The Myth of Psychological Safety – the importance and limits of creating a ‘safe’ space

I talk a lot about psychological safety in the context of my work. Lately, I’ve heard a lot of discussion about the concept being misleading, or even taking on mythical status as something that might not be possible to promise in therapeutic, personal development and organisational development spaces. So, what does psychological safety mean, and what are its limitations, if we can offer it at all?

The expression ‘this is a safe space’ is often used in group and one-to-one environments from organisational development programmes to coaching rooms and therapeutic spaces. This usually seems to be offered with an aim of reassuring people that they can be themselves and say what they want to say in confidence without worrying about being judged. I’ll go on to explore why this is a challenging and potentially misleading promise to make, but first, let’s define what we might mean when we consider this type of ‘safety’. Amy Edmonson 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". This is focused specifically on a workplace context, and considers a psychologically safe environment as something that is necessary in order to promote creativity, innovation and problem solving. But the concept is relevant to any environment where people might be asked to take emotional and social risks, such as sharing or processing traumatic experiences, discussing sensitive and divisive subjects, or taking part in an activity that might make people feel vulnerable and exposed (in my experience, many somatic or embodiment based practices have an element of this).

For me, there are links between psychological safety and belonging. My experience of psychological safety is also an embodied one – I feel that I can take off some of the ‘body armour’ that I might subconsciously be wearing (in the form of muscle tension), and also that I can show up authentically as myself without looking over my shoulder for signs of danger. That is possible in a social environment when there’s a sense of connection with others, a genuine feeling that I will be met with unconditional positive regard, and a sense that, if there’s challenge or disagreement, we can get through it with minimal damage to relationships. This speaks to that sense of belonging and beginning to cultivate trusting relationships. We might achieve that through good contracting, informally building rapport, people sharing honestly about their own views and experiences, and those holding the space demonstrating consistency and reliability. All of this takes time and effort – the psychological safety isn’t just present in the room at the outset, but rather, is something that we can purposefully co-create. This is related to the concept of the ‘safe container’, which is about creating a physical and psychological space in which people feel that whatever they bring can be held and contained. A safe container might offer features like privacy and quiet, colours and textures designed to promote a sense of calm, and clear boundaries around what happens in the space, when and with whom. It may also be facilitated by practitioners who are able to demonstrate that they are skilled, compassionate and resourced enough to ‘hold’ whatever ideas, emotions and revelations arise in the space.

I’m very sensitive to the ‘feeling in the room’ and attuned to signs of feeling more or less safe and comfortable in a space, so I hugely value efforts to create a sense of psychological safety. However, I also believe that we need to add more nuance to offers of ‘safe spaces’. Those of us facilitating spaces that encourage people to be courageous and take social and emotional risks have a level of power and influence that it’s important to acknowledge, but there are limits to what we can control. In a group environment, we can collaborate to create a contract where everyone agrees to actively listen, withhold (or at least interrogate) judgement, and hold others’ confidentiality. And, should the social contract be breached, we can step in to address the situation, but it would be wildly unrealistic to guarantee that a participant will not be judged while they are sharing a personal experience or opinion. For some people, the impact of feeling judged might be negligible, while for others, this may be a deeply distressing experience. We can’t know everything that people are bringing into the space with them, and we can’t anticipate and avoid every possible trauma trigger. Some people’s traumatic experiences are significant enough to leave them feeling a constant sense of being unsafe – in this case, the best we can offer is to try to mitigate factors that might contribute to or exacerbate these feelings. One aspect of working with trauma that can help is to let people know that they have agency and control. A sense of increased psychological safety can be developed by finding a way of working that is based on co-creation and that gives permission for participants to speak up for their needs, do what they need to do in order to regulate themselves, and help to shape the session. This doesn’t negate or erase any traumatic experiences that have led to a person feeling unsafe, but it can be genuinely reassuring to feel more in control and less ‘done to’.

It seems clear that there are things we can do in order to increase a sense of belonging, safety and calm in a given space, but that there are limits to what we can realistically promise. So, is the concept of offering psychological safety unhelpful enough to be retired? I’m not convinced that psychological safety is a myth, per se. I’d suggest that there is perhaps a spectrum of sensations and emotions that might be experienced as a sense of safety or danger. And while there may be some common themes for many of us, each person will have a different experience around what they need in order to feel safe in a given environment, as well as a different interpretation and level of engagement with their own feelings around this. I’m reminded of a previous work situation where there were competing needs within my team in terms of what each of us needed in order to feel safe during challenging discussions. Some people felt less safe when they perceived tension due to unexpressed thoughts and feelings, while others felt anxious and confronted when met with direct communication about what others were thinking and feeling. This demonstrates the complexity of trying to create a space where everyone feels safe – what represents calm for one person may be a source of stress for another. So, if we can’t promise to create the conditions for feeling safe, what can we do?

