Holding Stories, Holding Space: creating safe spaces for others and ourselves in healthcare design research

I remember messaging my team, "I'm going to take a quick walk" or "popping out for a coffee" after many interviews. This was my code for closing my laptop, taking a moment to process what I had just heard — and occasionally, to cry.

It wasn't because the interviews were challenging or the participants were unkind. It was because their stories carried weight.

As a Service Designer and Design Researcher, I feel like we hold the stories of people from all walks of life across sectors like telecommunications, banking, hospitality, and especially healthcare. Healthcare, though, is a different kind of beast. It impacts not only the person receiving treatment but also their physicians, nurses, care teams, spouses, partners, families, friends — you get the picture. The impact of a single disease, treatment, or system can feel less like a ripple and more like a tidal wave. Understanding these impacts is the only way we can design better solutions, and that means listening to people.

These sessions are vital to understanding lived experiences, but hearing stories of medical abuse, misdiagnoses, dismissal, or loss of life is never easy. There’s a boundary for what we can do ethically as researchers, but there's also a call to being human when you see someone in pain or suffering.

I’ve worked with people around the world who have faced inequity and neglect in their healthcare systems. I’ve shaped my research practice from what I’ve learned from colleagues and mentors, alongside my own ethos as a designer. The most important thing I can do is create an environment where people feel safe, free from judgment, and in control of what they share. When planning a session, I have a few tools to create that safety:

1. Setting expectations upfront: "I'd like to start by acknowledging that we will be covering a difficult topic today. Your health and safety matter most, so please let me know if you need to take a moment, change questions, or end the interview early."
   

   I always start sessions, especially for complex disease states, by reminding participants they are in control. A simple statement like this can relieve some of the pressure of sharing raw or sensitive experiences. Even when participants feel ready to share, emotions can surface — and that’s okay.
   

2. Checking in throughout the session: "Thank you so much for sharing that with me." "That sounds incredibly difficult. Do you feel comfortable talking more about that experience, or would you like to move on?" "How are you doing? Would you like to take a moment?" "You're doing a great job. Please let me know if you need anything, okay?"
   

   Regular check-ins remind participants they have control over where the conversation goes. These moments of connection show that I care about their emotional and psychological safety. I am not a therapist — and I never pretend to be — but I can provide empathy and space within our sessions.
   

3. Managing my own reactions: Participants already carry the weight of their health experiences and their impact on loved ones. My role is to hold space, not add the burden of another emotional reaction. This is the fine line between empathy and reaction. It can be incredibly difficult — especially when hearing about medical abuse or terminal illness — but I try to breathe through the hard moments and stay present. I am human, too, but my priority is creating a safe space for the participant during our time together.
   

4. Caring for myself afterward: Listening and holding others' lived experiences carries responsibility. It’s important to create a safe space for yourself, too. Lean on a support system, have a post-session ritual, practice breathing exercises, or consider speaking to a mental health professional. I often take a short walk, listen to music, and reflect on what I’ve heard. Ultimately, my goal is to figure out how I can design better interventions so that, hopefully, one less person experiences the same pain in the future.

   
   

We hold a lot of stories, and it will be hard. But taking care of your people — and yourself — leads to a more empathetic, caring future for the services we design. We must treat the stories we have the privilege to listen to like the gift they are — because every story we carry has the potential to shape safer, more human-centered healthcare spaces for all.

As designers and researchers, it’s our responsibility to reflect on our own practices and ask ourselves: Are we truly creating spaces where people feel safe enough to share? Or is there more we can do? The more intentional we are about creating interviews that foster psychological safety and holding space for vulnerability, the better we can design solutions that honor the full spectrum of human experiences.

Thank you!

Caleigh

Disclaimer:

AI was not used in the making of this post; I used Grammarly for grammatical and spelling corrections.