75 | Heart of STEPS: State, Source, Span & Scenario

In this episode we move from concept to practice, stepping into the four anchors at the centre of the STEPS model: State, Source, Span, and Scenario.

Through Ari’s story, we show how to:

• Locate where someone is right now (State).
• Trace what hurts most and what values are under threat (Source).
• Map how risk ebbs and flows, and how close someone has come to crossing the ideation–action divide (Span).
• Co-create what if / if…then… plans that make the future safer and more liveable (Scenario).

We also weave in the four types of risk—static, stable, dynamic, and fluid—and explain why warning signs trump risk factors, as well as the distinctions between acute, chronic, and acute-on-chronic presentations. Together, these elements shift our practice from prediction to prevention, from deficits to assets, and from TOP (The Only Professional) to TAP (Together As Partners).

You’ll learn:
 • How to integrate State–Source–Span–Scenario into real conversations.
 • Practical ways to keep the ideation–action divide open.
 • How to embed risk awareness into collaborative, values-based safety planning.

Next time, we’ll step into the HOPE framework—grounded in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy—to explore how values can be woven into daily conversations as anchors of safety and recovery.

Content note: This episode discusses suicide. If you are struggling right now, please reach out to local crisis supports or someone you trust.

Connect with Assoc Prof Manaan Kar Ray on Linkedin
Follow us on www.progress.guide

Transcript

Welcome back to Protect. And welcome to a very special episode.

Only a few days ago, on the 10th of September, we marked World Suicide Prevention Day 2025. Around the globe, people gathered to honour lives lost, to break silence around stigma, and to renew our collective commitment to prevention. For that day, we released a song — Creating Hope Through Action — a reminder that hope isn’t something abstract. It’s something we build, share, and hold for one another in small, everyday ways.

If you haven’t heard it yet, I invite you to pause and listen to it — then come back. 

A snippet of Creating HOPE.

And if you did hear it, I’d love to hear from you: how did you mark World Suicide Prevention Day? What action did you take — big or small — that created hope for you, or for someone else? Send us a note, write a comment, share your reflections. Because hope multiplies when it’s spoken aloud.

In today’s episode, we carry that theme forward. We’re going to explore what it really means to move from TOP — The Only Professional — to TAP — Together As Partners. This isn’t just a technical shift; it’s a mindset shift. When we stand as TOP, we slip into the “fixer” stance — asking, What’s the matter with you? As if a diagnosis or a checklist could tell us everything we need to know.

But when we step into TAP, the lens changes. We begin to ask instead, What matters to you? That’s where safety lives in the long run — not in stripping people of agency, but in reconnecting them with values, strengths, and the anchors that already exist in their lives. We’ll explore this more fully in the Source section of this episode.

And to help us put these mindset shifts into practice, today we step into the heart of the STEPS model.

This is where concept and practice meet — where theory bends down to sit at the bedside. Where our questions stop being generic checklists and become relational doorways.

The heart of STEPS rests on four anchors: State, Source, Span, and Scenario. Each one offers a different lens. Together, they help us meet a person not only in the present moment, but across the shifting tides of risk, pain, and resilience.

And woven through these anchors is the way we operationalise the practice shifts from last time.

• Prediction to Prevention comes alive when we look at risk not as a blunt label of “high, medium, or low,” but as layers that morph over time — static, stable, dynamic, and fluid risks that require us to prepare, not predict. Static risks are the unchangeable background. Stable risks shift only slowly. Dynamic risks can escalate quickly with life events. And fluid risks are those moment-to-moment fluctuations that so often tip the balance.
• Past to Future emerges most clearly in Scenario planning — turning our gaze from what has already happened to the situations waiting just ahead, and preparing for those moments.
• Deficits to Assets takes form when we explore the Source — not just the pain that overwhelms, but also the values and strengths that sustain, waiting to be reconnected.
• And the deeper move — from fixer to enabler, from TOP to TAP — runs through it all. It shapes how we listen, how we ask, and how we share responsibility in a way that honours the dignity of risk and the person’s right to steer their own ship.

So as we walk through these four anchors, notice how they don’t replace the practice shifts — they bring them to life. They give us structure and freedom, heart and brain, presence and preparation.

So, let’s walk through each of the four anchors, beginning with the first.

State: Understanding Where They Are

The first anchor is State — asking, “Where is this person right now?”

Not in some abstract sense. But right now, in this moment of sitting together. Are they before an attempt or after? Are they in predisposition, ideation, intention, or action?

Getting this right matters, because the questions we ask depend on it. In FABRIC, we learned how to ask questions that uncover predisposition. In THREAD, we explored how to gently engage ideation. In NEEDLE, we practised how to detect intention, and in TIP, we confronted what it means when a person has crossed into action. Each state requires a different stance, and the sooner we understand where someone primarily resides, the sooner we can shape the right conversation.

