Generating Our Own Psychological Safety

“We don’t live in a world that always feels safe, but we can become people who move through an unsafe world without losing our footing.”

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Let’s face it: we are all flawed. At times we are insecure, frightened, defensive, and even offensive. These imperfections are part of being human – and because we carry them into every interaction, the world, both in work and beyond, will never feel entirely safe.

Sometimes the sense of threat comes from inside us, in the form of our own doubts and insecurities. Sometimes it comes from outside, in the unavoidable friction of dealing with other imperfect beings – their blind spots, mistakes, or sharp edges. Put those forces together, and it’s inevitable: there will be moments when the world feels unfriendly or even hostile.

In recent years, a torrent of articles on LinkedIn and elsewhere have urged leaders and HR departments to create “psychological safety.” The intention is worthy, and the work does matter. Policies, training, and culture-building can reduce harm, increase trust, and give people more freedom to take risks and speak openly.  

But no guarantee of psychological safety can ever truly be delivered. Not fully. Not permanently.

Even the most careful leader cannot remove every source of fear. Even the most thoughtful organisation cannot legislate away every sting of judgment or every moment of unease. The idea of a permanent, guaranteed state of safety is, in that sense, a comforting fiction.

What we can count on, however, is our own response. That is the one constant we bring into every room and every relationship. And it is in how we meet fear and threat – both within ourselves and around us – that the most dependable form of psychological safety begins.

The temptation to outsource our safety

It’s tempting to make others responsible for our psychological safety. As children, we looked to parents or carers for protection and reassurance. And as adults, that instinct doesn’t vanish – we may expect a partner, a manager, an organisation, or even “the system” to take on that role. When we feel unsettled or under threat, it is natural to look for someone who can remove the danger or make us feel better.

In the workplace, this instinct often appears in the belief that leaders and HR teams should carry full responsibility for ensuring we feel safe. And there is truth in that expectation: organisations do have a duty of care. Much can be done to equip employees with the awareness to avoid oppressing and aggressing against others, particularly less powerful colleagues. Training can raise awareness. Policies can set boundaries. Good leadership can model healthy behaviour.

But there is a limit. Sh*t happens – and it will keep on happening. The more senior we become, the more likely it is that some of that sh*t will be heading directly in our direction. Even the most careful leader cannot control every interaction. Even the most supportive workplace cannot remove all friction or all perceived threat.

If we rely entirely on others to create and maintain our safety, we leave ourselves exposed to chance – and sooner or later, chance will let us down. As autonomous beings, it is our response to the world – and to the threats it inevitably contains – that offers the only sure source of safety. Or, if not perfect safety, then at least the ability to cultivate some ease in the face of its absence.

The many shapes of psychological threat

A lack of psychological safety can take many forms, and it rarely looks the same for everyone.

For some, it shows up in direct encounters with others: suffering micro- or macro-aggressions, being interrupted or dismissed in meetings, receiving feedback that stings more than it supports. These moments can land hard, leaving us feeling smaller, unheard, or unvalued.

For others, the threat feels more internal. Anxiety before speaking, self-consciousness that won’t subside, a negative self-image that colours every interaction. It can take the shape of impostor feelings – the sense of not truly belonging, or the fear of being “found out” as inadequate.

Often the two collide. An external slight can trigger an internal spiral of self-criticism. A shaky sense of self can make us withdraw from colleagues, or even lash out – through judgment, aggression, or the subtler forms of passive-aggression that erode trust in teams.

Taken together, the variety can seem overwhelming. But at their root, these experiences share something in common: the expectations we carry of ourselves, of others, and of the environments we move through.

The tyranny of expectations

Zen Buddhists have a concept known as the Tyranny of Expectations: the idea that much of human suffering comes not from events themselves, but from the gap between what we hope for and what reality delivers.

If we expect life to be perpetually happy and pain-free, we are destined for disappointment. If we expect others to be perpetually kind and considerate, or our relationships to be perpetually cohesive and loving, we are setting ourselves up for frustration. If we expect our work to be perpetually fulfilling and rewarding, that same gap between hope and reality will open again – and it is in that gap that suffering takes root.

Recognising this truth doesn’t erase pain. As human beings, we will still feel terror, sadness, shame, despair, boredom, and the many other emotions we might prefer not to encounter. But those feelings are not evidence that something has gone irreversibly wrong. They are simply part of being human.

