Hold the Door—Literally and Figuratively: Making Space for Others in a World That’s Forgotten How

It’s such a simple act—reaching back and holding the door for someone else. A second of your time. Barely noticeable to you, but possibly everything to the person behind you. It’s a quiet gesture, and yet it speaks volumes: I see you. I acknowledge you. You matter.

But these days, too often, the door slams shut behind us—sometimes physically, more often figuratively.

We’re living in a culture that moves fast, prioritizes the individual, and seems to value efficiency over empathy. In that kind of world, small acts of consideration become revolutionary. Holding the door is about more than courtesy—it’s a mindset. It’s about making room for others: in conversation, in community, in opportunity, and in moments when they may need it most.

Start with the literal. How often have you seen someone breeze through a doorway without a glance behind them, even when someone else is just steps away? Maybe it’s absentmindedness. Maybe it’s self-absorption. But every time we ignore the presence of someone behind us—physically or otherwise—we send a quiet message that we’re only concerned with where we’re going. Holding the door reminds us that we’re part of a shared world.

Of course, this isn’t just about entrances and exits. It’s about how we show up for people in all areas of life.

Figuratively holding the door means creating space for others to feel welcome, safe, and heard. It means stepping aside so someone else can speak. It means noticing when someone is struggling and offering them a seat—at the table, in the conversation, or in our lives. It means putting our own egos on pause to ensure someone else feels seen.

Holding the door is when a seasoned employee takes the time to mentor someone new, without expecting anything in return. It’s when a friend remembers to check in weeks after a loss, not just the day it happened. It’s when a neighbor lets someone merge in traffic instead of speeding up. These aren’t grand gestures. But they are powerful because they communicate something our world is desperate to feel again: connection.

We’ve become so used to noise, to speed, to competition—that we forget we were never meant to live in silos. Human beings are wired for relationship. We thrive in community. But community only works when we take turns holding the door for one another.

In today’s workplace, for example, there’s plenty of talk about leadership. But the best leaders—the ones who are respected long after they’ve left—aren’t the ones who talk the most or demand the spotlight. They’re the ones who hold the door. They lift others up. They notice potential in someone else and give them the confidence and space to step forward. They don’t hoard opportunity; they multiply it.

And the same principle applies in our homes and friendships. Are we making space for our children to express themselves, even when their emotions are inconvenient? Are we creating room in our marriages or partnerships for the other person to grow—not just stay the same? Are we inviting new voices into our friend groups or conversations, or do we only surround ourselves with those who make us comfortable?

There is a quiet courage in being the kind of person who makes room for others. And it’s becoming a lost art.

Part of the problem is that we’ve confused strength with dominance. We think that being “driven” means plowing ahead, forging our own path, leaving others to catch up. But true strength lies in the opposite: in slowing down enough to notice who’s behind you and asking, “How can I help you through the door, too?”

Think about the times someone held the door for you. Maybe it was literal—a stranger who smiled and waited as you balanced coffee cups. Or maybe it was someone who believed in you when you didn’t believe in yourself. A teacher, a coach, a friend who said, “You’ve got this. Step on through.” We remember those people, not for their accomplishments, but for the way they made us feel—capable, worthy, valued.

That’s what holding the door really is: it’s an act of honor. It’s looking around and saying, “There’s room for you here, too.” That spirit is what our communities—and our country—need more of. Because when we start to open space for one another, we start to rebuild trust. We remind each other that we’re not alone. We remind ourselves that success is sweeter when it’s shared.

So the next time you walk through a doorway, literal or not, ask yourself: Is there someone behind me who could use a little space? A little encouragement? A little time?

Then hold the door. And don’t just do it once. Make it a way of life. Because when we start making space for others, we create the kind of world we all want to walk into.