Often, we can tell within the first few minutes. If someone says, “I’m struggling, but I’ve not had those thoughts,” we know we’re in predisposition. If they say, “I’ve been having the thoughts, but I haven’t made any plans,” we know we’re in ideation. If there are clear signs of rehearsal, of preparation, then we may be crossing into intention. And if the person arrives after an act of harm, then we’re in post-attempt — a state that requires its own delicate questions.

Take Ari. When she first came back after her attempt, she was still raw. The questions circled around safety in the immediate aftermath: how she made it through, what supported her in those fragile hours, what needed to be in place to stop another rupture. But a month later, she looked different. She had regained much of her baseline. She spoke about her job again, her friendships, her routines. And yet, beneath it, something stirred. A new disappointment, a new pressure, and the thoughts began to creep back in. Not at the intensity of before, but there, like background noise.

Her clinician asked, “Ari, over the last couple of weeks, how have things shifted for you? Compared to when you left hospital, where are you now?”

Ari paused. “It’s not like before. I’m not making plans. But the evenings… they’re harder. That’s when it feels close again.”

That one answer told the clinician something vital. Ari was not back in acute danger, but she wasn’t fully in predisposition either. She was hovering in ideation, pulled toward intention in certain moments. That knowledge guided the next questions. Not a checklist, but relational doorways: “What makes evenings harder? Who do you reach for when they come?”

This is the essence of State. It’s not a label we stamp on someone. It’s a way of orienting ourselves.

And it isn’t static. A person can shift state from week to week, even from day to day. On Monday, Ari may be coping, leaning on her flatmate, walking her dog. By Thursday night, after a harsh conversation or a letter that lands the wrong way, she may slide closer to intention. That is why, when we ask about State, we don’t only ask “Where are you today?” — we also ask “Where have you been in the last fortnight? What is emerging right now?”

Because in those answers, we find not only presence, but also fluctuation. And by noticing fluctuation, we create a map we can actually work with.

State is not about prediction. It’s about presence. It’s about listening carefully enough to locate the person on their continuum, and then adjusting our curiosity, our questions accordingly. It’s about noticing when Ari says, “The thoughts aren’t constant, but they spike at night,” and treating that not as background noise, but as a compass for care.

In the end, State helps us answer the first question of safety: where are they standing now, and how far is that from where they have been? We will talk more about this in Span.

Source: Tracing the Roots of Emotional Pain

If State helps us locate where someone is now, Source asks why it hurts there. Not as a diagnostic label, but as a human story. Pain is nature’s signal — a flare on the horizon — saying, something matters here. Often, it matters so deeply that when it feels threatened or lost, the urge to escape that pain becomes understandable, even compelling.

This is the pivot from “What’s the matter with you?” to “What matters to you?” People are not diagnoses or a neat constellation of symptoms. They’re daughters, friends, colleagues, creators — people whose values have been bruised or broken by circumstance. When we trace the source of pain, we also begin to glimpse the source of hope: the same values, relationships, and roles that now ache are often the very ones that can be rebuilt, mended, or re-approached with small, committed steps.

With Ari, this came into focus quickly. She described a pressure in her chest whenever work emails arrived, a hollowed-out feeling when she avoided her community group, and a sharp sting of shame each time she needed help instead of offering it. The clinician didn’t catalogue symptoms; they listened for values. Work for Ari wasn’t just a job — it signalled purpose and contribution. The community group wasn’t a calendar item — it represented belonging. Asking for help rubbed against her identity as a giver. The pain pointed like a compass: purpose, belonging, dignity. These were the coordinates.

When the conversation turned gently toward meaning, Ari admitted that what hurt most wasn’t simply anxiety; it was the fear that she no longer counted. She said that on good weeks she felt like herself when she mentored a junior colleague or cooked for friends. On difficult weeks she withdrew, scrolling late at night, skipping the very routines that used to stitch her days together. The clinician held the map up to the light: if purpose and connection are at the heart of Ari’s pain, they may also be the heart of her recovery.

So they translated pain into practice. Instead of “How do we stop the thoughts?” they asked, “How do we reconnect you to what matters?” That shift moved them from deficits to assets:

• If the wound is lost purpose, then one stitch is small contribution — a ten-minute daily handover with her team where she offers one concrete support; a weekly mentoring call that keeps her competence alive even on flat days.
• If the ache is disconnection, then a stitch is gentle belonging — a low-stakes return to her community group for the first half-hour only, or a standing coffee with a friend who doesn’t flinch.
• If the sting is feeling like a burden, then a stitch is reciprocity — pairing any ask for support with one small act of giving that Ari chooses (sharing a recipe, proofreading a paragraph, watering a neighbour’s plants).