Encouraging and nurturing contracting and negotiation that offers a sense of shared responsibility for (sometimes competing) needs to be met can be helpful – it’s each person’s responsibility to advocate for their own needs and to try to accommodate others’ needs. But that’s easier said than done in a space where there is a lack of trust in those who hold power and influence, so it’s important that those holding the space are able to support negotiations where necessary, and to take people’s stated needs seriously. Environments that support people to develop self-awareness and to use the resources they need in order to self-regulate and process difficult emotions may also yield better outcomes in terms of people feeling safe enough to share their authentic thoughts, feelings and experiences. Ultimately, here’s what I suggest for those holding space for others:

1.        That we don’t make promises we can’t keep – ‘this is a safe space’ would be an example of such a promise. Instead, we might state that we’re aiming to offer a ‘safer’ space, or one where people feel able to be themselves and express themselves with courage.

2.        That we support others to develop the awareness, skills and tools to feel safer in a given environment. This might include becoming aware that a space is unsafe or wrong for them, and taking action accordingly.

3.        That we see developing psychologically safer spaces as a collaborative project and a shared responsibility. We can work together to cultivate conditions where people are more likely to feel able to take risks, feel seen and heard, and experience a sense of belonging.

If you’d like to discuss how to create spaces in which people feel seen, heard, valued and as psychologically safe as possible, why not book a free exploratory call with me?

LGBTQIA Pride – Authentic Expression and Being Seen, Heard and Valued All Year Round

(Content warning – hate crime, discrimination, homophobia, transphobia, serious violence)

As we reach the end of Pride month, I want to reflect on what the concept means to me, the importance of being able to show up authentically, and the need to create spaces where people feel seen, heard and valued to continue all year round.

Like many in the LGBTQIA community, I’ve developed a level of cynicism about the corporate pinkwashing that characterises parades and parties that have their origins in civil disobedience and resistance to oppressive laws and discrimination. It’s a complicated picture, because on one hand, I feel extreme discomfort about marching alongside corporations involved in the arms trade, institutions that are being investigated for horrific abuses of power, and more run-of-the-mill big businesses that will drop the concern for their queer and trans colleagues the moment they change their social media banners from rainbow flags back to ‘normal’. But on the other hand, I’m well aware of the need for visibility, for antidotes to shame and stigma, and for spaces where we can show up authentically and unapologetically. And some might argue that pinkwashing is preferable to the alarming experience of seeing companies retract their public support for the LGBTQIA community through fear of upsetting powerful bigots.

Recently, working with people whose experiences of being LGBTQIA in their home countries were shockingly full of trauma and danger reminded me of how important it is to have public, joyfully resistant declarations of welcome and inclusion. And seeing queer or questioning kids attend their first Pride is always a humbling and beautiful experience that makes me so happy that they’re not growing up in times like so many of us did (Section 28 – the UK law that banned public sector bodies from discussing or ‘promoting’ LGBTQIA identities – lasted for my entire school career).

So I begin this reflection with a word of caution that’s repeated by tired members of the community every year. Performative allyship, and enjoying the glitter without engaging with the struggle that necessitated marching through cities, yelling ‘we’re here, we’re queer, we’re not going anywhere!’, isn’t helping. It’s great to show solidarity and be visibly supportive, but stigma, lack of access to healthcare, transphobic public policy, homophobic hate crime and poorer mental health outcomes (to name but a few) don’t go away when the flags are packed away for another year and the queens get out of drag.

I’m not advocating for getting rid of marches and celebrations altogether, but I’m more interested in grassroots, community level organising and thinking about how we can create spaces all year round that are based on a real desire to support people to show up authentically and know that they are safe, welcomed and valued. An intersectional approach is crucial, so it feels important to say that I’m not imagining these spaces with only the LGBTQIA community in mind. Apart from anything else, we contain multitudes and might have several minoritised identities that mean facing very specific barriers to access and forms of discrimination. I’d like to take some space to think about what those spaces might look like – what values, action and principles might be involved, and how it feels to be part of them.

When I think about what stands out to me as the important elements of Pride month that I’d like to see honoured throughout the year, the first words that come to mind are resistance, representation, rememberance and reimagining. Some of this might be at odds with the shiny, corporate approach to celebrating Pride, though I’m curious about how the idea of disrupting or ‘queering’ these spaces, at least as a first step towards deeper change.

