‘So what is it that you actually do?’ – Stories from a coach and facilitator with a niche job title (Part 1)

I have a confession to make. I sometimes dread the question ‘what do you do?’, because my work might sound like a very specific niche that I need to spend some time explaining. I offer services based on concepts like ‘embodied communication’, though I realise that they may be unfamiliar for a lot of people. So, in the interests of practicing what I preach and communicating authentically, here is an explanation of some of the things I actually do in my professional life.

I’ve spent many years working in the charity sector, part of which has involved considering and discussing how to make services more inclusive, fair and easy to access for service users, staff and volunteers. Sometimes, it also involved discussing our response to global and local events and injustices. These conversations and reflections ranged from life affirming, to awkward and uncomfortable, right through to downright traumatic. Conflicts and competing needs could arise, even in close knit, emotionally intelligent teams. We sometimes found ourselves grappling with shame, guilt or defensiveness as we considered privileges given to us by society at large; and conversely, we may have experienced fear, anger or exhaustion if marginalised elements of our own identities were up for discussion. I vividly remember the emotional intensity of discussing gender as a social construct and gender roles in the workplace with one team I was very invested in working with. And the discomfort of reckoning with my own white privilege in an organisation where I was one of two white team members (and also in a position of authority). I learned a lot from spending so many years in environments where we were all so invested in social issues, but still struggled at times to formulate what felt like a ‘good enough’ response.

Meanwhile, on my days off, I was training in various body and psychology focused modalities. I’d experienced these as a client, working with performance psychology practitioners on recovering from a vocal fold injury and slowly learning to trust my body to help me to communicate clearly again. I learned to tune into physical sensations, to give myself physical support and to regulate my Autonomic Nervous System when I found myself in a nerve-wracking, emotionally charged or even exciting situation. Initially, this was focused on supporting performance and public speaking, but it soon became clear that these techniques were useful in other aspects of life and communication. I started to notice subtle physical warning signs during difficult conversations, and respond to them in order to prevent escalating into unproductive and stressful conflicts.

When I set up my full time coaching and consultancy practice in 2020, I seemed to fall into Equity, Diversity and Inclusion (EDI) work as one of my main areas of focus – partly because of my experience in this area, and partly because so many people and organisations were thinking about issues related to this in the wake of the murder of George Floyd and other horrific events that brought structural inequalities sharply into focus while the world went into lockdown. A theme that quickly emerged in my work was a palpable sense of anxiety around confronting complex and difficult topics related to power, privilege and identity. There was often ambivalence or resistance among people in positions of authority and those with societal privilege – sometimes based on a sense that perhaps they were going to be shamed or ‘told off’ for things that may be out of their control. And there could also be a question for people with any role or identity about whether a group environment in the workplace was a psychologically safe enough space in which to openly and honestly discuss any challenges related to inclusivity, accessibility and fairness. I found that it was getting increasingly difficult to get a group of professionals together in a room to discuss these issues or, in fact, anything else that required quite a lot of vulnerability, risk and trust in order to be tackled well. Some initial projects I facilitated that had an EDI focus moved painfully slowly, as leadership teams tried to decide how invested they were in this work. This could be frustrating, but it was also important to accept the pace of change, and it also offered me some further learning.

These experiences led me to become really interested in how I might use the resources available to me from the world of body focused, trauma-informed work to help set up the conditions for difficult conversations in groups and teams. One way to offer this might be through individual coaching with leaders, with an element of focus on deepening awareness of the client’s communication preferences, physical warning signs of overwhelm, triggers, assumptions and preferred resources for getting calm and grounded. Another is to work in a group setting, taking time to co-create a space where people feel enough of a sense of rapport, calm and safety to tackle difficult conversations with courage and honesty. This can be a big ask, particularly in an organisational setting where not everyone is on board with either the subject matter or the addition of my approach to holding space for it. In an ideal world, I would focus on people who want to be there – if something feels forced or coercive, it’s much less likely to be effective. But sometimes, people have felt able to give voice to their resistance, and exploring what’s behind that can be powerful. I really appreciate it when people can show up and say how they’re really feeling, rather than feeling pressure to conform to social expectations and telling me what they think I want to hear. Of course, there are limits to how people’s real feelings might be helpfully communicated, and we’ll have created a group contract that outlines how we will attempt to create a compassionate, courageous environment during sessions. But discussing feelings of reluctance, resentment, anxiety or uncertainty, and doing a bit of myth busting early on in a piece of work can be a good way into authentic communication. And I’ve had people who were deeply sceptical at the outset offer some of the most usefully challenging and insightful contributions to a conversation, and also sometimes tell me that they felt very differently by the end of a session.

Part of what I do in sessions involves offering people ways to tune into their bodies and sit with how they’re really feeling underneath the social veneer that we tend to bring to professional situations and groups where we don’t have established, comfortable relationships. For some, this might feel like a risky approach – particularly if they’ve been working hard to keep emotions out of the way in case they ‘splat all over the walls when the lid comes off’, or if they feel a general sense of disconnect from their body. It’s really important to offer choices, adaptations and ways of letting everyone involved know that they are in control and are encouraged to do what they need to do in order to keep safe. Another simple strategy that can be helpful is an extended process of checking in to share a bit about how everyone is feeling and what’s on their mind as we form our group and ‘land’ in the space. This has two purposes – helping everyone to feel more focused and present, and also reminding us all that everyone here is a fellow human who might have had a stressful time with public transport, a joyful school drop-off, or a frantic rush out of the door with toast in hand before arriving to a session. We might also explore different ways of connecting with each other, and creative approaches to reflecting on subjects that might bring up fear or other difficult emotions.

It's important to draw a distinction between this type of work and therapy – that’s not to say that there can’t be therapeutic elements. But it’s helpful to inject an element of lightness into discussions that can get heavy at times, and to emphasise that, while all of our emotions are welcome in the space, the aim is to notice them and sit with them, then move to a place of working out where we collectively go from here. If things get particularly intense, there may be a need for reflection and support beyond the scope of the session. I learned this early on in my journey as a freelance facilitator – sometimes, I was asked to come into organisations where conflicts were all-encompassing and raw, and found that there was a need to be very clear about the scope of the work and what we could hope to achieve in a space where emotions ran high and traumatic experiences were very recent. It’s also helpful to pay special attention to rapport building, even in groups where everyone (with the exception of me as facilitator) knows each other. Deepening trust is one of the keys to encouraging authentic, courageous communication.

I’ve worked with teams on subjects including making a women’s space more trans-inclusive, exploring why specific groups are critically under-represented in an organisation, tackling white fragility, and discussing staff members’ anger at a ‘sticking plaster approach’ to vicarious trauma and burnout. I really appreciate being part of a group where there is a real willingness to meaningfully take on sensitive topics, rather than keep things compliant, operational and superficial. It’s a privilege to have people share their thoughts, feelings, ideas and challenges in a way that can sometimes be risky. And I’m delighted every time I see, hear or feel a difference in the atmosphere in the room, or the depth of communication after I’ve supported participants to connect with themselves and each other with curiosity and compassion.

If this sounds like it might be useful for you or a team you’re part of, why not book a free exploratory call?

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?

Embodied communication – using body wisdom to support difficult conversations

Dealing with disagreement

It’s an interesting and turbulent time here in the UK and further afield, politically speaking. I’ve found myself having lively debates at the pub, emotionally charged conversations with family members, colleagues and acquaintances, and difficult interactions with people who hold fundamentally different views and values to my own. This has led me to think about how we might connect with the wisdom our bodies have to offer in order to support us with sensitive, challenging and potentially triggering conversations. How might we tune in to signs and signals of potential overwhelm, re-regulate our nervous systems during and after a charged interaction, and stay grounded enough to actively listen and speak from a thoughtful place?

