Holding Space

Yesterday, a friend asked me what it meant to hold space. I really had to think about it. It’s a phrase I use often, yet I had a hard time putting into words what it truly meant. I'm a visual thinker, and in my mind's eye, I see three or four big bouncers locking arms in a circle, forming a protective space in a large crowd around someone in distress—allowing that person to catch their breath and preventing the crowd from pressing in on them.

Holding space is letting someone know that you see them and recognize that they are going through something. You can do this by simply reaching out, helping with something in their life, smiling gently, or making a warm gesture in passing. You can also do this by thoughtfully complimenting them as you go through the grocery store.

Because we all know—we’re all going through something.

Simple acts of kindness, simple acts of gentle human connection, let others know that maybe the world is not as hard as the moment they are in.

Holding space is letting someone know that you see them and that you know they’re going through something, we are all going through something. It’s letting them know you are there for them—in some capacity, in any capacity.

Holding space creates a moment of calm for them to catch their breath, settle their nervous system, and know they are not alone.

As a child, Mrs. Clarke held space for me with silver dollar pancakes on Sunday mornings.

My grandmother held space for me in her garden while playing her guitar and singing to the current bushes, making the whole world disappear.

Mr. Graham held space for me by letting me hide in his mango trees when my stepfather was in a drunken rage.

As an adult, I’ve had so many people hold space for me as I found my voice, explored the good and hard parts of my life, and as I learned how to stand up and stand on my own.

I pledge to hold space for those who need it: I see you in your dark valley. I can't walk for you, but I can promise this—if you keep moving forward, one step at a time, no matter how slow, you can make it out, you can make it through, and you can rise to joyful sunlit hills.

Dig deep and find the voice of hope, faith, and grit. Follow that voice:

Hope is the guiding light.

Faith is our salvation.

Grit is our purpose.