Resistance

I had a great time at last week’s Dyke March in London, with ‘The First Pride Was A Riot’ scrawled in sharpie across the back of my jacket. This was an event that did a great job of showing joyful resistance – a combination of power, playfulness, euphoria and outrage. It encouraged us to stay connected to the origins of the Pride movement, and what we’re marching for. Maybe some of the people who show up to wave at the floats and watch the performances in their home town each summer would be horrified to think of trans people throwing bricks during the Stonewall riots, but that was the origin of today’s movement in all its shiny, corporate glory. And I hope they would also be horrified by the police brutality and human rights abuses that led to that riot in the first place. If this all seems like something that happened in a bygone era, and perhaps not so relevant today, I’d suggest that we’ve come a long way with so many rights and freedoms, and that the backlash against that progress is very real and very frightening. Keir Starmer, likely the next UK Prime Minister, has recently stated that he is against the teaching of ‘gender ideology’ in schools, effectively signalling a return to something akin to Section 28. And looking at equivalent developments in the USA and in European countries (such as restrictions on lesbians’ right to adopt in Italy) shows how easily things can change for the worse. It’s therefore essential that we protect our ability to speak truth to power, to show up in public as our authentic selves, and to protest injustice. Beyond LGBTQIA issues, there are threats to our civil liberties and freedoms creeping into our societies, and we must be able to find strength in numbers and resist. There are related ideas that we can extrapolate from this in terms of community building and organisational development too – essentially that it’s dangerous to hold too tightly to rigid and traditional hierarchies where people are afraid to speak up.

Representation

To return to the subject of Section 28, I often think about the impact of having little to no meaningful representation of people whose sexual orientation and gender identity I could relate to throughout my childhood. I didn’t understand my own identity for a long time, having had my formative years influenced by enforced silence on the subject of LGBTQIA identities, bodies and reelationships. I realise that there were many people in my generation who were joyfully, defiantly queer in the face of all of this, and who couldn’t deny who they were if they tried. But no doubt, there were at least as many of us who were confused, ill-informed and dealing with a nagging suspicion that something was ‘wrong’ about us and that it wasn’t a good idea to talk to anyone about it.

It's perhaps a cliché to say that representation matters and that ‘if you can see it, you can be it’. But there’s also a lot of value in considering who is visible in a space, a role, a community, or a position of power, and what that might do to welcome or discourage people from attempts to be part of the community, or pursue a role. It’s also worth pointing out that people who may have had to develop hypervigilant levels of sensitivity to signs of safety/danger tend to be pretty good at seeing through tokenistic attempts to ‘tick the diversity box’. Again, going through the motions from a place of compliance isn’t going to contribute much to meaningful change. But for young people, and former young people who didn’t see themselves represented in the past, seeing positive examples of people like themselves in spaces and communities can have a genuinely positive impact.

Remembrance

Pride is, in part, a celebration. But it’s also an opportunity for us to commemorate those we have lost, to remember where we’ve been and how far we’ve come, and to use this to inform ongoing action towards further change. I’d suggest that this approach, which locates us in time and place, and offers opportunities to learn from our mistakes, is a crucial part of any social movement or community. Some of the injustices and tragedies that have taken place, and continue to take place, within the LGBTQIA community are almost too overwhelming to comprehend. Losing so much of an entire generation during the AIDS crisis in the 1980s seems to have had a fairly significant impact on intergenerational learning and younger people’s engagement with their community’s history. Part of me is relieved for queer kids growing up in more recent years, perhaps being able to take many of their rights for granted, or to be unable to imagine what it might have been like not to have them. But there’s a risk of not learning from the past, not honouring those who fought for human rights and those who lost their lives, and becoming complacent. We don’t have to look very far to see how quickly and easily hard-won rights, laws and policies can be revoked, and how successfully minority groups can be made into scapegoats to distract from abuses of power. And we don’t have to look far to find very recent examples of the loss of lives as a result of violence and discrimination – I’ll be remembering young people like Brianna Ghey as I march tomorrow. These are difficult and sobering thoughts, though remembering those lost and those who came before is the least I can do in a bid to connect with our shared history.

Reimagining

It’s often the case that ideas and ways of being move from the margins to the centre, only for something new to appear outside of the norm and eventually influence mainstream culture (and/or perhaps be assimilated into it – though assimilation is a topic in and of itself). I believe that the world has a lot to learn from queer culture, and pushing the boundaries of ‘respectability’ is potentially helpful for everyone. Similarly, the stigmatising of certain bodies and what people do with them has done, and continues to do, serious harm – pushing back against this with radical inclusion is necessary and important as part of a move away from categorising some bodies as inherently better than others. Equally, we can all learn from the freedom that comes from ways of relating to each other without there being a script or template that we’ve been primed for throughout our lives. For example, how do we work out the division of labour in households where the usual gendered expectations don’t apply? Well, generally we might work it out according to ability, preference, need and so on, as opposed to social expectations based on chromosomes. I’m being a little flippant, and I realise that many people of all genders and orientations are entirely capable of non-stereotypical negotiations, but the point is that there’s freedom and a chance for Adult-Adult communication when we don’t have so much baggage from social pressures and norms. And I’d like that to be extended in so many ways beyond the LGBTQIA community – for us to reimagine what spaces and communities free from inherited and restrictive notions of gender, relationships and identity might look like. What would it be like if we all had the resources that helped us to develop the skills to work out exactly who are and what we need, and if we all felt safe enough to show up courageously and authentically everywhere we went? I hope these are questions to reflect on as we imagine what’s possible going forward, and I want to offer my gratitude to the LGBTQIA community for offering me welcoming spaces to work out who I am and show up as myself.