I have had an embodiment practice of some kind in my life for many years. I know what works for me when I need support, and I help others to connect with their bodies and to communicate from as calm and grounded a state as possible. And yet, I don’t mind admitting that there are some times when all of this awareness temporarily goes out of the proverbial window, and I find myself reacting from a place of emotional impulsivity, waiting impatiently to speak instead of listening and finding myself in a state of hyperarousal. The reason I got into embodiment work and found it so transformative is that I have a highly sensitive Autonomic Nervous System,  and I tend to feel things intensely on a physical and an emotional level. Recently, I found myself in one of these situations, as I found myself hooked into a discussion where someone expressed views that I found distressing. The sudden and unexpected feeling of being unsafe had me holding my breath, feeling a little dissociated and ‘spaced out’, and then moving into a state of preparation to fight it out. I did my best to maintain a level of diplomacy and to try to listen to what the other person had to say, though no doubt on some level, they will have sensed a disconnect between my attempts to maintain a calm, curious and measured approach and whatever signs of stress were visible in spite of my efforts. In the end, this wasn’t the right time and place to delve further into a sensitive, contentious topic, and we left the discussion feeling unresolved. I was aware of carrying some of the tension created by the situation into the rest of my day, and had to make a conscious effort to decompress later. I’d like to give myself some grace and consider that this might have been the best I could do under the circumstances. But what could a really good version of this conversation look like, and what else could I have done to use an embodied approach to support myself in this situation?

Re-regulating our nervous systems and listening to our bodies

Firstly, it’s worth considering the environment in which a difficult conversation is taking place. Are there distractions and external stressors? Can you and the others involved in the discussion give each other your full attention? Is there some level of privacy and a sense of containment offered by the space (particularly if you are sharing deeply personal experiences, feelings and views)? Personally, my neurotype means that I am easily distracted and stressed by conversations in busy, noisy environments – putting a lot of energy into blocking out conversations happening at the next table in the pub doesn’t leave a huge amount of capacity to keep myself grounded and regulated. If stress levels begin to escalate during a conversation, it can be helpful to check in with how your body is feeling, and notice if anything external is contributing to any sense of discomfort. You might consider suggesting that the conversation is moved to a space that offers a sense of containment and calm, or rescheduled to a time when you’re able to focus more easily.

In our fast-paced, dopamine-fuelled world, it’s easy to forget that it’s okay to slow down. But when a difficult conversation begins to feel stressful and escalate into a place of conflict and distress, hitting the brakes can offer an opportunity to check in with ourselves, breathe and consider what might help us to begin to build bridges instead of putting up walls. A simple way to slow down is to pause and consciously notice what your breath is doing. Do you feel it high in your chest, shallow, fast, or are you holding your breath and bracing for impact? Taking a moment to send the breath lower into the body (in other words, ‘belly breathing’, which engages your diaphragm) can instantly help to re-regulate your nervous system and let you think more clearly.  Related to this, getting comfortable with moments of silence can help – we don’t need to respond to another person’s point straight away, and we’re not communicating at our best if we’ve been waiting to get our tuppence-worth in, rather than listening to what’s being said. Taking a moment to ponder and consider our response can help to slow down a potentially escalating conversation, and also offers a chance to check in with and adjust what’s going on in our bodies. When I unexpectedly found myself in the aforementioned difficult conversation, I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was holding my breath and physically bracing against the psychological impact of the other person’s words. But I was also aware that time to continue the discussion was limited, and it seemed as if I couldn’t possibly slow down for long enough to take a breath and consider my response. Of course, this wasn’t true, and if nothing else, taking a moment to ground myself would have allowed me to walk away from the situation feeling calmer.

Responding to warning signs for stress

Are you aware of your body’s equivalent of warning lights on the car dashboard, alerting you to a need for something to shift before you find yourself in an inconvenient or dangerous situation? There may be some experiences that many of us will share in common in terms of early warning signs of stress or trauma triggers (such as changes to our breathing patterns), but each person and body is so different, that it’s useful to spend some time getting to know your own patterns. Often, our bodies react to a situation well before our conscious minds have a chance to process and interpret what’s going on and how to respond. Some of my own warning signs now feel so glaringly obvious to me that I sometimes wonder whether people around me notice them too (for the most part, I’m pretty sure they don’t). Developing a sense of what our bodies might be trying to tell us can save a lot of time and energy, particularly in stressful situations where we might lose our ability to think and express ourselves as clearly as we can when we’re calm. The next step in the process of connecting to this part of our body wisdom is considering what we might need when the ‘warning light’ we’ve identified is illuminated. Is it trying to tell us to take a break, to ground ourselves, to re-energise, to leave the situation entirely, or something else? Developing this awareness and slowing down to tune into our bodies can really help to strengthen connections with others and improve communication, as well as reducing the stress often associated with conflict and difficult conversations.

What are our bodies communicating?

It can also be interesting to consider what we’re communicating with our bodies – much has been made of body language, and I’m sometimes a little skeptical about the idea of consciously trying to manipulate what we want to convey through careful use of body positioning and movement. But, as previously mentioned, people are often skilled (whether consciously or subconsciously) at picking up incongruence or mismatched words, actions and signs of emotional states. So if body language, words and the slightly harder-to-pin-down ‘feeling in the room’ seem to be at odds, we might experience a general sense that something isn’t quite right. As such, I’m advocating for an approach based on authentic, honest communication. But we can nevertheless use our bodies to help us change our psychological and physical state, and to convey the message we want to get across without being inauthentic. Sort of a ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ approach, but I don’t consider it to be ‘faking’, so much as embodying the state we’re aiming for, and noticing any shifts that happen in our emotions and communication as a result. For example, coming into a conversation that we feel nervous about having, perhaps with an uneven power dynamic or with a person who we think might not take us seriously. It might help to engage supportive muscles in our lower body and to feel a sense of having a solid base, as well as considering how we take up space in the room. I’m not suggesting the full ‘power stance’ option favoured by key players at the Tory conference a few years ago (I still remember the memes that circulated off the back of a slew of pictures of MPs in identical power poses). But sending subtle signals to ourselves through our physical state and how we position ourselves can help to shift our emotional state and the relationship dynamics in the room. This isn’t about getting ‘one up’ on another person or playing games, but it can be a useful experiment to consider how we are reinforcing or undermining what we want to communicate through what we’re doing with our bodies. With all that said, it feels important to offer nuance – this isn’t about being constantly aware and ‘in control’ of what we’re doing, or about shaming different ways of being in a body and taking up space. Before I understood my neurodivergent identity, I remember being hugely shamed at a leadership programme by a fellow participant who told me that she couldn’t take me seriously as a leader because I ‘moved around too much’ and ‘talked with [my] hands excessively’. For a while, I considered how I might be able to shift my way of being in order to convey a bit more gravitas. And there are some situations, like giving a formal presentation, where I might be more conscious of slowing down and stepping into my power in a more physical way. But otherwise, I came to realise that I don’t need to change who I am and how I move in order to be ‘taken seriously’ – that was the other person’s issue, not mine.

