Written in collaboration with Inclusion Specialist, Shurron Rosales
What if the biggest risk to your workplace culture isn’t saying the wrong thing… but saying nothing at all?
In many organisations, there’s a quiet kind of fear shaping everyday behaviour. It shows up in small moments, like hesitating before saying someone’s name, avoiding a certain question, or cancelling an idea instead of reworking it.
On the surface, it can look like caution. Thoughtfulness, even.
But it’s often something else entirely – the fear of getting it wrong.
And while that fear is completely human, it comes at a cost. Not to the people feeling it, but to the people around them.
This is the part we don’t talk about enough.
To understand what’s happening in our workplaces, we need to start with something very human.
When we think we might get something wrong, our natural reaction isn’t curiosity or courage. It’s protection.
We hide. We avoid. We stay quiet.
This is completely human. Our brains are wired to keep us safe – and they’re not very good at distinguishing between real danger and social discomfort. To your brain, the risk of saying the wrong thing can feel similar to a physical threat.
In a DEI context, that protection might look like:
Layer on top of that the influence of social media and cancel culture, where mistakes can feel amplified and permanent, and it’s no surprise that people feel on edge. The perceived risk feels bigger than ever.
In many workplaces, certain names, identities and experiences are treated as the “default”- often Anglo or English-sounding.
Anything outside of that can be unintentionally framed as “different,” “complex,” or “hard to get right.”
This isn’t accidental. It’s shaped by long-standing systems – racism, colonialism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, classism – that have influenced what feels “normal” and what doesn’t.
Over time, this quietly shapes how people experience the workplace:
And this is where fear compounds. Because if something is seen as “different,” people are more likely to assume they’ll get it wrong. And when that assumption takes hold, avoidance follows.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: fear doesn’t prevent harm. It just changes who experiences it.
When someone avoids saying a name, the discomfort doesn’t disappear, it just shifts. The person feeling unsure might avoid an awkward moment, but the other person is left feeling unseen or excluded.
When a conversation is shut down, it doesn’t remove risk, it removes connection.
When an initiative is cancelled instead of adapted, it doesn’t solve the problem, it often signals that inclusion is too difficult to try. Over time, these moments build up.
In workplaces, this can show up as:
And perhaps worst of all, this creates a culture where people learn that it’s safer not to try, or not to speak up.
NHS workforce data shows this clearly. Black and minority ethnic staff are far more likely to end up in formal disciplinary processes than white staff for similar issues – often because someone’s fear of “getting it wrong” means they over-formalise the situation to “cover themselves legally.”
The goal isn’t to eliminate fear completely. That’s not realistic and it’s not necessary. The goal is to act anyway, and be open to learning.
A simple way to think about this is through four steps:
It’s also worth saying this clearly – if you’re someone who already experiences exclusion, you don’t owe perfection or emotional labour. This work shouldn’t fall on you.
This framework is for those with more power, privilege, or safety, to help carry that responsibility more actively.
At some point, we will get things wrong.
That doesn’t make someone a bad person or a bad leader. It makes them human.
More importantly, it doesn’t mean the relationship is over or the damage is permanent. Repair is possible. Conversations can move forward.
When we accept that mistakes are part of the process (not the end of it), fear starts to lose some of its power.
Fear has a way of disguising itself as logic. It might sound like:
But often, what’s happening is a physical response. A tightening in the chest. A sense of hesitation. A voice saying “don’t.”
Our brains are wired to keep us safe, but they’re not very good at distinguishing between real danger and social discomfort. To your brain, the risk of saying the wrong thing can feel similar to a physical threat.
So one small but powerful step is simply naming it: “This is fear, not danger.”
That pause creates just enough space to choose a different response.
When fear takes over, our attention turns inward. We start thinking:
But there are two questions that can help us shift out of that freeze.
First: Is this fear protecting someone else, or is it just protecting me?
Sometimes fear is telling us something important. If we’re thinking: “We’re celebrating International Women’s Day but our parental leave policy is years out of date and working mothers are struggling” – listen to that fear. Fix the policy first.
But if the fear is just: “This might be awkward” or “I might say it slightly wrong'”or “Someone might correct me” – that’s avoidance fear. That’s protecting us, not them.
And when it’s avoidance fear, we ask the second question: Who pays if I don’t do anything?
This distinction stops the framework being misused – it gives people permission to step back when they should, but also helps them recognise avoidance.
Shifting the focus outward helps change what we’re paying attention to. It moves us from self-protection to shared responsibility.
This is where change happens. Not through perfect responses, but through small, human actions.
It might sound like:
These aren’t big, grand gestures. But they matter. Because each one says: “I’m willing to try.”
Here’s what this might look like in practice:
Imagine a manager planning team socials who realises the pub they’ve booked isn’t accessible and team socialising centres everything around drinking.
People are being excluded.
They feel overwhelmed. The thought of meeting everyone’s needs feels impossible – so cancelling feels safer.
But the framework helps them see who actually pays if they cancel. The whole team loses connection. And those colleagues feel like they’re the reason nothing can happen.
So instead of cancelling, they ask.
They go to the team – including the people who’d be excluded – and say: “I got this wrong. Can we figure out what would work for everyone?”
They don’t have the perfect solution before asking. They just ask.
The result? Input from the team. Rotating socials – different venues and times to work for people with caring responsibilities. Always starting somewhere non-alcoholic.
Not perfect. But more connected. And across the year, different people got what they needed.
For HR leaders and managers, this doesn’t just sit at an individual level. It’s cultural.
And culture is shaped by what people see, experience, and believe is safe. There are three powerful ways to support teams through this:
People learn more from what leaders do, rather than what they say.
When leaders openly acknowledge mistakes – “I got that wrong, thank you for pointing it out” – it sends a clear message that mistakes aren’t career-ending.
They’re part of learning. That one moment can do more for psychological safety than any policy.
Culture isn’t just behaviour, it’s systems.
What gets rewarded? What gets recognised? What gets quietly discouraged?
If your systems only reward people who “play it safe,” you’ll naturally create a culture of silence.
But if people see that trying, learning, and repairing are valued, something shifts. People begin to engage rather than withdraw.
Most challenges don’t come with clear answers, they sit in the messy middle.
That’s where good coaching makes a difference.
When someone is stuck in fear, you might ask:
When something hasn’t gone well:
And when there’s a temptation to abandon something altogether:
These questions don’t remove the discomfort, but they help people move through it.
Creating an inclusive workplace was never about getting everything right.
It’s about being willing to try, to listen, to adjust, and to keep going.
Fear will show up. That’s part of being human.
But when fear leads to silence, avoidance, or withdrawal, it doesn’t protect culture. It slowly erodes it.
Progress doesn’t come from perfection. It comes from practice.
Shurron Rosales is an Inclusion Specialist supporting organisations to be more inclusive.
She blends professional expertise with intersectional lived experience as a South Asian woman and parent carer to her Disabled, Neurodivergent and LGBTQIA+ children. Her approach is grounded in honesty, sharing best practice alongside mistakes – recognising each offers learning.
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