If you can talk, you can sing!

I’m in the process of planning a new community singing group, with a focus on wellbeing. I’m well versed in the many health benefits of singing and when I work with groups, I aim to create an accessible, supportive environment in which people can explore and experience them. Some of the responses I tend to hear when I describe my work include “oh, I can’t sing!”, or “I love singing but I’m tone deaf”, or “I wish I could sing but I can’t!” I’m always reminded of Dweck’s growth mindset vs. fixed mindset model when I hear this – believing that we lack potential to grow in a specific area is a great example of a fixed mindset. We accept that playing an instrument like the guitar, piano or violin will require hundreds of hours of practice to master, even though some people seem to have more of a natural affinity for it than others. But because our voices are an inherent part of us, a part of our anatomy, we may be tempted to think that only some, special people have the ability to use them to express ourselves tunefully. I disagree with this idea – sure, there are born singers, including a few people with vocal apparatus and lung capacity so extraordinary that they seem destined for a successful career in music (although the ratio of talented singers to career opportunities is quite daunting). Equally, there exists a small number of people who are truly ‘tone deaf’ – up to 4% of people have Congenital Amusia, which is tone deafness that cannot be explained by factors such as hearing loss, brain injury or other cognitive/environmental factors. In spite of that fairly low prevalence, I’m sure I hear far more than 4% of people I encounter claiming to be completely, permanently unable to ‘carry a tune’. This always makes me a little sad because, although not everyone is quite as invested in singing as I am, I hate the idea of self-limiting beliefs preventing people from enjoying this particular form of self-expression.

Because our voices convey our emotions, our thoughts and identity, using them (whether for singing or speaking) can make us feel vulnerable at times. We’re putting ourselves out into the world, asking to be heard and dealing with whatever response is received. Singing is a super-charged form of vocal expression, because it combines the evocative nature of music with whatever emotions and stories are conveyed by lyrics, and because each of us has a unique sound that lets the world know something about who we are. It requires physical/muscular support and is more of a workout than it’s often given credit for. It becomes obvious to the listener if, when we sing, we feel so unsafe and uncertain that we lose control of our breath and our ability to find the right pitch or remember the words. So, I understand (from both professional and personal experience) some of the reasons that people might be a little shy about singing, particularly if they know that someone might be listening. And the less often we do something, the less naturally it seems to come – we don’t develop muscle memory or confidence, and we solidify our belief that ‘this is just something I can’t do’ – it can be a vicious cycle. There’s also the huge and debilitating issue of shame. So many of us have had experiences, in childhood and beyond, that shamed us into making ourselves smaller, quieter and not expressing who we really are. Many of us have had humiliating and even traumatising experiences of being heard by others and judged harshly, of being paralysed by stage-fright or of being laughed at when we dared to raise our voices and express ourselves. This really contributes to a sense of feeling that it’s not safe to be heard or that we ‘can’t sing. But that needn’t be the end of the story… discovering safer, more supportive places and people to sing with, exploring and challenging the critical voices we use to talk to ourselves (voices that likely once belonged to someone with an influence in our lives), and taking small steps to increase our vocal confidence can all help to turn things around.

Regardless of whether you claim you can’t sing but are happy to joyfully belt out a tune in the shower, or you refuse to let a melody pass your lips at all, there are various ways to get some of the wellbeing benefits of using your voice. For example, humming or chanting can be part of a mindfulness or meditation practice. Taking full, diaphragmatic breaths to prepare for vocalising, and extending the exhale (humming until you run out of breath) kicks in a physical process that brings your Parasympathetic Nervous System into play, promoting rest, calm and recovery. It also helps to bring your attention to the body and provides a focus point for those who find it hard to sit quietly with their thoughts. It’s still early days in terms of the science of this, but there are some studies looking at whether meditation with vocalising has increased therapeutic potential (for example, due to vagus nerve stimulation). But whatever the science says, I know from experience that singing and humming can be fantastic ways to get grounded, move past ‘stuck’ emotions, connect with the body and self-soothe.