Decompressing after difficult conversations

Finally, let’s explore what happens after a difficult interaction. How might we decompress and let go after a situation that’s caused us stress and filled us with adrenaline? Maybe you already have a practice around this, whether it’s talking to a trusted contact to process what happened, going for a walk, or making a cup of tea. If there are residual feelings of tension, it’s worth considering how you might let them go, and whether there are physical ways of doing this. A good start might be to notice what your breath is doing, and whether you’re holding it. Breathing exercises can offer a mini reset, a bit like switching yourself off and back on again. You might feel like you need to move your body, in order to let go of the tension and ‘shake off’ anything you’re left with that you don’t want to carry through your day. Or you might feel spaced out and disconnected, and need something that offers a sense of grounding and containment, like using your arms to ‘give yourself a hug’ (or getting one from someone else, if you enjoy that). You might have words or sounds that need to be released in some way, whether through talking, journalling, singing, or screaming into a pillow. Decompression looks different for each person, but it can be a good way of drawing a line under an interaction, and releasing anything you don’t need before moving on to the next task or interaction. I’d suggest taking a few minutes to note down what you find helpful after a stressful situation, so that you have a list to refer to when you’re feeling too stressed to recall what you need in the moment.

If you’d like more information and support with embodied communication, please feel free to contact 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.

Essential Skills for Socially Conscious Leadership - Using the Seven Cs Model to Drive Change

In recent years, there’s been a cultural shift in many parts of the working world, from top-down, ‘command and control’ leadership to more socially conscious, collaborative approaches to leading teams. For some, this may still be seen as a fluffy optional extra or an invite to waste precious time by crowd-sourcing decision making processes. But I’d argue that developing leaders who are emotionally intelligent, skilled communicators with good boundaries and socially conscious values is a necessity, not an option. Even now, it’s often still the case that career paths can involve becoming proficient in a specific role, then being promoted into a leadership role  on the strength of experience that may or may not require good people skills. If organisations don’t invest in supporting emerging leaders to develop the relational skills necessary to support healthy, happy, successful teams, they risk their people’s wellbeing, the quality of their work and the potential for innovation and creativity. So, what are these skills and why are they important?

One framework that might be helpful in defining good social leadership is the ‘7 Cs’ – part of the social change model of leadership development created by the Higher Education Research Institute of the University of California Los Angeles. This model highlights that anyone can develop these qualities and be a leader, regardless of their position in a hierarchy. It identifies seven qualities and skills that socially conscious leaders need to have in order to succeed. They are:

Consciousness of self

Self-awareness is an important starting point in any successful endeavour, especially as it relates to being and working with others. Understanding our own preferences, needs, areas for growth and development and communication styles can help to prevent misunderstandings and conflict, as well as supporting each person in a team to play to their strengths. Of course, being aware of our own needs and preferences is only the beginning of the story. I’ve often encountered examples of leaders and teams taking quizzes to determine their communication preferences, personality structure or archetype, only to then use their findings as a way to absolve themselves of unhelpful behaviours and responses – ‘what can I do, I’m a [insert category here]!’ Don’t’ get me wrong, I’m not here to denigrate any of these categorisations – they are as useful as their application. Ideally, self-awareness will be an impetus for further personal development, asking for support where needed, and negotiating with others about how to get the best from communications with us. When I was training in Performance Psychology, my supervisor had me develop what was essentially a ‘how-to’ manual that explained the quirks, needs and preferences that might help others to work well with me. I’ve never handed over the physical document to a new contact (perhaps a slightly overwhelming prospect). But it has often been helpful for me to explain to people I line managed that, for example, my brain needs time to transition between tasks, and as such, if I’m focusing on a task and am interrupted unexpectedly with a request, my initial response might be a blank stare or a clipped tone. I’ll generally manage to mentally change gear after a minute or so, but I’ve found that it’s kinder and more efficient to negotiate ways to check my availability for a chat, rather than launching into a discussion of which I’ll miss the first few sentences. This doesn’t mean that I have no responsibility to do my part in getting the most from both my brain and my relationships with colleagues, but in this case, the thing I’ve developed an awareness of and communicated to others is related to an ADHD trait – it’s not something I can easily change. That is to say, sometimes we can become aware of a tendency, communicate it and realise that we need to make a change within ourselves. And sometimes, it’s enough to develop the awareness, communicate a need and negotiate a workaround.

Congruence

This is a core concept in many therapeutic schools of thought. It’s about honesty, integrity and alignment of thoughts, feelings and behaviours. We are social animals, evolved to be (for the most part) sensitive to social dynamics and signs of potential conflict. As such, many people are at least subconsciously aware that something feels ‘off’ when someone is being inauthentic. When our language, behaviours, body language, micro-expressions and signs of energy levels seem to contradict each other, trust can be eroded. This might call to mind the debate about ‘bringing your whole self to work’ and how much authenticity is appropriate in specific work related situations. We often have a concept of ‘professionalism’ which suggests that we should leave our real emotions and thoughts at the door in favour of a more polished version that carries less risk of conflict or discomfort. I’m a fan of diplomacy, professional boundaries and appropriate challenge, and I don’t think these are particularly at odds with an approach to leadership that gives permission and encouragement for leaders to be unashamedly human, with emotions, flaws and the ability to come back from making mistakes. This permission can help us to cultivate more congruence – we might feel more able to say things like ‘I’m really sorry – I do want to help you with this but I’m a feeling bit overwhelmed with working on task x and might struggle to give you my full attention right now. Can we find a time where we can sit down and really get stuck into problem solving the issue?’ or ‘I’m noticing a bit of resistance in myself as you talk about this idea. I think I need to go away and explore what that’s about – I don’t want to shut you down. Can you give me a bit of time to ponder it and then we can discuss it again over a coffee later today?’

Commitment

This seems like an obvious point in the context of good leadership, but commitment to the cause is essential. Given that, as previously mentioned, we’re all human, there will likely be times when we feel less motivated or more overwhelmed with our work and find it difficult to connect with our commitment. There’s a real watch-out for burnout here – if we begin to feel a sense of apathy and disconnection from the mission, vision and values we’re working towards, and struggle to find compassion for the people we’re supporting, we need to listen to the warning signs and take action (including the sort of action that leads to taking genuinely restorative breaks). But when not at risk of burning out, it’s important for leaders to be able to find and demonstrate motivation and some level of passion for their work. Personally, I was never especially passionate about management roles in and of themselves, but I’ve always loved supporting people to develop and recognise their skills, find their passion and bring their unique skills and insights to their work. I loved using a coaching approach in my leadership work, even before I trained as a coach. That passion offered enough leverage to get me through the aspects of management roles that I found less inspiring. Even in leadership contexts where the commitment isn’t related to the core activities of a business or organisation, a deep commitment to supporting people is essential.

Common purpose

Ideally, establishing shared values and purpose begins at recruitment. And it falls to leaders to support others to connect to that sense of purpose, particularly when things are feeling difficult or stuck. This can link back to congruence – it’s worth interrogating and discussing how (and indeed, if) an organisation or team’s stated values and purpose actually live beyond the pages they’re stated on. And there may be a need to establish a set of specific values, aims and purposes beyond those of a wider organisation – what do people really care about, feel motivated by and want to get out of a project? Again, the concept of leverage is often useful when motivation is low or it seems there is no end in sight – how can we connect with the wider purpose and the reasons behind our efforts? There are a couple of caveats attached to this, however: firstly, it’s important not to abuse or over-use this tactic in a bid to push people beyond what can reasonably be expected of them. Having spent around two decades working in the third sector, I’m very familiar with the ways that people’s passion for social justice can be exploited and used as a reason for being overworked and underpaid. And secondly, it feels important to inject a little realism (or perhaps cynicism?) about the realities of the working world for many people. We live under a capitalist system for the time being, and selling our labour is necessary for survival. Not everyone takes on a job out of a sense of passion for a cause, and many people prefer to show up, tackle the tasks at hand, and go home to enjoy the remaining hours in their day. So I’m not suggesting that we need everyone to demonstrate commitment to a shared purpose at all times; but if we’re thinking about the sort of work that asks for shared values and commitment to a cause, establishing a good fit at recruitment and support to connect to purpose are key. A final watch-out here is conflating shared values with groupthink – while it's important to have everyone pull together in the same direction, conformity and a restrictive sense of ‘culture fit’ can really deprive a team of diverse perspectives.

