Holding Space
I’ve been thinking a lot about the phrase holding space—what it really means, beyond how often we hear it in wellness and spiritual conversations.
Because it sounds beautiful. But what does it actually look like in real life?
At its core, holding space is simple.
It is the act of being present with someone—fully, attentively—without trying to change their experience.
No fixing.
No interrupting.
No rushing them to feel better.
Just being with them as they are.
It’s sitting across from someone while they talk about something difficult and resisting the urge to say, “At least…” or “You should…” or even “I understand, because this happened to me…”
It’s choosing to listen, not to respond—but to truly hear.
And that sounds easy, until you try to do it.
Because most of us are wired to help by doing something. We want to ease discomfort, offer solutions, make things better. It comes from a good place.
But holding space asks something different.
It asks us to trust that the other person doesn’t need to be fixed in that moment.
And what they need is to be seen and to be heard and to feel safe enough to be exactly where they are.
So how do we actually do this?
I believe that it starts with awareness.
When someone is sharing, notice your impulses. Do you want to interrupt? Offer advice? Change the subject to something lighter?
Instead of acting on those impulses, pause.
Let them finish. LET. THEM. FINISH. (emphasis for me to remember).
You can say simple things like, “I hear you”, or “that sounds really hard”, or “I’m here.”
And then… stay.
Silence, I’ve learned, is not something to be afraid of. It is often where the deeper truths begin to surface. (On the flipside, I realize how a lot of us do not like uncomfortable silence.)
Another part of holding space is setting aside your own agenda.
You are not there to lead the conversation somewhere.
You are not there to guide them to a conclusion.
You are there to accompany them.
And sometimes, that is the most powerful support we can offer.
We’ve all experienced moments where a friend simply listened to us without judgment, where we felt safe to express what we were going through.
That is holding space.
It doesn’t require training or certification. It requires presence, patience, and a willingness to set aside our need to control the outcome.
In fact, some people naturally do this without ever calling it by name.
They are the ones we feel comfortable opening up to.
The ones who don’t rush us, especially if the dam of tears break through.
The ones who make us feel held.
At the same time, being aware of the concept deepens the practice.
Because when we know what we are doing, we can do it more intentionally.
We can catch ourselves when we start to fix or advise.
We can choose to soften instead.
We can create space—not just accidentally, but consciously.
And this is where it becomes something bigger than a one-on-one interaction.
When more of us learn how to hold space, we begin to change the way we relate to each other.
Conversations become less about proving, fixing, or comparing—and more about connecting.
We allow each other to be human, to have messy emotions, to not have all the answers, and especially to take our time.
And in doing so, we create environments—whether in our homes, friendships, or communities—where people feel safe enough to be real.
That kind of safety is rare.
But it is also something we can offer each other, in small ways, every day.
By listening a little longer.
By speaking a little less.
By staying, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Holding space is not about being perfect at it.
There will be moments we interrupt, moments we try to fix, moments we don’t know what to say.
That’s okay.
The practice is in returning.
In remembering that sometimes, the most healing thing we can offer is not our advice or our solutions—but our presence.
And when we learn to offer that to each other, we also begin to offer it to ourselves.
And if my writing has resonated with you in any way, you can support my work by buying me a coffee.