I’m curious about how my thoughts will land with those who say they can’t sing. If that’s you, I’d invite you to be curious about it too. What emotions, thoughts or memories come up for you as you read this? What might that mean? Are you willing to challenge any of your assumptions about this? Does it matter to you? If the answer to some of these questions is a resounding ‘no’, that’s ok. Not everyone feels the need to use their voices in this way. Though to me, it seems that singing is an inherently human and beautiful thing to do. So go ahead and sing like nobody’s listening – the good news is that you don’t need to be ‘good’ at it in order to reap the benefits to your wellbeing.

Looking for support with being heard, using your voice to improve your wellbeing or learning to sing? Contact me!

Adapt to Survive; Create to Thrive

Reflections on wellbeing for creative professionals and all of us as creative beings

Last time I wrote about creativity, I ended with a reflection on ‘create to thrive’ as a step up from ‘adapt to survive’. I was thinking about the impact of loss of connection and stimuli on our creativity during lockdown. Now that we’re emerging back into collective spaces, with arts venues reopening and shared experiences back on the menu, it seems like a good moment to ponder how we might get to that ‘thriving’ place, with creative juices flowing and means of expression available.

Perhaps it seems frivolous to be focusing on creative expression when so many people around the world are very much in survival mode (whether that’s due to the impact of Covid, climate change, conflict or all of the above). But we’re inherently creative beings, with imaginations capable of dreaming up works of art, nation states, complex stories and solutions to problems – this stuff is fundamental. Having an outlet for our thoughts, feelings, ideas and struggles has a proven impact on our health and wellbeing. I’d advocate for everyone having some form of expression – getting emotions, thoughts, ideas and challenges out of our heads and into the world somehow is a powerful therapeutic tool. It might be through talking, writing, singing, drawing, moving our bodies or making physical objects – the medium isn’t important, but the act of creation is.

Given the power of these forms of expression, it makes sense for me to argue for access to the arts for all; for supporting the performers and creatives whose livelihoods (and creative outlets) have been decimated by a global pandemic and years of funding cuts by right wing governments; and for us all to view creative expression as an essential aspect of a healthy society. I only have to look at how the reintroduction of visiting musicians to my gran’s nursing home changes the energy of the residents to remember how much we need the arts.

Revisiting my expectations of my energy, creativity and social connections after lockdown, I’m struck by how unrealistic they were. I’d felt for so long like a coiled spring, waiting to be let go so I could bounce into the air, releasing all that pent up energy. The assumption was that I’d be ready to leap into action, connecting with as many people as I could, and suddenly finding myself able to create again – writing, singing, dreaming up exciting new projects. In reality, I’ve started see people, jam with my band and attend events in person as much as I can, but I mostly don’t feel inspired and exuberant so much as a bit tired. The fog is lifting, and my creative energy is gradually reigniting, but it’s a slow burn, rather than a big bang. I wonder how many people are feeling the same way right now, and in particular, how all those who make art or perform for a living are faring as the need to produce to deadlines and fill up the performance calendar reappears. I wonder what support creatives might need in order to get fully in touch with their most inspired, energetic selves and fall in love with their craft again after a hellish year-and-a-half. Community, advocating for more health-promoting working practices, and offering accessible help to those who are struggling seem like good considerations to start with. Our creative industries need their workforce to be well, and there is much to be done in order to address some of the less healthy working practices and dynamics at play within them. For those of us who aren’t directly connected with these industries, there are many ways to support the makers of the various forms of art that enhance our lives. We can buy from local artists, musicians and makers, attend performances (whether live or virtual), amplify, share and credit the work of artists we come across… and we can be mindful that, in spite of the old adage ‘choose a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life’, creating art and performing is harder work than it might seem.

For all of us, whether or not we consider ourselves ‘creative’, there are many ways to support our own wellbeing through creative expression. For me, creativity and connection are inextricably linked – I find that connecting with others, with nature and with my own mind and body helps to put me in the right headspace for creating and coming up with new ideas. After a retreat where I’ve spent a few days breathing, walking through fields and woods and connecting with others, I’ll often sit in the garden and find songs, stories, blog posts and ideas for projects seeming to just appear on the page of my notebook before my conscious mind has a chance to start asking questions. Everyone will have a different creative process that works best for them – if you don’t yet know what that looks like for you, I’d suggest a few small practices to get your senses and imagination going… Carry a notebook and jot down any fleeting thoughts, ideas, observations as they arise. Go for a walk out in nature and pay attention to the colours, sounds, smells, shapes. Sing in the shower. Sit down and write for five minutes without stopping. Doodle while watching TV and build on the doodle until you’ve filled a page. The beauty of this is that you don’t have to be ‘good at’ any of these things for them to be of benefit. Expanding your perspective beyond the mundane and routine can help you to feel more optimistic and come up with innovative solutions to problems. That’s why, during this time of re-emerging into the wider world, I’m advocating for all of us to to find ways to ignite a creative spark that will help us to thrive.

