A Meeting That Moved Me – On Safety and Trust

Dear reader,

Sometimes, something happens in a training that lingers. Not just in the moment — but deep in your body, in your being. It touches something quiet inside. It reminds you why you chose this path. Why you care.

Today I want to share a story with you — an experience from one of my trainings that continues to stay with me. It is shared with consent and care, and I offer it as a reflection on what trauma sensitivity can look like in practice. Quiet. Unassuming. And deeply real.

A quiet beginning

She arrived on the first day of the training with barely a sound. Almost invisible. She didn’t introduce herself in the opening circle. Her gaze stayed close to the ground. Her body slightly folded inward. And every time the word body was mentioned, she seemed to shrink a little further away.

And yet — she was there.
She stayed.
She breathed.
Something in her had said a quiet, determined yes to being in the room.

In trauma-sensitive work, especially within somatic practice, we often speak about creating conditions of safety rather than assuming safety is already present. That means slowing down, listening with the whole body, and making space for what is not yet ready to be seen. She was not yet ready to speak — but she was ready to stay.

A moment of permission

On the second day, we offered a gentle practice — no words, no goal. Just breath, rest, and awareness of sensation. The invitation was simple: notice what safety might feel like, not conceptually, but physically. In the feet. In the hands. In the space around you.

As the group softened into the practice, I noticed her shoulders drop. Her face remained turned slightly downward, but her breath deepened.

And then — tears.

They arrived quietly. No drama, no collapse. Just tears flowing. A trembling breath. A moment of opening. A moment of being.

She looked up for the first time and whispered:
“I thought I couldn’t do this. But I’m still here.”

The extraordinary ordinary

What touched me most is that this moment didn’t look like much from the outside. It wasn’t dramatic or loud or “breakthrough-like.” But on the inside — something shifted. It was revolutionary. Because for this person, staying present was the act of courage. Of healing. Of choosing life.

In trauma-sensitive and somatic spaces, we often mistake healing for something that needs to be visible. But so much of it is quiet. Felt. Unseen.

It happens in the moments where someone dares to stay.
To breathe.
To not run away — even from themselves.

Safety is not created through words

It’s important to remember:
Safety is not created through explanation.

It’s created through presence.
Through the tone of your voice.
The softness in your eyes.
The way you hold space without filling it.
The way you don’t need someone to “open up” or “go there” in order to be worthy of your care.

This is what trauma-sensitivity means to me:
Meeting what is — gently.
Without pushing.
Without pulling.
With steadiness, and with space.

What I learned from her

This quiet encounter offered me so many reminders. I carry them with me:

  • That survival often hides in silence.
  • That people may wait years for someone to truly see them — without needing to fix or change them.
  • That the body holds ancient wisdom, and we can learn to trust it again.
  • That sometimes, one simple moment of being seen is enough to shift the course of a life.

 

“What if healing isn’t about knowing how to fix ourselves — but simply realizing that we are no longer alone?”