And it is our response to those times – to the moments when life refuses to match our expectations – that sits at the core of resilience, and of our ability to feel safe even in places of threat.

Discomfort as a requirement for growth

To stretch ourselves, to progress in our careers, and to fulfil our potential, we inevitably have to push beyond our comfort zones. Growth asks us to step into places of less ease and less safety. New responsibilities bring risk. New levels of visibility invite not only praise but also criticism.

The aim isn’t to remove discomfort from these situations. It’s to develop the confidence that we can tolerate it – that we can withstand threat without retreating, collapsing, or losing our footing.

At its heart, resilience is trusting in our ability to create our own safety, even in territory where no external safety can be guaranteed.

For me, that lesson came painfully, through experience.

A personal turning point

Around the age of forty, my life was in crisis. My marriage was failing. My mother – with whom I had never been close – had died. At work, I was being bullied. At the same time, I was struggling with a debilitating autoimmune illness brought on by stress.

I had very few resources then for understanding what was happening, or for noticing the patterns that tied it all together. The spiky young boy who had never really felt loved or nurtured was still alive in me. He saw the world as hostile. He expected threat at every turn.

By enormous good fortune, I moved into a new job with colleagues who gave me the first glimpse of another way. They helped me begin developing self-awareness, and to start accepting the person I actually was – rather than clinging to the person I thought I needed to be. Later, wise coaches and more formal learning deepened that process.

That journey continues (I hope it always will). But I know this much: I like myself far more now than I did then. I’m still flawed – really, really flawed – but I can mostly accept those flaws as part of a whole that is, on balance, okay. And that acceptance gives me a steadier sense of safety in the face of threat than I ever had before.

From self-awareness to emotional intelligence

Looking back, I can see that the real shift began with self-awareness. Until I learned to notice my own patterns – the way I reacted to perceived threat, the habits I slipped into under stress, the stories I told myself about my worth – I had no real choice in how I behaved. My responses felt automatic because, in many ways, they were.

Self-awareness creates the possibility of choice. We start to catch the moment when an old pattern is about to take over – the defensive tone, the withdrawal, the harsh self-criticism – and in that pause, we can decide whether to follow it or to try something different.

Emotional Intelligence sits at the heart of this process. It is at the heart of feeling secure within ourselves, and it is something we can learn – but it is still too seldom taught. In my own work over the past two decades, I’ve seen this again and again: of the many hundreds of people I’ve worked with in pursuit of self-awareness, not one – not one – has ever liked themselves less as a result. What they gain is an acceptance of themselves as the brilliant and flawed beings they are, and through that acceptance, a steadier sense of security in even hostile environments.

The long work of psychological safety

“Be kind to yourself” has become a mantra on social media (and on t-shirts). The intention is good, but as a strategy it can be partial – and sometimes actively unhelpful. If we try only to drown out our inner critic with pleasant affirmations, we are essentially putting our fingers in our ears. Those negative thoughts are part of us.

A more helpful approach is to notice them as they come, to create a little detachment, to let them in without swallowing them whole. That way, we can begin to discern: is this valid critique that could help me grow, or is it the echo of old fears and patterns that no longer serve me?

This kind of self-observation is not easy. Red Hawk called it the path of voluntary suffering – a willingness to look honestly at the habitual patterns through which we live our lives and shape our relationships. It is far more comfortable never to consider these patterns at all. But once we start paying attention, we create the possibility of choice.

Becoming steady on unsteady ground

As we explore the fears, triggers, and injunctions learned in childhood, we begin to loosen their grip. We become less likely to retreat into defensiveness, or to lash out in attack. The urges may still arise, but they no longer own us.

Over time – lots of time – we can respond to threats with more steadiness and less reflex. We don’t live in a world that always feels safe. But we can become people who move through an unsafe world without losing our footing. That, in the end, is the most reliable form of psychological safety we can generate.

And this is, ultimately, at the heart of what we try to do at Famn. In so many ways, the work is about helping people build the kind of internal steadiness that doesn’t depend on everything around them being perfect. Because it rarely is. And yet we still have to show up, make decisions, lead others, and face ourselves – even when the ground feels shaky.

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