Words by Lauren Lansford (@lauren.lansford), Photos by Susan Sloan (@photosuze)

Not all bodies experience the outdoors the same. For those of us who experience heightened outdoor privilege, the current revival of the Black Lives Matter movement offers ample opportunity to reflect on what being outside, being privileged, and being citizens in a colonized nation means. American culture normalizes white women calling the police on black men birdwatching, the woods being “where bad things happen,” and recent events prove a black woman can’t even be safe in her own home.

Concisely, the outdoors has a race problem. For a privileged few (like me), outdoor recreation like cycling offers a safe healing experience almost immediately. When I ride, I largely feel a liberating wind, the power of my body taking me where I need to go, and camaraderie when passing other female cyclists. Others without my specific privileges don’t and perhaps can’t feel this way in our current climate. All humans, without exception, deserve the right and ability to enjoy and utilize bikes.

In tandem with necessary diversity, inclusion, and anti-racism work, adoption of trauma-conscious methods develops our perspectives and methods, going from perhaps shallow but well-intended attempts at cultural relevance into responsive and aware community facilitation. Using trauma-informed practices within bike shops (and other community spaces) addresses representation and inclusion from a truly intersectional perspective, and shops and cycling advocates need to be fluent in trauma sensitivity for progress to continue.

Now, more than ever, providing trauma-conscious spaces within cycling and outdoor recreation is crucial to continuing the athletic, healing, and community work we do. Like deliberate practices in diversity, being a trauma conscious ally or member of a community is an ethical lifestyle practice, and something we work on every day with humanity and compassion at the center.

Why trauma-informed practices?

Trauma-informed or trauma-conscious methods have a longer tradition of  practice in counseling, education, housing, and medicine, but we can use them in our world as well. What these fields have in common is the same as the bike industry: we work with traumatized (um, all) humans from all walks of life. Each of these fields also has a healing component, which, whether formally recognized or not, we too have in cycling. Furthermore, each of these fields, including our own, is absolutely crucial for survival and livelihood to many.

Other industries are beginning to adopt trauma-informed practices, including yoga. As explicit healing opportunities emerge with cycling therapy too, it makes perfect sense to ensure the places where we buy bikes, fix bikes, and form communities around bikes are trauma-informed spaces as well. While we should absolutely continue diversity and inclusion initiatives, they will never be successful if bike shops are full of triggers. Right now, that’s where we are. Since our issue is exclusion and perpetual enforcement of inequitable structures, we need to take deliberate, intentional, and insightful steps towards repairing our rapport with the world.

What is trauma?

When I say trauma, I’m talking about the lasting result of a bodily response to something it perceives as life-threatening. This could be a singular event that takes time to process, or a more chronic situation such as systemic racism. We often refer to this as “Big-T” and “little-T” trauma, but I challenge the idea that any trauma is more or less deserving of capitalization. Trauma is something every single person grows with, and trauma looks and feels different to each human. Any time our nervous system becomes overwhelmed, trauma can be stored in our body memory. That means things like discrimination, lack of infrastructure, and chronic anxiety or depression all cause physical, mental, and emotional trauma responses. Guess who’s affected by all of those? Bike owners. Cyclists. Pedi-cabbers. Whatever we call ourselves, our sport and mode of transportation does carry an inherent physical danger, and culturally, a pretty heavy emotional load.

Furthermore, the trauma of about 25 million of these people in The United States has, on record, manifested into post-traumatic stress disorder. Whether diagnosed or not, PTSD disproportionately affects BIPOC, female, queer, immigrant, and disabled folks: the same communities we’re trying so hard to better serve.

Imagine being someone with a difficult body story. Perhaps they’ve endured sexual assault, body-shaming, forced bondage, or gender dysphoria. They’re clipped into a bike for a fitting while someone touches and adjusts, tiger-stalks their body, analyzing it, and talks about sensitive areas near the saddle. Maybe it’s their first time to get a bike fit and they weren’t told what to expect (which can be disorienting enough). Now, imagine your own insecurities being inescapable like that, and you may understand why becoming trauma-sensitive is so crucial.

I have similar experiences, despite being a leader in my cycling group and frequent visitor to my favorite, totally awesome bike shop. I still freeze, shake, and sweat when I’m in there. I stammer through my needs and, while normally a loud advocate of my desires, turn sheepish and inward, suffocating from triggers. For me, the triggers are intense power dynamics regarding gender, swag, and expertise, unclear wayfinding, and a chaotic, sometimes offensive, male-forward ambience. Triggers for others might be things like touch, loud noises, being approached from behind, gender binary enforcement, or hierarchical language.

How do we move toward trauma sensitivity?

Like the physical experience of riding a bike, the entire cycling experience can heal and provide healthy spaces in which to grow. To fulfill this potential and to better serve all members of our community, we need the space around cycling to minimize triggers and shift toward being a safer space (because no space feels safe for all) for everyone, regardless of why or how they bike or who they are.

There are tons of free resources online with universal tips for trauma-informed practices, but I strongly recommend engaging with partner organizations or practitioners and taking their lead. As a trauma-conscious yoga instructor, I know our community is itching to bring these methods to others to minimize triggering spaces for all, and I encourage you to reach out with curiosity and enthusiasm. Furthermore, due to the increased protests against police brutality, black leaders and social justice organizations have released myriad guides on trauma sensitivity, ancestral healing, better allyship, and where that intersects with the outdoors.

As you research and consider adopting these practices for your shop or club, I invite you to be truly in touch with your intentions in doing so. Why have you decided to adopt trauma-informed practices? If it’s to “fix” a specific community or for improved optics, push pause now. There’s enough saviorism in the world: don’t aspire to be the knight in shining armor. Adopting trauma-informed facilitation takes thought, care, and a deep desire to improve your realm first. It takes a lot of inner work to do outer work, and, as a participant in this community, I look forward to doing that work together.

In short, we have serious, neverending work to do. Diversifying representation, celebrating different holidays, or hanging a Pride flag in the window isn’t going to cut it. Let’s get to the core of it, step with and beyond diversity, and address how the facilitation and management of our shops can contribute to a more inclusive community of cycling.

About the author: Lauren is a trauma-informed yoga teacher, middle school educator, and all-star troublemaker in Austin, Texas. She proudly helps organize Team Snacks Cycling, a club for people who identify as Women, Trans, Femme, or Non-Binary to connect and collaborate with each other. You can find Lauren on Instagram at @lauren.lansford