as a shared responsibility. Safer conditions cannot be delivered top-down from the front of the room. They are built collectively through clear agreements, mutual accountability, and a willingness to sit with the discomfort that honest collaboration inevitably brings.
Working together
If you are planning team development, leadership training, or complex group facilitation, I design and hold containers that support courageous, honest conversations without making empty promises.
Learn more about my approach on my For Organisations page, explore how somatic awareness supports difficult dialogues in this post, or contact me to discuss what your team needs.