By Mo Ford

Picture credit: Tim Mossholder via Unsplash.

How we care for ourselves is political

The concept of self-care may bring to mind images of inspirational quotes typed in a flowing font, aimed at over-stretched, harassed working mums who desperately need and deserve to ‘take some me time’ and wash their troubles away in a fragrant bubble bath, chased by either a superfood smoothie or a ‘cheeky’ glass of wine. If I sound a little cynical here, I’ll admit that I am a little, and I’ll outline why. Rest assured, I am a lover of baths, smoothies, wine, relaxation and relief from the often-gendered work of caring for others. It is absolutely not my intention to shame those who practice specific ways of looking after themselves or the professionals who support them. I do want to unpack notions of self-care, emotional literacy and wellness, because I believe it’s in all of our interests to examine the industry built around them, the practices and products we’re sold and the voices that are centred or silenced. As Skunk Anansie proclaimed in the nineties (to the delight of my teenage self), “Yes, it’s f*cking political, everything’s political!”  

“Who is self-care for?” 

As mentioned, the most obvious and prolific presentation of self-care content often tends to invoke either soft, fluffy or expansive, spiritual imagery. Often, this is coded or read as “feminine”. I’ve spoken to numerous people who note that men, boys and masculine-identified folks can feel excluded from the message that looking after their bodies (exercise and protein shakes notwithstanding) and their emotional health is important. This can further exacerbate toxic masculinity stereotypes that are so harmful to boys and men, who so often come to harm as a result of pressure to keep their feelings to themselves. We are starting to see change, as a new generation of young people are taught that their emotions are valid, but the work of chipping away at the small stuff (which makes up the big stuff) continues. Here’s to more gender-neutral content AND permission for us all to like what we like, be it “fluffy” or otherwise. 

What else comes to mind when we think of typical self-care? Next on my list is money. In a world where there’s money to be made from everything, good health may be sold to the highest bidder (and I say this as someone who charges for my wellbeing related services, though always with an eye on balancing the value of my work with my ethics). People who are financially struggling tend not to have much disposable income for wellness products and programmes, or time to themselves. So, what could self-care look like for those who don’t fit the financial mould? Well, the big picture is tackling poverty at its root cause. But back here ‘on the ground’, it can be about promotion and permission of solid boundaries to avoid burnout, quick and cheap wins (grounding techniques you can use on the bus, while boiling the kettle or walking the dog) and more subsidised places in therapy.  

Who else do we picture when we think about self-care? Typically in the west, we may think of yoga classes run and attended by flexible white women, or mostly white, middle aged “spiritual seekers” attending packed conferences run by charismatic, inspirational leaders claiming to have all the answers. Clearly, these are sweeping generalisations, but the world of marketing is built on “ideal client” profiles that spell out the age, ethnicity, occupation and income of the people on the receiving end of advertising.  

“We need to talk about cultural appropriation”  

Deep breath – it’s a sticky subject, but all the more reason to lift the lid on it. The concept of taking aspects of a marginalised culture out of their original context and consuming or recreating them for fun, profit or wellbeing is not a new one. It’s not my story to tell as a white person, nor my right to define where the line between cultural appreciation and appropriation is (if indeed there is a neat line, which I suspect there isn’t). Let me be clear - I’m absolutely not saying it’s wrong to practice yoga if we’re not of Indian origin, or to learn meditation practices from ancient traditions other than our own. But I believe that it’s crucial to listen to the people with a claim to stake in specific practices, whose voices and incomes have so often been swept to the side in favour of a booming industry selling sacred symbols, medicines and practices to those of us who can see their value but know little of their history. Practising in awareness is and self-reflection is key (and for me, that goes hand in hand with self-care). So, I’m advocating for all of us who use or practice other cultures’ traditions to do our homework first (resource list below). 

“Spiritual bypassing and toxic positivity” 

