We are pleased to share an article entitled “Beyond Buzzwords: Why Trauma-Informed Coaching Demands More Than “Psychological Safety” by Mehnaz Laryea.
When “Safe Space” Isn’t Safe
The phrase psychological safety is everywhere in coaching. It decorates websites, sells leadership packages, and gets tossed around in webinars as if saying it out loud makes it true.
But here’s what I know from lived experience: safety can’t be branded into existence. It can’t be promised in a welcome email or named as a feature of a program.
Safety is something a client feels in their body, moment by moment. And for those of us carrying trauma, or living with the daily intensity of neurodivergence, that feeling is rare and delicate.
What It Felt Like To Be Misread
I once sat across from a coach, desperate to make sense of why I couldn’t hold myself together at work. My heart was thudding, my words clumsy, my body in shutdown. The coach smiled warmly, nodded, and asked: “What’s another way you could look at this?”
It was meant to empower me. Instead, I froze. My chest caved in, my hands went cold. I nodded along, but inside, I was gone. What they saw as resistance or lack of motivation was actually dissociation.
I left that session feeling ashamed — ashamed for not being able to play along, ashamed for being “difficult,” ashamed for my own body’s response.
That’s the harm of coaching without trauma awareness: what looks like skillful questioning on the outside can land as abandonment on the inside.
Carrying That Lesson Forward
When I later stepped into coaching myself, I promised I wouldn’t replicate that harm. My approach is shaped by lived experiences of being misread in coaching spaces — experiences compounded by carrying a marginalised identity.
Here’s what that looks like in practice:
– Attunement before action. If someone’s voice falters, if their body stiffens, I pause. I ask if we should slow down. I name what I see gently, without judgment.
– Choice at every turn. When overwhelm shows up, I offer options: “Shall we stay with this, or shift gears?” That simple permission can soothe a nervous system primed to expect force.
– Context, not pathology. When neurodivergent people struggle with deadlines or sensory overload, I don’t see failure. I see a system that wasn’t designed for them. Naming that reduces shame.
When sessions unfold this way, I notice a shift. People often breathe more freely, their posture softens, or their words come with less hesitation. Trauma-informed practice creates conditions where presence and possibility feel accessible again.
The Difference Between Buzzwords and Practice
The coaching industry loves the language of psychological safety because it’s easy to sell. But safety isn’t a slogan. It’s built through discipline and presence.
Trauma-informed practice offers something more grounded. The six principles, originally developed in healthcare, translate powerfully into coaching:
1. Safety – attending to body and nervous system responses.
2. Trustworthiness & Transparency – clear boundaries, predictable structure.
3. Peer Support – valuing shared lived experience.
4. Collaboration & Mutuality – working as partners, not hierarchies.
5. Empowerment, Voice & Choice – giving people control where trauma has taken it.
6. Cultural, Historical & Gender Awareness – recognising how systemic forces shape trauma.
These values are not abstract ideals but lived, daily practices. For example, when I work with people from migrant or refugee backgrounds, we don’t start with action plans. We begin with grounding, story, and naming the structural weight they carry. Only then can goals emerge in a way that feels sustainable.
Why Trauma-Informed Coaching Is Rare
Few coaching programs train us to notice the signs of trauma: the blank stare of dissociation, the silence that’s really overwhelm, the overcompliance of a client in freeze. Instead, coaches are taught to “challenge resistance” or “push accountability.”
That mindset can retraumatise.
I’ve seen it in group settings where neurodivergent learners shut down under bright lights or tight deadlines, only to be labelled disengaged. I’ve seen it in corporate coaching where women of colour are told to “lean in” when what they really need is for systemic exclusion to be named.
Trauma-informed coaching is rare because it requires something that feels radical: slowing down in an industry that glorifies speed, listening more than performing, and being humble enough to admit that safety is fragile and must be earned, not assumed.
Why This Matters Beyond Coaching
This isn’t just about coaches. Trauma-informed practice belongs everywhere:
– In classrooms where a child’s meltdown is treated as defiance instead of a nervous system overload.
– In workplaces where burnout is punished instead of understood.
– In healthcare where rushed consultations dismiss people’s pain.
Wherever humans meet humans, trauma-informed practice is needed. And it is always the people with the least power who pay the price when services fail to provide it.
Closing Reflection
I often return to that early coaching memory — the one where I froze in my chair, nodding at questions that felt impossible to answer. It stays with me not as bitterness, but as a compass.
It underscores that coaching, at its best, is not about pushing but about attuning. Not about declaring safety, but co-creating it.
Psychological safety may look good on a sales page. But for those of us carrying trauma, safety is never a given. It is an act of care, attention, and respect.
And that is why trauma-informed coaching is not just another coaching trend. It is rare, difficult, and essential.
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