Controversy with civility

This is about appropriate challenge and leaning into discomfort without creating a hostile working environment. It’s a difficult thing to achieve and, I believe, very much worth investing the effort into. As mentioned above, a sense of common purpose doesn’t negate disagreement, conflicting needs and challenge. These will inevitably arise (and if not, that may present its own set of concerns to be addressed), and how leaders respond and help to cultivate a safe enough environment to contain them is crucial. I’ve found myself in groups of leaders where the majority view was that challenge and disagreement were negative and to be avoided at all costs. I found this deeply uncomfortable, as it seemed obvious to me that this would likely lead to festering resentments, a lack of congruence  and missed opportunities for learning and growth. I’m very committed to creating environments where difficult conversations can be held with compassion and curiosity… and yet, I’m also quite conflict avoidant, so I understand the urge to smooth things over, rather than get them out in the open. I believe that good social leadership involves being grounded, compassionate, sensitive and robust enough to make and discuss difficult decisions, to hear challenge from a place of openness, to speak up when something feels wrong or unjust and to encourage others to do likewise. ‘Civility’ in this case isn’t about polite avoidance, a stiff upper lip approach or an aversion to disagreement; but rather, might involve things like the use of ‘I statements’ (where we take responsibility for our own reactions to others and start with describing our own feelings, e.g. ‘I feel frustrated when you keep missing and pushing back this deadline, because it stops me being able to do my next task. I’d prefer it if you could give me an honest assessment of what’s getting in your way, whether you need any additional support, and when you realistically will be able to get it done’). It might involve unpacking our own sense of defensiveness when we’re challenged and taking time to formulate a more thoughtful response. It might involve some reflective work around your organisational culture around challenge and controversy.

Collaboration

Collaboration has become something of a buzzword over the years, and with good reason. There are levels of collaborative work, from consulting with and incorporating others’ ideas and views into planning a project, right through to structures with flattened hierarchies and equal decision making power. But the spirit of collaboration in any context is about genuinely valuing each person’s contribution, understanding the benefits of bringing different ideas, perspectives, experiences, skills and ways of working together, and making space for others. Sometimes, collaboration can be the most effective, efficient and energising way of working, because it can allow people to draw on their strengths and to support each other. Alternatively, it can feel slow and laborious compared to a more top-down or stoic ‘I’ll just do it myself’ approach. But the benefits tend to far outweigh the frustrations of inviting colleagues further into decision-making, planning and carrying out tasks. Multiple studies have shown that collaborative approaches increase healthy working relationships, fostering an environment where trust and good communication grow. And that collaboration supports significant improvements in innovation and business outcomes in general. What good collaboration looks like in practice will vary from team to team and from project to project – it’s worth taking time to do the groundwork around this, as well as considering factors such as whether increased responsibility within a particular project will add pressure to colleagues’ capacity (in this case, it’s worth considering how their time and workload might be protected).

Citizenship

This seems to me like the most nebulous of the 7 Cs, but it offers a valuable opportunity to think beyond the confines of the project or organisation that the socially conscious leader is part of. It’s about the leader, and the team they are part of, connecting to their wider community and society, and considering what they might contribute. How might we utilise the skills and insights that we have learned through leadership development to benefit the communities we are part of? And how might the leadership work that we are doing be part of the change we want to see in the world? It can be helpful to step back from time to time and look at the bigger picture, re-establish our goals and vision, and decide whether we need to make any changes or new commitments in service of this. However, I do acknowledge that this can feel like a huge responsibility, and am conscious of a need to work within our sphere of influence without over-stretching ourselves. It seems possible to hold both positions though – we can aim to make change on a realistic, sustainable level that protects us from burnout, while considering how this links to the bigger picture and how we might best use our skills to be a small part of bigger changes.

Preventing burnout: Coping Strategies for Witnessing Atrocities

Understanding the Impact of Witnessing Atrocities

The world feels like a scarily inhumane place to live right now. Just when I think I can’t be any more shocked by the cruelty of another act of internationally sanctioned violence, a heartless national policy closer to home or a story I’m told by a client, friend or stranger, something new appears and ups the ante. I was hesitant to write about how those of us fortunate enough to be observing tragedy and brutality from a safe distance might be feeling. But, if we’re deeply impacted by what we’re observing in the world and moved to try to be part of the change, we must have opportunities to pause, process and get back out there in any way we can. The same is true whether we’re campaigning against systemic violence, leading a project that poses a risk of vicarious trauma or considering how we engage with and communicate about the information we’re able to access round the clock via social and traditional media. Let’s explore how we might prevent burnout, overwhelm, normalising what may once have shocked us, and feeling frozen with guilt or shame.

The most pertinent example of this for me right now is my response to witnessing seven months of genocide. I feel a sense of obscenity about the fact that, for me, life goes on more or less as normal when I’m not engaging with this horror. Many professionals working in frontline services and people who have lived through ongoing traumatic events can attest to how quickly the unthinkable can start to feel normal. We’re an incredibly adaptable species, with a need to make sense of our environments and the capacity to do what needs to be done in order to survive. Our brains are wired for energy saving wherever possible, and there’s a finite amount of energy available to stay in a place of shock, fear, anger, disgust and so on. And so, we may start to become numb, to distance ourselves from the costly business of feeling. If we’re very lucky, we may also be able to look away, and to avoid engaging with things that are happening to ‘others’. It’s an understandable response, and none of us should be put in a situation where we’re forced to reckon with the horrific choices made by fellow humans on a day to day basis. But something I look out for in my emotional world is a sense that the unfathomably awful images I’m seeing each day online might be starting to feel normal. It’s a sign that I’m reaching capacity and need to clear some space to process my emotions before I re-engage. Yes, that’s a privilege in itself – for anyone in literal survival mode, this is not an available luxury. But as allies, we’re of limited use to those we want to support if we’re burned out, numb or stuck. Using the resources we have and leaning on community to step in when we need to step away is crucial.

Compassion fatigue and vicarious trauma can be rife in systems that are under-funded, under-appreciated and over-subscribed. Taking on responsibility for too many people and too many projects can mean dangerously high stress levels for all, and a sense of distancing that starts to threaten empathy, mentalisation[1] and the capacity to see others as fellow, flawed humans who are probably doing their best. There are obvious structural solutions to this problem in the form of well funded public services including high quality training and support. So, when we’re not applying political pressure on this issue, what can we do about burnout and vicarious trauma prevention for leaders, campaigners and anyone who feels called to do something about the horrific events they’re witnessing?

COPING STRATEGIES for change and resilience

Firstly, some form of pressure valve can be invaluable. This can take many forms, from reflective practice spaces, to grief circles, embodied practices and space to share our thoughts, feelings and experiences with others who ‘get it’. It’s also important that these opportunities to let go, feel, express and reflect are contained and limited. We can’t get stuck in grief, despair, hopelessness, fear or anger, though it’s important to acknowledge, rather than suppress them. Knowing that there’s a specific time and space to let off some steam can help us to get through the day. In my experience, a well held space with a managed transition back into day-to-day activities is very much worth the required resources. That transition from engaging and expressing back to a more contained place might involve activities and tools that intentionally change the energy in the space and reconnect us with our capable, Adult selves before we dive back into whatever needs to be done. The timing, frequency and format of pressure valve activities deserve some careful consideration. And crucially (especially in a workplace environment), all involved need to feel safe enough to show up authentically and express what they need to express. If this doesn’t feel possible, there may be wider cultural issues to address within the team or group.