If you’ve been going through a painful experience and sought solace in a community or content that suggests that all your troubles would be cured if only you had a positive attitude, the right diet or enough meditation, you may well know how dismissive and lonely an experience it can be. Humans often need to feel in control of our own destinies. Staring down the prospect of bad experiences and, ultimately, death, regardless of our best efforts can be a very scary experience. So, at times, we’d rather believe that if we smile more, take our supplements and attempt to avoid all known carcinogens, we’ll be just fine. I know that not all wellbeing and spiritual practitioners take this to its logical extreme (i.e. “all your suffering is your own fault”) - in general, we’re all just doing our best to survive and thrive. And there is a grain of truth in many of the encouragements to practice “mind over matter” or to foster a sense of perspective. But where reflection and the development of emotional regulation start to morph into “good vibes only” and “you just need to practice more gratitude”, we’re in the realm of toxic positivity and spiritual bypassing. Building a practice of noticing and honouring our physical and emotional cues in order to take better care of ourselves cannot and must not exclude uncomfortable emotions. Much like the aforementioned pressure on boys and men to suppress vulnerability, the discounting and banning of less socially acceptable feelings from any environment can be deadly. Our work here is to learn how to recognise, regulate and process. Sometimes emotional work is quite the opposite of sunshine and joy, and that’s ok. I will add an important caveat here, however – in a safe enough space for doing personal work, all emotions are welcome, but they are not forced out. We don’t get prizes for having the biggest breakthrough or the most dramatic catharsis. I’ve seen (and experienced) some truly transformative moments that have been loud, ugly and even a little scary… and I’ve seen people re-traumatised by well-meaning practitioners who lacked an awareness of how to spot signs that the Autonomic Nervous System is in overdrive and needs to be calmed, not pushed over the edge in order to get a gratifying “big finish” to a session. So, my suggestion here is to notice and work against internalising messages that imply that your feelings are unacceptable, and to check out the credentials of any practitioners you work with to ensure they have an understanding of trauma and psychological safety. 

“Emotional literacy as a radical act, and how it can protect us” 

Getting to know ourselves to the point of fine detail is a political and protective act in a number of ways. Let me give you an example… I remember learning what it means when the base of my skull sort of vibrates – for me, it’s an early warning sign that my nervous system has perceived a threat. It happens most in specific situations when I feel a conflict or a rejection may be imminent, but occasionally, I feel this sensation in a situation where the danger is more significant. This reaction takes place before my conscious mind has had a chance to catch up, so it’s a good barometer that says “hold on, let’s take stock – is this situation dangerous?” That knowledge has been really useful ever since. Another example – recently, I did some work with a group of young musicians who work in a genre I’ve never really connected with. When we first worked together, my initial response to the style of the music felt odd to me – a slight tensing of the muscles; perhaps out of defensiveness, or even disgust. I liked the young men and appreciated their art and their talent, so why was my body reacting like this? Thinking about it, I realised I’ve always considered this genre and the culture it comes from to be homophobic, and as a queer person, that makes me wary. While I stand by my condemnation of bigotry in any cultural context, I was surprised at myself. So many cultures and traditions have (I believe) been tainted by ultra conservative attitudes towards gender and sexual orientation, but I’m not sure I’d have been so quick to completely write them off, especially since these cultural contexts often necessitate and are home to incredible activists leading the struggle for change. It was my physical reaction and desire to interrogate its meaning that alerted me to the need to unpack and challenge my over-generalised assumptions. These signs and signals of something needing attention can also be crucial in protecting us from abuse and others’ narcissism. This is not to say that it’s incumbent on us as potential victims/survivors to stop it from happening, but I’m pretty sure we could all benefit from seeing the signs and connecting with our internal warnings.  

“And speaking of narcissists…”  

Listening to this slightly sensationalist account of a charismatic personal development “guru” whose extreme retreat courses saw several participants die on his watch, I thought about how two areas I have a special interest in are often rife with narcissistic process – namely, the performance and wellness industries. People in states of vulnerability who are seeking connection, escape, expression or fulfilment can offer rich pickings to a person intent on gaining power, wealth or notoriety at any expense. I think back to ‘artistically tempered’ artistic directors I encountered as a budding musician, and to coming across charismatic leaders of successful wellbeing companies and movements whose followers hung on their every word, even (or especially) when they were making impossible claims. While it’s true that a certain amount of passion, artistic flair and charm can be an asset to those who wish to share their craft and the tools that have worked for them, there is a line between this and more problematic narcissism that is often crossed in the pursuit of guru-like status. In Transactional Analysis terms, this state of mind says ‘I’m OK, you’re not OK’. I have the answers and you must listen to them without question. I lead and you follow. My pursuit of happiness is more important than yours, and you are a step on my ladder to the top. It is precisely the emotional literacy, curiosity and honouring of warning signs that can help to guard against being misled or mistreated by those who are in this position. And in an industry that people often seek out during their most vulnerable moments, we must demand ethics and regulation. It is the responsibility of those making claims to have life-changing products and resources to back them up with some kind of evidence and reference. If it sounds too good to be true, it may well be. I’m a big believer in seeking out practitioners who appear secure in their skills and knowledge base, yet are happy to acknowledge their humanity, their vulnerability and their capacity to get it wrong, learn and grow. I encourage us all to look for these qualities.  

Now, go out there and take radical, political and compassionate care of yourself!  

If you are worried about any of the issues mentioned in this post, please see the resource list below for (UK based) support & advice lines, or contact me. 

