Beyond the Safe Space: Are We Really Listening to Survivors?

We talk a lot about giving survivors a voice.

We encourage people to speak up, to share their stories, to reclaim the parts of themselves that have been silenced.

But what happens when they do speak?

Are we really listening?

Not just to the stories of strength and resilience. Not just to the words that inspire us or make us feel good about the work we're doing.

But to the difficult words, too.

The questions. The disagreements. The moments when someone says, I don't feel comfortable with this.

Because surely, if we are encouraging people to find their voices, we must also be prepared to hear what they have to say.

Finding my own voice

As a survivor of domestic abuse, I know how difficult it can be to find your voice again.

For years, I questioned myself. My feelings, my judgement, even my right to say no.

When you've spent so long being made to feel that your thoughts and feelings don't matter, learning to trust yourself again isn't something that happens overnight.

It takes time.

And sometimes, even years later, you can find yourself questioning whether you should have spoken up.

Writing became part of how I found my way back to myself.

Through poetry, prose and journaling, I began to give words to things I'd carried silently for far too long.

I discovered that my voice hadn't disappeared. It had simply been buried beneath everything I'd experienced.

Today, as a poet and creative practitioner, I have the privilege of helping others explore their own voices through writing.

And that comes with responsibility.

What does a safe space actually mean?

We hear the phrase safe space everywhere.

In community projects, charities, workshops, wellbeing programmes and organisations supporting people who have experienced trauma.

But what makes a space safe?

Is it the room? The people? The words written in a safeguarding policy?

Or is it how someone feels when they walk through the door?

For me, creating a supportive space begins with recognising that everyone arrives carrying something different.

Some people are ready to talk. Others aren't.

Some want to share their writing. Others would rather keep their words safely tucked away in a notebook.

And that's absolutely fine.

In my workshops, sharing is always optional. Nobody has to explain why they don't want to read aloud. Nobody has to write about something painful. Nobody has to tell their story before they're ready.

Because empowerment isn't about encouraging people to speak on our terms.

It's about giving them the freedom to choose.

And while no space can guarantee that everyone will always feel comfortable, we can create environments where people are respected, boundaries are understood and concerns are taken seriously.

Safety isn't simply something we promise.

It's something we continually work towards.

Lived experience must mean more than a statement

Many organisations describe themselves as survivor-led, survivor-informed or committed to empowering people with lived experience.

These are important principles.

But what do they mean in practice?

Does lived experience genuinely influence decisions?

Are people encouraged to share different perspectives?

And when someone challenges an approach or raises a concern, are they listened to with the same respect as someone offering praise?

Being survivor-informed means recognising that no two survivors are the same.

Our experiences, responses, boundaries and needs can be completely different.

What feels empowering to one person might feel uncomfortable to another.

Neither experience is less valid.

Lived experience shouldn't simply be something we celebrate when it supports a particular message.

It should be something we value even when it challenges us.

And I think that's where real learning begins.

Safeguarding is everyone's responsibility

Safeguarding can sometimes sound like a formal word, something belonging in policies, training documents and risk assessments.

But at its heart, safeguarding is about people.

It's about recognising when someone might be vulnerable, understanding boundaries and knowing how to respond when concerns are raised.

It's also about being willing to reflect on our own practice.

We won't always get everything right.

As facilitators, organisers and community leaders, we're human. We make mistakes. We learn.

What matters is how we respond.

Do we listen without immediately becoming defensive?

Do we acknowledge someone's experience, even if we see things differently?

Are there clear ways for people to raise concerns, and do they know what will happen afterwards?

A safeguarding policy is important, but it must be more than a document sitting in a folder.

It needs to be reflected in the culture of an organisation, in everyday decisions and in how people are treated.

The power of being heard

I've witnessed some extraordinary moments through creative writing.

People who arrive convinced they have nothing worth saying discover words they didn't know they had.

Someone writes a poem for the first time.

Someone else shares a memory they've never spoken about.

And sometimes, the most meaningful moment is when someone chooses not to share at all, knowing that their decision will be respected.

There's something incredibly powerful about being given permission to simply be yourself.

No expectations. No pressure to perform. No need to turn pain into something inspirational.

Just space to explore.

I don't believe my role is to give anyone a voice.

They already have one.

My role is to help create the conditions where they feel able to use it, in whatever way feels right for them.

And to listen when they do.

Beyond good intentions

I believe most people who establish community projects, charities and support organisations begin with a genuine desire to make a difference.

But good intentions alone aren't enough.

We need reflection, accountability and a willingness to learn.

We need to ask ourselves whether the people we aim to support are genuinely shaping what we do.

Whether we're listening to their needs or making assumptions about them.

Whether our values are visible in our actions, not just in the words we use to describe ourselves.

And whether we can welcome constructive criticism without seeing it as a personal attack.

These aren't always comfortable questions.

But they're important ones.

Especially when we're working with people who may have spent years feeling unheard.

Are we really listening?

Finding my voice changed my life.

It helped me rebuild my confidence, understand my experiences and eventually create opportunities for others to explore their own stories.

But I've come to believe that finding your voice is only part of the journey.

Having somewhere that voice is welcomed, respected and genuinely heard is just as important.

If we want to empower survivors, we must be willing to listen to all their voices.

Not just the comfortable ones.

Not just the grateful ones.

Not just the ones that tell us we're doing a wonderful job.

But the voices that question, challenge and ask us to do better.

Because genuine empowerment isn't about speaking for people.

It's about making room for them to speak for themselves.

And perhaps the most important question we can ask isn't whether we've given someone a voice.

It's whether we've truly listened when they've used it.