Perhaps that sounds easier said than done, especially if what people are processing involves deeply divisive and potentially traumatic themes. What do we do about competing needs? There are no magic wands here, sadly. It’s crucial that people are able to set and maintain their own boundaries, rather than feeling coerced into participating in something that doesn’t feel right for them – feeling ‘done to’ can often be a contributing aspect to the onset of burnout. One organisation that I work with offers separate (optional) reflective spaces for people of different identities, as well as spaces open to all – this may be a helpful approach to potential divisions and concerns about psychological safety in some cases. In any situation where discussions of sensitive topics might be encouraged, it’s advisable to have a strong and compassionate group agreement or shared set of values that everyone signs up to. How challenge and conflict might be met is a helpful consideration here.

‘We fight, we rest and we rise’ - taking breaks and re-engaging

(Jenny Moore)

When it comes to engaging with disturbing news, images and first hand accounts of violent and traumatic events, what’s the ‘right’ level of engagement? The potentially negative impact of excessively consuming social media isn’t a new or radical concept. I believe it might often be oversimplified or overstated, but I’m also aware of what my own experience tells me. It’s important to step away, to try to avoid the ubiquitous doomscrolling habit, and to give our eyes and brains a break from the never ending stream of new information and artificial blue light. We must apply the usual ‘put your own oxygen mask on first’ advice and look after our own health, listen to our bodies and let our minds rest. And yet, this is balanced with regular calls on those of us watching atrocities from a distance to ‘not look away’. Daily access to video footage, pictures and first hand accounts of horrific cruelty is a new concept, and brings an additional sense of responsibility, since we can’t claim to have been unaware. We’re being asked to witness, to mobilise, to see people’s humanity and recognise the value of their lives. For many of us, what we witness will feel like too much to bear or believe, and what we can offer will feel woefully inadequate. But we can witness to the best of our ability and capacity, taking space to re-energise where we need to and then re-engaging. Sometimes we need to look away for a moment, while perhaps connecting with gratitude that we are fortunate enough to do so. There’s an important distinction here between gratitude and guilt or shame. Sometimes, what we feel grateful for is an unearned privilege – something we’re lucky to experience or avoid due to the accidents of birth, time and place. Acknowledging that luck doesn’t necessarily have to lead to feeling guilty about it, though that’s an obvious next step (as is defensiveness, at times). The thing that’s so difficult to face is that occupation, war, famine, pandemics and so on could happen to any of us at any time. We may hope that, if it happened to us, that those not directly affected might step in and help. We’d probably want them to be as well resourced as possible, to be compassionate, informed and ready to roll up their sleeves and take any action, big or small, that might contribute to our survival and eventual return to thriving. We probably wouldn’t want them to be burned out, numb, paralysed with guilt or fear of doing the wrong thing or so overwhelmed and in denial that they refuse to acknowledge what they’re seeing.

building community support networks

When we’re feeling powerless, one of the solutions may once again be found in community. Creating spaces to decompress and share our experiences with others can help to relieve some of the heaviness of witnessing trauma, and in turn, can re-energise us for the onward journey. And when we’re feeling powerless, we can celebrate the small moments of shared humanity where we find them. We can remind each other of times that unbearable cruelty and oppression were forced to come to an end through political and financial pressure that millions of people came together to contribute to in their own ways, however small.

Resources & references

If you are feeling overwhelmed or experiencing burnout/vicarious trauma, please seek support:

Contact me to find out if I can help

Visit https://www.mind.org.uk/

 Self-care resources by TARSHI

Support for Palestine:

Gaza Emergency Fund

Medical Aid Palestine

Palestine Solidarity Campaign

‘We Fight, We Rest, We Rise’ (Jenny Moore/F Choir)

[1] Mentalisation is the ability to imagine what another person may be thinking and feeling

The Therapeutic Power of Singing

Lately, I’ve been reconnecting with the many reasons that singing is one of the most powerful resources in my toolkit. I’d like to share these reasons with you, in the hope of inspiring motivation, or at least curiosity about the power of song and voice.

I’m one of those stereotypical multi-hyphenates – an ‘elder millenial’ with a list of freelance job titles. As I’ve developed my business, I’ve sometimes found myself sidelining the voice related aspects of my work in favour of what seem like the more ‘serious’ things that I offer (consultancy and facilitation, executive coaching). It seems that there’s been a stubborn kernel of unconscious bias hanging around in my psyche. Perhaps at some point, I’ve swallowed a bit of someone else’s belief that singing is a nice, but frivolous thing to do. “It’s all very well holding hands and singing Kum Ba Yah, but now let’s get on with the real work…”

But I know that this view is completely at odds with my experience. I’ve been singing since I was a small child – many years of choirs, vocal coaching, competitions, recitals, song circles, pub gigs, festival gigs, protest blocs, tours, voice retreats, vocal rehab and the rest. Most of these experiences have helped me to express and process emotion, connect with myself and others and get calm and grounded. And knowing that these positive impacts are available to just about anyone motivates me to share them.

There’s something fundamentally human about singing. I’m not aware of any cultures in the world that don’t have music/singing (regimes that forbid music as a form of religious or political control notwithstanding). The variations in pitch and different voice qualities involved in singing tend to offer an opportunity to feel and express emotion more acutely than we might when we speak. The long, controlled exhale we tend to use when singing helps to re-regulate and soothe an over- or under-stimulated Autonomic Nervous System. And something in the predictability of melody helps to convey a message to our pattern-seeking brains in a way that’s especially memorable. The beauty of all of this is that it can work whether or not the singer is trained, can stay on pitch or feels confident in their abilities. In fact, a psychologically safe enough environment and an embodied approach to singing can support someone who is experiencing a ‘freeze’ response or veering wildly off pitch to make progress with these issues.

If that’s not enough to convince you to seek out your nearest community choir (or attend one of my workshops), here’s a breakdown of some of the specific ways that singing can be transformative.

1.     Singing to express, process or shift emotions:

One of my supervisors wrote a PhD thesis on singers’ psychology, having noticed that her voice students would often sing what they couldn’t find a way to say. Many vocal coaches keep a box of tissues in their teaching room, ready to dry tears. In vulnerable, emotionally connected performances, we ideally want the singer to have shed any tears in advance and retained enough emotion on-stage to help the audience to connect to their own feelings. But of course, that’s not to say that singing is always heavy or painful. We might sing to express joy, love, anger, power or just about any other emotion imaginable. And we might use music to shift our mood or lift the energy in a space. Singing is a physical activity that requires muscular support, full diaphragmatic breathing and the release of unnecessary tension. This, combined with our connection to lyrics and certain voice qualities (such as the ‘sob’ sound) can help us to ‘shake loose’ emotions that might feel stuck or overwhelming.

2.     Singing as a grounding or meditative practice:

Singing is a form of bodywork in itself. There are so many physical processes at play when we sing, and noticing what we’re feeling in our bodies can offer a sense of grounding in the here and now, as well as helping to train the voice. Noticing where we can feel the sound vibrating in the body can feel particularly soothing for many people – I like to imagine that it’s similar to cats purring to heal themselves (though I don’t intend for this to be read as scientific fact!) Something that does have a basis in scientific research, however, is the established impact of chanting as part of meditation practice. Using repetitive, sung words/phrases or humming as part of meditation has been shown to reduce stress, anxiety and hypertension. I am a big fan of using humming as a vocal warmup and grounding exercise ahead of potentially challenging meetings and presentations.