Resource List: 

The Guilty Feminist podcast episode 216, ‘Wellness’: https://guiltyfeminist.com/episode/?episode=271 

‘Guru’ podcast (Wondery): https://wondery.com/shows/guru/ 

Unblocking White Supremacy and Fragility in the Wellness Industry - Maryam Ajayi: https://medium.com/@maryam.ajayi/https-medium-com-maryam-ajayi-unblocking-white-supremacy-and-fragility-in-the-wellness-industry-b7f312e33179 

Cultural appropriation in the wellness industry – Lilidonia Lawrence: https://byp-network.com/news/267021 

What is Spiritual Bypassing? Avoiding life and other dangerous games: https://www.insightstate.com/spirituality/spiritual-bypassing/ 

What is Toxic Positivity? Why It's OK not to be OK right now – Brittany Wong: https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/what-is-toxic-positivity-coronavirus_l_5f04bca0c5b67a80bbff7cd3?guccounter=1&guce_referrer=aHR0cHM6Ly9jb25zZW50LnlhaG9vLmNvbS8&guce_referrer_sig=AQAAAIr5dlvYWdYLD45MxFwivtZKH5CAp9XePI0eecea-VCN8rXPqd6EWIKhAggZL04kxcPiz1hwlNRwMNtoujc1FBUT_8A_S-mMtny04gH9dWL5GnnwXcs8vMigJEyOKMJRzaCkLS9U-4Wq93CP7nCVEGLXlyO4O57n02Drpo8GjprF 

Narcissism: How to Find Strength to Survive and Prosper After Narcissistic Abuse. Disarm the Narcissist, Take Control of Your Life and Learn How to Recover from a Toxic Relationship – Dr Keith Sam (Audiobook): https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/Narcissism-Audiobook/B086CBLJMK?msclkid=9431245897b119dc18ea7b17cd1e9eff&source_code=M2M30DFT1Bk12807021801O6 

How to improve emotional intelligence: 10 tips for increasing self-awareness – Six Seconds: https://www.6seconds.org/2018/02/27/emotional-intelligence-tips-awareness/ 

Useful contacts from Mind, the mental health charity: https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/guides-to-support-and-services/crisis-services/useful-contacts/ 

Transactional Analysis online course – I'm OK, you’re OK: how to develop your attitude: https://ta-course.com/im-ok-youre-ok/ 

Breathing through a pandemic

These are strange, scary, illuminating times. My voracious love of dystopian, post-apocalyptic literature, films and TV did not prepare me for the reality of living through a life and world changing crisis like Covid-19. Like so many of us, I find my days drastically altered and have time on my hands with which to worry, reach out, create, reflect and breathe.

It strikes me that it’s important to neither succumb to despair, nor to allow ‘toxic positivity’ to take hold - there is room for the hope and fear, the heaviness and excitement at new prospects, the boredom and creativity. Most of us will have unexpected time on our hands and in this brave new world of staying indoors, a need to find ways to occupy ourselves. The pressure to learn a new language, write a novel, redecorate your home, grow vegetables and record an album in your living room may be lurking in the background, and a testament to the creativity and adaptability of humans. I fully support all of these endeavours - taking time to slow down, create, express and make your environment safe and comfortable is something I often encourage for myself and my clients! However… it’s okay if none of these things happen in the end. It’s okay if all you achieve today is to inhale and exhale.

As a busy professional with ADHD, I’ve sometimes found it challenging to consistently practice what I preach by keeping a long standing, daily self-care routine going. Don’t get me wrong, I am skilled at using my resources when needed to get to a place of calm, ‘unblock’ emotions and connect to my creativity. And at times, I’m also skilled at making excuses for being too busy to slow down and consciously breathe each day. This tragic global situation has a few silver linings that call us to do things differently, both in terms of the small choices each of us makes and on a bigger, collective level. I am out of excuses to keep running so fast, and this reminds me that breathing and connecting with my body is the basis for being creative, keeping perspective and connecting with my most adult self.

Beyond that, I am encouraged and moved to see that aforementioned adaptable human nature kick in as we play, sing and share thoughts with each other via video call, find creative ways to help our neighbours from a six foot distance, get in touch with long lost friends and feel grateful for connections with our loved ones. I’m more aware of my privilege than ever - for many, lockdown in unsafe circumstances and poverty lead to potentially more serious danger than the virus itself. There are some ways we can help indirectly if we are able to - by donating to projects working with the most vulnerable, by supporting small businesses, by looking out for each other and offering support. But this pandemic inescapably highlights a need for global change that gives people and planet a fighting chance of safety and wellbeing - for those fortunate enough to have time, space and capacity to breathe and reflect, there is an opportunity to focus on what we can do to contribute to a better post-pandemic world. We may be in this for a while though, so for now, inhale, exhale, slow down.