As it seems to happen in our world, when a word becomes more widely used, we adorn ourselves in the popularity of utilizing it without fully understanding its meaning, or we make its meaning fit our limited perspectives. We hold words as authority, and we don’t fully grasp the nuances of meanings, cultural relevance, energetic attributions, historical relationships, or the complexity a given word may hold.
One of those words (or two words) that I’m referring to is “space holding.” It has become popularized and is frequently used to give authority to someone’s work. It can carry an air of self-importance. But it can also be big medicine.
There’s a custodial relationship with space holding. All of us hold space—for ourselves, homes, animals, families, land, workspaces, and beyond. “Custodial” means providing care or tending to. Space holding is not a power-over dynamic. Sometimes, the energy voicing that action holds an idea of power, but space holding is an absolute letting go of power. It’s releasing one’s ideals and dominion over another person, group, building, item, or the natural world. It’s letting go of our desire to have someone be a certain way and allows for true autonomy of the other.
As parents, we don’t own our kids, and our role is not that of a dictator. We’re caregiver, mentor, advocate, cheering squad, and guide. When we make them adhere to our rules without respecting their autonomy by rejecting their thoughts and beliefs, we’re not honoring that they have some capacity to know, feel, and understand. When we feel provoked, it takes immense self-awareness to remain curious and non-judgmental. When we listen instead of demand and resist the frenetic response to our own discomfort, we can move into a relational space of learning.
Space holding supports the tapestry of wounded souls, theirs and ours. It’s not an “I know what’s best for you” situation; it’s dynamic, and it layers the interplay of both us and them—not us over them.
It implores a redefining of relationality. We have to work with the parts of ourselves that believe we know what’s best for others and allow space for what is in both them and us. When space holding is misguided and used as an act of control, of “holding on” instead of allowing, re-imagining the phrase “space holding” as “space allowing” will remind us we don’t have dominion over anything.
Space holding is an act of sovereignty for ourselves and others. It’s not a place where we force our control or ideas of what a situation or experience should look like. Space holding is a tender balance between our own discomfort and someone else’s.
Think of how much work it takes to sit with someone when they’re going through something difficult and not try to change or fix it. Think of how hard it is to be in something painful or uncomfortable and how easy it is to distract, blame, or avoid what is arising. Think of how hard it is to allow someone to be in their pain—like a teenager who is in tears because of a hard day—and our first instinct to do something about it. That instinct is a reflection of us, not them. All they need from us is to know that they will be held in their struggle, shame, frustration, or sadness. That is space holding.
As someone who has “held space” consciously and unconsciously for decades, here are some of the things I’ve come to understand. First, when we’re tasked with upholding the integrity of any given space, our own integrity will be challenged. Our own pain will be probed. We become that which we are holding space for. We are the space.
Space holding has been one of the most profound teachers in my life. Through it, I’ve grown in ways I could not have fathomed. The ways in which I wasn’t holding myself in loving, kind, thoughtful, and clear ways were illuminated by the struggles that I experienced. The ways that others didn’t feel safe to open and connect with themselves were, in part, due to my own lack of openness and wounding.
I was tasked with having to heal deep wounds because those were the places that caused the most strife with others—the ways in which I was trying to prove myself or confirm that I wasn’t enough, the ways I was hard on others because I had learned that to get people to “perform” required a sternness that was unhealthy and created distrust.
Space is held day after day, fed by practice, by releasing and feeding the space. In ritual—meaning doing it over and over again— discomfort grows, but so does joy and pain. We practice duality with allowing and learning to be clear when something isn’t safe (emotionally or physically) for us or someone else.
I have learned that what’s going on in my life affects me in all ways—friends, family, household, and business. So, if I’m feeling stressed, insecure, or unsteady, if I’m thinking negatively or lacking gratitude, in some way that will show up in my life. It has a force that, left unchecked, will create struggle for myself or others. It affects the space within me, so space holding isn’t about not experiencing those things or worrying about how they will affect others, but about being aware of the space within me.
What this all means is that I’m regularly working through my stuff. That doesn’t mean I’m going into a hard place all the time, but I’m being called to be clean with my thoughts and energy. This also doesn’t mean that I’m bypassing myself on a spiritual front; it means that I’m present in what I’m working with and doing the work I need to in order to help clean up anything that doesn’t support myself or the business. It also doesn’t mean I’m not allowing shadows to be present, space holding includes both the light and the dark.
This also works in reverse. Anything positive in my life—feelings of financial abundance, positive connection with myself and others, communication that is clear and kind, and gratitude—all support myself, the space, and others in BIG ways.
Through holding space for many years, I’m attuned to the subtleties of it, and my thoughts have a direct impact on the space and people within it. I’m not saying that from a place of feeling highly responsible for others; I’m saying that out of respect for myself and the amount of gentleness it requires to be a space holder.
Space is alive. It’s not only the person holding the space that needs acknowledgment; the space itself requires reverence. Whether you’re an employee, facilitator, parent, guardian, partner, friend, renter, owner of your household, visitor, or student, it’s important to remember that guardianship is a relationship of acknowledgment and respect.
This translates to people who are forming groups, boards, advocacy groups, or hosting events. The spaces that you’re going to utilize are not there just for our convenience. There’s a lot of work that goes into tending and caring for a space. It’s important not to underestimate the amount of work that goes into any building, garden, or wild space you enter.
If you’ve established a group of any kind and your desire is for this collective of people to work together for a prolonged time, and you’re the creator of the vision, you must sustain consistency—show up day after day in support of that. Battle your own resistances, your desires to give up, feel your struggles, and allow space to grow within you to hold for others.
Space holding is an act of sovereignty for ourselves and others. It’s not a place where we force our control or ideas. Space holding is a tender collaboration of what is arising—the awkward, difficult, and easeful energy—and a radical acceptance of what is. It’s not a place where we take control or direct others in a way that makes us feel more comfortable.