25/02/2026
WELLBEING + DESIGN [WHAT LAST YEAR TAUGHT US]
Last year we worked with trauma experts who delivered some inspiring CPDs on being better trauma-aware designers. It was one of the most useful — and quietly challenging — things we've done as a practice.
I went in thinking that I already had a reasonable instinct for this:
"We care about people."
"We think carefully about how spaces feel." [whatever that means...]
But what I came away with was a more honest question: does caring about how a space looks actually mean you're designing for how people feel inside it? Those two things can look identical from the outside, and be very different in practice.
Trauma-informed design isn't about a particular aesthetic. It isn't softness, or natural materials, or biophilia, although none of those things hurt. It's about whether a person — any person — feels like they have choice in a space.
Whether they can understand where they are without anxiety. Whether the environment is working with them or quietly against them.
What struck me most was how often "nice" design gets those things wrong. Spaces that are visually calm but spatially confusing. Environments that feel welcoming in a photograph and exposing in person. The gap between intention and experience is wider than most of us would like to admit.
When we worked on a recent visioning study for a client wanting to develop a wellbeing campus, this thinking ran through everything — not just the therapy spaces, but how arrival feels, how different groups of people share a site with dignity, where the quiet goes, and where the activity goes, and what sits between them.
I think that's what good design for wellbeing actually requires. Not just sensitivity. Honesty about the gap between what we intend and what we deliver.
Pic from a CPD Session delivered by Dr Emilie Medeiros & Dr Dean Flanagan from Manas.