3.     Singing as protest/political voice:

Like many others, I’ve often felt overwhelmed and powerless in the face of world events (most recently, the horrific situation in Gaza). But I’ve found it cathartic and powerful getting together with others at protests, rallies and private gatherings to sing songs that remind us of our common humanity and call for peace. I’m certain that, for as long as we’ve had language, people have sung songs to tell the stories of those who have been silenced, to express collective traumas and to call others to action. At a recent gathering, a contemplative song sung by a small group in a large crowd drew in a lot of attention and helped people to express their feelings. Meanwhile, world famous artists can use their platform to raise awareness and solidarity for the causes that matter to them.

4.     Singing to connect with others:

When we sing, we’re potentially making ourselves vulnerable – it’s exposing. This is a large factor in many people’s horror at the idea of anyone hearing them sing. But it’s also part of the reason that it’s such a powerful way to connect with people and build community. When we sing together, we can share an experience of collectively creating a sound, potentially synchronising our breathing and tuning into each other. It’s a real bonding experience, and  -as with the concept of singing as protest above – it can remind us of our collective power. I’ve often run ‘singing for wellbeing’ programmes for people who have found themselves in the most challenging situations (homelessness, seeking asylum, serious illness). And much of the feedback from participants has focused on the importance of the collective experience of singing – being witnessed as they took up space, made noise and expressed emotion. A 2013 study showed that choir members’ heartbeats could synchronise with each other as they sang (with more structured music showing more significant evidence of synchronisation). The feeling of being part of a huge wall of sound while singing in a large choir, and the feeling of instinctively harmonising in a small group are some of my favourite experiences – I can’t quite find a way to describe or compare them to anything else.

So, with all that in mind, I’m ready to throw out the last vestiges of discounting the importance of singing. And if you’re ready to find out more, drop me a message or check out my next embodied voice and breath workshop here.

Performance Anxiety Part 2: Supporting candidates to shine in recruitment and audition

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my own and my clients’ experiences of performing for the purposes of being assessed – job interviews, auditions and the like – and what can make the difference between a successful, positive experience and a negative one that might lead to shame, fear and a knock to self-esteem. I’ve experienced and heard about interview and audition situations that range from the joyful to the downright traumatic. This has made me a passionate advocate for an approach that pays attention to psychological safety as a means of getting the best from the candidate. Below, I offer some tips and reflection points to support leaders involved in recruitment, audition and assessment of candidates to create a safe and welcoming enough environment to help the hopefuls to shine.

It feels important to note that a positive experience (whether or not the person gets the job, passes the exam or bags their dream role) is created both by the individual being assessed and those tasked with judging their performance. And there may be an element of assessing ability to perform under pressure involved in many cases, but I’d argue that being judged by people who have the power to change their life represents a sufficiently pressurised situation, no matter what the context. We don’t need to engineer additional stress on top of what may already be a nerve-wracking experience.

So, what do I mean by ‘psychological safety’? This is about creating conditions that allow people to feel welcome, valued and able to express themselves authentically. When people feel safe and grounded, they can access the skills, qualities and brain functions that allow them to give their very best performance. It’s true that we can’t create or guarantee a sense of safety in someone else, regardless of what we put in place – some of that work rests with the individual. But we all have a different baseline and set of experiences that influence how we feel and function, both in general and in specific situations. We all consciously and unconsciously bring baggage wherever we go. In our bags, we may be carrying messages and judgements that influenced us as children, previous experiences that influence our thoughts, communication and the way we use our bodies. Some people may have worked hard at unpacking their luggage and discarding any reactions and coping mechanisms that are outdated and unhelpful, only to find that they have sneaked back into their bags when a stressful situation presents itself. If a candidate has had negative experiences of being seen, heard and judged or assessed in the past, they may find that they need to do a lot of work to calm and ground themselves enough to be able to give their best performance (tips on reducing performance anxiety in part 1 of this series here). So, what can you put in place as a recruiter/assessor to help candidates show you what they can really do?

-Be warm and welcoming:

 An authentic attempt to connect and show someone that they are welcome and valued can make a real difference to their experience. We are wired to seek out signs of whether we belong in an environment because it has historically been crucial to our survival. Most of us are well attuned to signs that someone is impatient, bored or disengaged. This may be something to consider at the point where interviews, auditions etc. are being scheduled, as an over-stretched, exhausted or rushed recruiter may well have a negative impact. Additionally, gentle eye contact can often support an overwhelmed person to ground and re-regulate (I acknowledge that in some cases, direct eye contact can increase stress - e.g. for some Autistic candidates. It’s best to be responsive to individual reactions and follow their lead).

-Manage expectations:

As far as possible, let candidates know in advance what to expect and offering any information you can give about the format, timings, space and anything else that might help them to prepare. This stage also offers an opportunity to find out if any reasonable adjustments are required if you haven’t already. Predictability can help to set up a sense of safety, and can be offered while still requiring the person to think on their feet, if necessary. And be honest about what the person can expect following their experience – if you know that it’s likely to take a long time to make a decision, or if you truly lack the capacity to offer feedback to unsuccessful candidates, let them know in advance.

-Interrogate your unconscious bias:

I can think of a number of situations where an assessor’s bias has been made very apparent by specific questions, expressions of surprise or rejections based on incorrect assumptions or judgements. I would argue that we all need to develop a practice of interrogating our assumptions about a person based on, for example, their perceived age, gender expression, neurotype/disability, ethnicity, accent or perceived socioeconomic background. This is especially true in recruitment. Having been on both sides of the recruitment process, I’ve found that sometimes we can’t quite pin down the reason when someone is ‘good on paper’ but not quite right. Maybe the chemistry is wrong, maybe it’s not the best ‘culture fit’, maybe we had a specific vision in our mind’s eye that’s difficult to let go. That might be entirely valid - often, our instincts are worth listening to. But being in a position of power means there’s an added responsibility to check out and unpack any assumptions that may be underneath the feeling. I believe that expanding our vision around how a person in a specific role could look, sound and behave has benefits on a level wider than the person, role and organisation. Being able to honestly evaluate what we might have assumed about a person, and on what basis, can help us make more informed, fair decisions. And, speaking as a person who can tick a few ‘protected characteristic’ boxes on the equalities monitoring form, I can tell you that when these biases are front and centre in a recruitment process, we can often tell.

-Provide a safe container:

You may or may not have much control over the physical environment in which you carry out interviews, auditions etc. Ideally, the space would be comfortable, an appropriate size (big enough to maintain a sense of personal space but not unnecessarily large) and set out in a way that suggests welcome, warmth and calm. As a minimum, I’d suggest a psychologically safe-enough space needs to be quiet, free from interruptions and tidy. If there are a number of factors that are not in your control, consider what you can do to mitigate. Can you section off part of a large space to offer a sense of containment? Can you do anything to influence the level of background noise coming from adjacent spaces? If not, it can be even more important to cultivate a sense of safety through your interactions with the candidate and, if something in the space is unavoidably presenting an obvious distraction or barrier, to acknowledge this and perhaps discuss potential ways of minimising the impact. It’s impossible to anticipate the different needs of every person who enters your space, but thinking ahead about how people with accessibility needs or sensory sensitivities might experience it is a useful place to start.

