the thing with ‘safe spaces’ and their non-existence.
a humble reminder why “safe” is a promise we can’t keep.
A sense of safety is a fundamental human need. but to be very clear upfront, in my humble opinion: there is no place on earth that is safe. there has been so much discussion and writing about this. from arao, brian, & clemens, kristi (2013) “from safe spaces to brave spaces: a new way to frame dialogue around diversity and social justice”, over lara, jonathan (2021) “safer spaces: how to create supportive environments for survivors” to the anti-oppression network (2016) “what is a safer space?”. and still i find myself entering facilitated spaces, where practitioners tell me “this is a safe space” or “you are safe here”. every time hearing such a big promise, i feel a strong contraction in my body. and, unfortunately, will take that person less seriously. because they can’t guarantee safety. period.
the term “safe space” has become a fixture in wellness, education, activism, and healing and community work of diversity and social justice. it suggests a place where people, especially those from marginalized or traumatized communities, can be free from harm, judgment, or violence. while the intention behind this idea is often sincere, the language can be misleading, even dangerous, because it makes a promise that no one can truly guarantee.
there is no place on earth that is entirely safe for everyone. inequality exits everywhere. one can feel a sense of safety when certain circumstances exist. but this is relative. our lived experiences, histories, triggers, and nervous systems differ and carry memories and alerts that no facilitator or space-holder can fully predict or anticipate. a yoga studio, a therapy office, or a workshop circle might feel liberating to one person, yet deeply unsafe to another who carries memories of being silenced, judged, harmed by racism or ableism, touched without consent, or excluded for who they are. systemic oppression continues to shape whose bodies feel welcome and protected, and whose do not.
a sense of safety cannot be created through intention alone. it requires attunement, humility, accountability, and responsiveness, and even then, it can never be perfect. what feels supportive and healing to one participant may feel bypassing, harmful, or retraumatizing to someone else. especially when these spaces lack an intersectional lens, harm can happen. for example, a slow self-pleasure workshop promising healing might still move too quickly and overwhelm a survivor of sexual violence. a white-led trauma training might feel grounding to some, while a bipoc participant feels completely unseen. a community gathering for wheelchair users can offer very different experiences of safety to a male-bodied person compared to a bipoc female-bodied person. a trans or non-binary participant might be misgendered or have their genitals referred to in violent, shaming ways. the absence of a trigger warning can retraumatize. a queer, non-binary person might find themselves in a tantra workshop being told to “pair up as men and women,” erasing their experience entirely.
ironically, the declaration of “this is a safe space” can become its own form of silencing. participants who do not actually feel safe may then feel pressured to conform, to share, or to appear vulnerable even if their nervous system is on high alert. the phrase can invalidate the experience of harm or discomfort if that reality does not match the space-holder’s optimistic promise of safety. for some, hearing “this is a safe space” sparks skepticism or dread, because they have heard it before, only to be retraumatized or ignored.
naturally, this made me more and more reflect on moments where i unintentionally (might have) created unsafety myself as a practitioner or in private among friends or lovers. and honestly: it’s painful as fuck to realize that. finding humility again is a practice, so is owning my own mistakes and learning from them. i have made people uncomfortable when i meant to support them. there have been situations where i was unaware of the power i held, or failed to consider the wide range of lived experiences in the room. at times, my own unconscious shadows were active, driving me to overcompensate, to rescue, or to subtly control. these moments are humbling and painful to acknowledge. they stir up fears and insecurities, but they are essential opportunities for growth, honesty, and deeper integrity.
if we let go of the false promise of “safe space,” we might instead aim for spaces that are as safe as possible, “safer” or “brave”. that means acknowledging that no space can be universally safe, recognizing power dynamics and systemic harm, and being clear about boundaries and consent practices. it means staying open to feedback, to repair, and to change, while recognizing that safety is subjective and relational.
the term “brave space” was introduced by boostrom’s already in 1998. as critique of the idea of safe spaces, and in particular his assertion that bravery is needed because “learning necessarily involves not merely risk, but the pain of giving up a former condition in favour of a new way of seeing things’’, he emphasized the need for courage rather than the illusion of safety.
trauma-sensitive practice does not begin by promising safety. it begins by building trust, moment by moment. safety should never be assumed; it shall be co-created. it is a living process, not a static label. it requires us to leave room for people to define their own boundaries and needs, and to offer respect for those truths.
no one can promise safety, but we can commit to practicing enthusiastic consent, dignity, and care, again and again, even when it is uncomfortable. that is the more honest, and ultimately more respectful path.
a potential Checklist for creating a safer space (no guarantee for completion):
Clarifying and communicating clear agreements, boundaries, and consent frameworks.
Acknowledging power, privilege, and systemic oppression in the space.
Offering multiple ways to participate or opt out.
Practicing transparency and active listening.
Having a plan for conflict or rupture repair.
and more..
Somatic practices to support safer spaces:
Starting sessions with a collective grounding or centering exercise.
Encouraging participants to track their own somatic signals of comfort or discomfort.
Introducing slow, invitational movements instead of prescriptive ones.
Offering pauses for checking in with breath, sensation, and boundaries.
Validating participants’ right to stop, slow down, or change their minds.
and more..
thank you marry for being a constant mirror and source of inspiration.
by Dennis obanla
berlin, july 2025
