That’s our blind spot. We’re so busy looking for creepy, anti-social, stereotypes that we miss the charming abusers right in our midst, and we miss all the signs and hints that our kids might be dropping because we just didn’t stop to consider that adult to be dangerous. We just assumed they were safe, and our kids would somehow know better anyway.
Clearly, that strategy isn’t working.
For me, I’ve always viewed holding space in terms of that word, safe. When I hold space for someone I’m not solving their problem, or questioning them. I’m simply letting them be. Whatever that might look like at that moment, and I’m making sure that they are safe. It means making sure that being in my presence, either in person or virtually, is a place where they are free to cry, vent, question, or whatever form of expression is needed to help at that moment. It means being the person who is simply there, listening, offering support, but above all else, keeping them safe, physically, emotionally, mentally, etc.
I also recognize how difficult that really is to do. Many of us weren’t raised to “hold space”, but to fix things. We see someone crying and our instinct is to fix, to do something to get them to stop crying, instead of simply giving them space to cry. Or we want to run out and correct instead of simply allowing people the space to tell their story safe from the worry of the person hearing it will overreact. This is so hard for us, we want to correct injustice, to fight for the people we care about, but sometimes by doing so, we eliminate their safe space to simply tell their story and stop listening to what they want from us. That is the opposite of holding space.
How do you hold space for others, and for yourself?
How often do I see people talking about “wanting to be an advocate” and waiting for someone to invite them to be some sort of official spokesperson as if that is what makes one an advocate. It’s not. Advocates see holes and fill them. Sometimes that’s volunteering to work with kids, sometimes it’s telling your story, and sometimes it’s just seeing the people around you dealing with child abuse or mental health and letting them know they aren’t alone.
Depression tells you that you are alone. Knowing that there are other people, lots of other people, also dealing with it helps. It also helps to have a constant reminder that someone is on your side in this and looking for ways to remind you that you are not alone. If someone close to you is dealing with depression, and feeling alone, the best thing you can do is just be in their corner, helping them find help and connecting them with other people who can be part of their support network.
That’s how we fight back against something telling us we are alone.
It’s all about flexibility. As the article below points out, online appointments don’t work for everyone. They do require a stable and fast internet connection for video, and not everyone has that.
On the other hand, they also point out that not everyone has transportation to a therapist’s office, time away from work to regular travel to appointments, or the ability to get the whole family, for example, transportation to the same location.
For those folks, the switch to Telehealth that the pandemic thrust upon all of us is proving to be a godsend because they have something that was inaccessible to them previously. Even as others need a place to meet with a therapist, or simply connect better in person.
I saw this video shared on Lauren’s Kids Facebook page and wanted to share it here because I think what the folks who work at this Children’s Advocacy Center have to say about childhood trauma, and what children remember is incredibly valuable.
We often expect child abuse survivors, especially when the abuse was so recent, to remember the details, and be able to provide an exact timeline of events. When they struggle to do that it becomes a little too easy for us to start doubting that they are telling the truth, instead of understanding that this is exactly the way it’s supposed to work.
