The Power of Holding Space
“Thank you for your contribution.”
“No problem… although I don’t feel like I did much.”
“Oh, but you did. You held the space. And that counts for a lot.”
That small exchange stayed with me. It came after I’d stepped in to cover for a colleague, doing nothing extraordinary, just being there. And yet, in a week when I also received that gift, I felt how powerful simply holding space can be.
A stranger I'd met through a business event had quietly listened to me think, without jumping in, judging or even offering advice. Another moment unfolded in a large gathering, where someone was given enough safety to share their faith and their reliance on God openly in a room full of strangers. The atmosphere shifted. You could feel the room expand to make room for that honesty.
Environments shape courage
We like to think courage is an individual trait and that may well be true. But courage is often environmental. When space feels safe, people step into their full selves. When space is hostile, they shrink. Holding space means creating safety in whatever circles we're in.
That’s why Te Wiki o Te Reo Māori (Māori Language Week's) 50th anniversary feels so powerful this week: five decades of effort to make space for a language and culture that was once suppressed and, in many ways, is still marginalised. It’s also why I can’t shake the dissonance between the global noise over a single influencer’s death and the deafening silence over thousands of innocent children’s lives (to be clear, I do not condone either). And that dissonance expands to include the killers. If they are of certain demographics, entire global communities are tainted with the rhetoric of their persuasion to violence. However, when the colour of their skin or their religious and political affiliation is of a more "acceptable" kind, we rarely hear calls to indict their whole community. Whose pain gets amplified and whose is ignored reveals the spaces we’ve chosen to hold and those we’ve chosen not to.
Blatant racism and religious discrimination have also felt louder lately. Maybe there’s not more of it than before, or maybe the current climate has simply emboldened people to say out loud what they used to whisper. For those on the receiving end, that’s exhausting. Microaggressions, side comments, outright hostility - they can make you want to retreat rather than stand up.
Holding space as resistance
As a coach, much of my work is with those who carry “non-dominant” voices and they are usually people from ethnic, migrant and/or faith backgrounds. Following our tried-and-tested Becoming Unapologetically You framework, we tap into their foundations: the very things which have shaped their thinking, their beliefs, their everyday actions and encourage them to celebrate their heritage, culture or faith as strengths rather than liabilities. But I know firsthand how hard that is when the world feels hostile.
So what does it mean to hold space, for yourself or for others? It means holding space for:
What's worth it by choosing presence over reaction because there's little value in arguing with someone who’s committed to misunderstanding you.
Truth by listening attentively. Sometimes the most powerful response is to let someone reveal themselves without feeding the fire.
Courage by stepping in respectfully. If you’re a witness, you can interrupt harm firmly but without humiliating. Your calm presence can de-escalate while signalling what’s acceptable.
Humanity with a simple “That’s not okay” or “We don’t speak about people that way here”. This can often be enough to shift a room.
Hope hides in small acts
Te Wiki o Te Reo Māori reminds us how small acts like teaching a phrase, (respectfully) correcting a mispronunciation, speaking te Reo proudly can transform culture over decades. The same is true here: holding space isn’t flashy, but over time, it does shift the atmosphere. One space at a time.
Even when the world feels upside-down.
Even when so-called world leaders stay silent.
Even when headlines amplify some pain while ignoring others… small, steady acts of holding space matter.
They are how we remind each other (and ourselves) that dignity, difference and humanity still belong.
Call to action
No matter your role: coach or client, leader or team member, friend or bystander, ask yourself:
Where can I quietly but firmly hold space for someone whose voice is rarely heard?
What bias or discomfort do I need to sit with instead of shutting down?
How can I interrupt harm without humiliation?
Whose dignity can I affirm this week with a small, steady act?