-Be patient:

Experienced assessors are often skilled in putting nervous candidates at ease by being patient, recognising when they have stumbled that they may need a moment to regroup and try again, and even at times offering words of encouragement or reminders to take a breath. Even the most talented and capable people can come unstuck under pressure in a way that may not reflect their ability to perform in the role. Helping someone who is experiencing a ‘freeze’ response to re-regulate doesn’t demonstrate preferential treatment – it’s an acknowledgement that ‘singing for their supper’ (whether literally or figuratively) can be overwhelming sometimes. Demonstrating that you haven’t written someone off when their Autonomic Nervous System has gone into hyper- or hypo-arousal can often help them to regain control and deliver a fantastic performance.

-Let go of survivor’s bias:

In some professions and performing arts contexts, an element of acceptance of unnecessary stress or even ritual humiliation can persist because ‘we all had to go through it’ and it’s ‘character building’. I can think of some particularly egregious examples of this from high stress environments with pronounced hierarchies and heavy emphasis on tradition. I hope that this is a mindset that’s on its way out as we develop a common awareness of the need to support our people’s wellbeing (both because we value them as people and because healthy people perform better). It may be the case that the threshold for what constitutes a humiliating, shaming or unnecessarily exposing situation varies from person to person. But it’s worth considering what purpose a particular aspect of an assessment serves and whether it’s the best way of achieving that aim. Are you planning consciously, or falling into the trap of doing things in a specific way because that’s ‘just how things have always been done’? Do candidates really need to be auditioned and given feedback in front of the entire pool of hopefuls? Is your recruitment process putting extra pressure on those with caring responsibilities, health needs or long hours in their current role by requiring them to carry out unpaid work that will take several hours? Does anyone on your interview panel regard a candidate’s questions about reasonable adjustments, working culture or hours/boundaries as a sign that they are likely to be ‘difficult’ to work with?

Perhaps these ideas seem like basic examples of good practice. Or maybe as you read this, you notice a sense of irritation about the increasing demands made by early career professionals. Maybe there’s a sense of regret that some of these courtesies weren’t extended to you when you were starting out in your career. It might be useful to take a moment to reflect on what has been provoked or inspired in you as you read this. And I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject – you can contact me here.

Performance Anxiety Part 1: How to shine in performance and presentation

As a coach and facilitator, I support people who feel uncomfortable with being seen and heard. People who might panic or freeze when the stakes are high and they’re required to give a performance in front of others, whether on stage, in the board room or on a conference call. In this post, I will offer some suggestions, points to reflect on and tools that could help you to feel calm enough to really shine in a performance, interview, audition or presentation. This is not a comprehensive list, because everyone is different and an approach tailored to each individual is far more effective than a generic one. Rather, I’m offering some tried and tested methods to get you started.

Part of what led me to this work was my own experience of performance anxiety as a young person. Some of my earliest memories are of myself as a young child, assembling any adults who happened to be around to watch me put on a show. It might have involved singing, dancing, acting or doing gymnastics all over the furniture, and it might have been a solo show, an ensemble piece with friends or a full-on cabaret in several acts. The adults in my life patiently indulged my high energy and regular requests to be seen and heard, and provided a safe environment in which to develop my performance chops. When I ventured further out into the world and had to audition for parts and places in the music world, I discovered what a less nurturing environment could do to my ability to give my best performance. From a fairly young age, I noticed the difference between performances where I felt comfortable and those where the fear of judgement or failure took over and had me shaking, losing control of my breath and sounding timid. Auditions, exams and competitions had wildly inconsistent outcomes for me as a result, and there wasn’t much in the way of support with managing ‘nerves’. This was just something young performers were supposed to be able to figure out by ourselves if we wanted to succeed. Things worked out well for me in the end though – I discovered performance psychology and a range of resources to help people to stay calm and grounded enough to deliver a great performance, whether it’s a work presentation or pitch, an audition, a show or a public speaking engagement. I’ve seen and experienced the difference that getting performance anxiety under control can make – most of us know what we’re capable of when we believe nobody is watching or listening, compared to what can happen when we’re in the spotlight. That speech was word perfect in the mirror this morning, but now that you see everyone watching, your mind’s gone blank. You’d give Whitney Houston a run for her money when you sing in the shower, but you believe you could never reproduce that performance for an audience. And that’s why I want everyone to be equipped with the tools they need to show people what they’re really capable of. So, here are some tips and points to reflect on as you prepare for a presentation or performance situation that’s causing some anxiety.

-Ground yourself:

Being grounded means connecting with your body to help you re-regulate your Autonomic Nervous System and prevent you dissociating (feeling disconnected from your body, spaced out, losing contact with ‘here and now’ reality) or freezing. Top tips to support this include pushing your feet into the floor, diaphragmatic breathing and taking a moment to get into a stance that feels open, upright, solid and moveable. Connecting with your environment also helps with grounding – you might want to do something like taking a moment to find three things in the space that are a specific colour, for example.

-An interview/audition is a two-way street:

You may have done your research and concluded that this organisation and role are perfect for you, and this may or may not turn out to be the case. Situations where things look ‘great on paper’ but don’t feel quite right when you meet and check each other out apply equally to those being assessed and those doing the assessing. If, beyond the discomfort of feeling nervous about the process itself, something feels a little ‘off’, it’s worth paying attention to your gut feeling, reflecting on what might be behind it, and – if possible/appropriate – asking questions to see if the answers reassure you. In some industries, most notably in highly competitive ones such as performing arts, people can be made to feel powerless until they reach a level of success that allows them to make choices and demands. For competitive roles, a sense that ‘if you don’t like the way things are done, there are thousands of other hopefuls for us to choose from’ is an old adage that needs to be consigned to history. There is increasing pressure on leaders to improve working conditions and recruitment practices or face difficulties in filling roles and pushback from the workforce further down the line. No matter what the industry or environment, abusive, humiliating or discriminatory behaviour are unacceptable. We all have more power than we are led to believe, and I’d argue that it’s usually worth holding out for a place where you feel welcome, valued and listened to.

-Develop a system that works for you:

Most people who often or occasionally struggle with performance anxiety develop an awareness of how that shows up for them and what’s most likely to happen if they get overwhelmed. A common example is forgetting words or lyrics, or ‘drawing a blank’ when asked a question you’d usually be able to answer. There may be physical discomfort in the form of shaking, nausea, feeling faint or muscle tension, and the realisation that some of these are visible to the audience can send you into a spiral of worry, shame and self-criticism about how they are being perceived. You might find that your mouth gets so dry, you can barely speak. So, the first step here is to spot any patterns – you might want to document your various performance experiences in a journal, where you note how you felt, what the environment was like, how you were responded to and your overall sense of how it went. If you were so overwhelmed that there are parts of a performance or presentation you don’t remember, this is useful information to note too. Once you have built up a sense of any patterns, triggers and insights, you can start to match your tools to your needs. It might be helpful to do this with the support of a coach, but otherwise, you can develop systems that help you to jog your memory, stay hydrated, keep your blood sugar stable etc. according to your needs. I sometimes like to write words or lyrics out ahead of a singing performance to remind myself of them, and because the physical act of writing them seems to help me connect with them. What would work for you? Treat it like a scientific experiment.

-Reasonable adjustments:

Where possible and necessary, don’t be afraid to ask for what you need. That might involve letting an interviewer know you need a moment to settle yourself before you respond to a question, developing a backstage ‘ritual’ with a friend to help you get calm or letting an organisation know about any accessibility needs you may have. Bear in mind that any reasonable adjustments related to disability, neurodivergence or diagnosed mental health issues legally have to be met in a workplace context. If you anticipate feeling overwhelmed by a presentation or interview in the workplace, consider scheduling before and after the event – is there anything you can do or request in order to give you some calm time and space to prepare and to decompress?

