Why Don't I "Offer A Safe Space"?
I recently posted about why I don't claim to offer a non-judgemental space. In a similar vein to how I refuse to claim that, I also don't claim to offer a safe space.
Now, I should say that even though I don't claim that I offer a safe space, I still strive to provide one, but the truth is, there are too many random things that can unexpectedly evoke a sense of danger - so many that I couldn't possibly predict and avoid them all. I can make a space unsafe without having any idea I've done it, and so can anyone else, therapist or otherwise.
Let me give you three examples, which I've anonymised by changing the context and a few key details.
One of my clients mentioned during a session that he had an extensive collection of vinyl records. Nothing about this collection seemed to suggest a lack of safety, so later, after we'd arranged our next session and were preparing to leave my office, I casually asked about his collection. The mood changed instantly, and he clearly felt unsafe about being asked. He gave a half-answer, made his excuses, and left. He cancelled our next session by email and never attended a session again. To this day, I don't know what was unsafe about this topic, but clearly, unsafe it was.
A colleague of mine experienced another example of an unsafe topic. She attended a workshop about the power of the mind, and the attendees were all invited to imagine biting into a lemon. Doing this tends to make peoples' mouths water, which is a powerful sign of how suggestible the mind can be. What the workshop leader didn't know was that one member of the group had a severe allergy to lemons and spent the entire time terrified that evoking lemons like this would cause her body to go into anaphylaxis. As far as I know, it didn't, but the fear was very real for her.
I have one more example, and it's from my personal life. One of my aunts, as a young woman, had had a terrible experience involving writing. She'd written a message to a childhood friend, directing them to a mutual friend's house, which later proved to be a dangerous place for them. My aunt had no idea that her friend was going to have the experiences they had, but she felt guilty for sending her there, anyway. She went to see a psychologist who only made the situation worse, and this made my aunt swear off writing ever again, making her functionally illiterate. She didn't even like seeing notepads and pens. I'm quite a notebook-head, so I had to remember not to have any notebooks or pens lying around whenever she came to visit.
Whenever a situation like the above happens, I try to talk it through with my clients so that we can repair the damage I've unwittingly done. Most people recognise that these fears are rare, if not unique to them, and that even if that topic is painful to talk about, then I'll honour their feelings and handle it as carefully as I can. If we can talk it over then I know to tread carefully around that topic, or we can approach it on another date when the time feels right to you.
All of this means that, from time to time, I damage the feeling of safety a client might have with me. However, I can promise that I will be open to feedback about what topics we need to avoid, and which ones we need to talk about carefully. That is the safety I am able to offer.
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