-Harness the adrenaline:

It’s become a cliché to say ‘use the nervous energy to your advantage’, and that’s not helpful when the fight/flight/freeze response and stress hormones seem to have taken over your entire being… But if you can learn to calm your system, you’ll be able to think clearly, connect more effectively with your audience and perhaps experience the nervous energy as excitement, rather than terror. Often, different but related emotions have similar physical sensations attached to them. How we interpret those sensations makes a difference to how our emotional state develops. There’s a symbiotic relationship between thoughts, physical sensations and emotion – we can influence our thinking and emotions by tuning into and adjusting our body’s responses (e.g. by slowing our breathing), and we can influence our emotional and physical response using our thoughts (e.g. by realising that some of what we’re calling ‘anxiety’ might be ‘excitement’). Learning to tune into what our bodies are telling us and developing ways of soothing the body and mind gives us a whole menu of options to help us deal with a stressful, scary or exposing situation like trying out or interviewing for our dream role. Crucially, practicing techniques that help you to re-regulate your nervous system when you don’t need them means that you’ll respond more quickly and effectively in the moment when you’re heading towards overwhelm. So, incorporating grounding and calming techniques into your regular routine means that they’re much more likely to work if and when you find yourself in front of an audience or panel with a sudden feeling of panic.

Good luck, and I’d love to hear how you get on with these tips. You can let me know, or set up an exploratory call by contacting me here.

Embodied, Courageous Communication

In explaining what I mean by ‘embodied, courageous communication’, I want to do my best to avoid throwing a load of jargon around. So, let me instead start by telling you a little about the experiences that have led me to be so passionate about supporting others (and, of course, myself) to express and communicate with courage and authenticity and to connect with the wisdom of our bodies.

As a person with ADHD, I’ve tended towards an abundance of energy – or rather, in the past, I was full of energy right up to the point where I’d burn out. I was aware of needing to move my body a lot, but not tuned into what else it may have been trying to tell me. That’s largely what led to me running myself into the ground at times when I was younger. My experience of communication was a little complicated too – I always had quick thoughts with many tangents, a tendency to use more words than I needed to and a love of performing. Some difficult circumstances in my early life meant that I struggled to communicate my emotions directly. But I found solace, emotional expression and a way of calming and connecting with my super energetic body through singing. In many ways, it was my biggest resource and most effective form of communication before I even realised it. Alongside a more general burnout, not knowing when to stop also led to an injury to my voice that took a long time to heal. That was the catalyst for a huge journey of learning how to understand myself, express myself authentically, listen to and care for my body, and connect more meaningfully with others. This ongoing process is what I mean by ‘embodied, courageous communication’.

I wasn’t really aware of all the defences I’d built up against anything that felt unsafe or vaguely threatening until I hit crisis point and had to address them head on. Learning about concepts like ‘body armour’ (holding tension in the body as a form of protection, often long after the threat has passed) and slowly trying out ways to regulate my nervous system while I built up a relationship of trust with a practitioner was mind blowing. By developing awareness of the physical sensations I experienced when I felt uncomfortably vulnerable, I could begin to join the dots between sensation, emotion and action, then make a decision about whether to do something to shift my state of being in the moment. For example, I learned that when I feel vulnerable, exposed or in danger of conflict, the muscles at the base of my skull tend to shudder or vibrate. Unlike some physical sensations or body signals, this one doesn’t feel particularly subtle. It’s showed up during difficult conversations and job interviews. It seemed to me to be my body’s way of offering up the ‘freeze’ option from a menu of ‘fight, flight, freeze, flop or fawn’. Essentially saying ‘we’re exposed, let’s retreat and hide!’ – a bit like when a toddler hides their face and believes that, because they can’t see you, you can’t see them either. But it’s rare that this is a helpful strategy in the context of a difficult conversation with a colleague or loved one, or during a job interview or big presentation. So the vibrating sensation is something of a warning that lets me know it’s time to take action that will re-regulate my autonomic nervous system – to do something that will bring a more calm, rational, present version of me back into the driving seat. This might involve pausing to take a couple of diaphragmatic breaths, grounding my feet and consciously releasing the tension from my neck.

This is, I hope, a useful example of something that offers a clear link between body sensations and communication. Of course, all of our communication involves our body in one way or another. But in the context of a presentation or a difficult conversation, it feels especially important to stay in contact with the parts of ourselves that can reason, connect with others and help us get our points across clearly. When the brain responds to a perceived threat and floods the body with the hormones and neurotransmitters that could save an endangered life, we tend to lose touch with our most sophisticated cognitive and social functions. The extent of these reactions varies hugely according to previous experiences of trauma, shame, the messages we received as we grew up, our neurotype, personality or other variables, such as whether we’ve had enough sleep and food or are going through a stressful time. Regardless, getting the best from our communication and performance involves a degree of courage, willingness to genuinely connect with others and ability to regulate our autonomic nervous system and emotions. That’s not to say that we should aspire to be in a state of permanent, zen-like calm, or to downplay our emotions and responses in a mandatory display of stoicism – quite the opposite! Suppressing and repressing our feelings will usually only take us so far before they catch up with us and either find an alternative route out into the world or stay buried and do damage to our health. But slowing down enough to really tune into how we’re feeling (something that didn’t come naturally to me and requires a lot of practice) equips us with choices about how we might be able to regulate and respond. Sometimes, we may be overwhelmed in spite of our best efforts and need time out to soothe our mind and body back into a state of calm. Developing awareness lets us know when that’s necessary and potentially helps us to prevent unnecessary conflict.

All of this offers up the possibility of facing into sensitive and difficult conversations. Though part of me would quite like to float through the world, avoiding conflict and anything that may bring with it the possibility of rejection, I’m a firm believer in the need to develop spaces and skills that support the sort of conversations that spark social change and deeper connections. I often work in the realm of Big Topics and discussions that risk exposing fears, complex power dynamics and boundaries, biases and potential for loss of relationship. I find that it’s common for people to fall into understandable patterns of avoiding the conversation if they can, becoming defensive or feeling shame. And I’ve also found that paying close attention to the creation of a reflective, embodied, compassionate space with encouragement to listen openly and challenge appropriately can really help to shift these responses. It’s not easy to do and it requires some effort from all involved in a group setting, a coaching relationship or any other type of relationship. In fact, it can be a far cry from the ‘holding hands and singing Kumbaya’ image that may be associated with words like compassion and safe space! But I know from both personal and professional experience that connecting with our bodies, minds, emotions and each other – in other words, embodied, courageous communication – can be truly transformative.

A bit about what I offer:

 I offer a range of coaching and consultancy services, delivered online and in person. I am a qualified coach and Performance Psychology practitioner, and use a Whole Person, embodied, relational approach in all of my work.

I have a particular focus on coaching work with those experiencing performance anxiety or having difficult experiences of being seen and heard. Examples of who I support include:

*Professionals who are finding it difficult to speak up at work

*People experiencing performance anxiety around presentations, performances or auditions

*Performers who are struggling to find their authentic sound

*People with minoritised identities who want to develop confidence in showing up authentically at work and in life.

In consultancy and facilitation work, I apply principles of psychological safety, embodiment and powerful questions in order to facilitate potentially difficult conversations and change processes that often focus on ‘big’ themes, such as belonging, identity, wellbeing and responses to organisational change.