None of this denies risk. It converts what matters into steps that can hold—short, doable moves that bring Ari back into contact with her values. It is values-aligned, committed action: not a grand fix, but a series of small bridges.

A month later, Ari returned looking steadier but unsettled. She’d had a run of fractured sleep and a terse message from a supervisor. Old pain flickered. She noticed how quickly she defaulted to isolation — cancelling the community group, letting dishes pile up, ignoring messages. Instead of reheating the deficit story (“I always fail when it gets hard”), the clinician invited a values story: When you’re at your best, what are you protecting? When you feel proud, what are you doing? Ari named three anchors: showing up kindly, making something with her hands, and leaving places a little better.

That was enough to design the week:

• Kindness: one deliberate, brief check-in with a colleague on Tuesday.
• Making: cook a single-pan dinner on Wednesday; no perfection required.
• Betterment: a 15-minute desk reset on Friday before logging off.

Notice the logic: Source → Values → Micro-steps. Pain illuminated the map; values chose the route; small actions moved her feet.

Source work also helps us language the distress more truthfully. Instead of “I’m broken,” Ari began to say, “I’m far from my values today.” Instead of “I’m a burden,” she tried, “I’m needing more than I like right now, and I can still contribute something small.” That change in wording isn’t cosmetic. Language shapes what people reach for in the hard minutes.

And there’s a protective bonus. By naming what matters and rehearsing micro-steps, we create prevention pathways that are specific. If loneliness is the accelerant, then if…then plans can target reconnection precisely: If Saturday afternoon goes quiet and heavy, then I will send two messages from my “green list” and step outside for five minutes before deciding what next. If shame is the spark, the plan counters it with reciprocal acts that restore dignity.

Sometimes Source is not a single root, but a braid: grief for a role that’s changed, fear of disappointing family, exhaustion from carrying too much. Here, the task is still the same — trace the threads and look for the values woven through them. Family may point to loyalty and care. Work may point to craft and contribution. Rest may point to self-respect. Each thread suggests an action that is both meaningful and stabilising.

Two cautions protect the work:

1. We don’t argue someone out of their pain by pointing to assets. We stand with the pain first. Pain is evidence of love and value — we honour it. Then, when the room is steady, we ask where the love points.
2. We don’t pretend that a strengths list erases danger. We use it to fortify the hours where risk rises, integrating values-steps right into safety planning.

By the end of this segment, Ari could see that the source of her pain — purpose threatened, belonging thinned, dignity bruised — also revealed the source of her hope. The plan on paper didn’t read like a correction; it read like a reconnection.

That’s the heart of Source: treat pain as a message from values. Let what matters guide what’s next. And in doing so, we make the third practice shift real in the room — from deficits to assets — without denying the storm. We simply help the person find their strongest timbers and start repairing from there.

Span: How Close to the Bridge — and What Held It Open

If State is our snapshot of now, Span is the time-lapse. It asks: Across the last days and weeks, how close did Ari come to crossing the ideation–action divide? Because the heart of suicide prevention is simple and precise: keep that bridge open. In many areas of health we close the gap between intention and action (quit plans become quit lines; exercise goals become gym visits). Here, we do the opposite. We learn exactly when, why, and how the gap narrows — and what kept it from closing — so we can widen it again.

With Ari, we didn’t just chart how often she had thoughts. We zoomed in on the peaks — the “9s and 10s” on her personal 0–10 scale. For two weeks she’d been “bubbling at 3–5,” but there were three spikes: one after a tense supervision email, one on a sleepless Wednesday at 2 a.m., and one after she saw photos from a gathering she’d skipped. In research terms, these would be called outliers. In prevention terms, they are signals — the moments when ideation leaned toward intention.

We sat with each spike, frame by frame:

• The supervision email spike (a dynamic risk): Ari opened the message, felt her chest lock, pictured “clearing the desk,” then shut the laptop and stood frozen at the sink.
  What narrowed the bridge? Shame, perceived failure, sudden loss of control.
  What kept it open — even a sliver? She remembered a colleague once saying, “Message me if it gets loud,” and sent two words: “Bad email.” The colleague replied within minutes: “Step outside. I’ve got five.” Tiny act, big consequence — reciprocal connection widened the gap.
• The 2 a.m. spike (a fluid risk): Two nights of poor sleep, scrolling, a storm outside. She laid out her meds, counted doses — rehearsal, not action — then put them back, one by one.
  What narrowed the bridge? Exhaustion, isolation, rumination.
  What held it open? A sticky note on the mirror from last session: “Five breaths. Five senses. Five minutes outside.” She did the routine and texted her sister a moon emoji — their pre-agreed “I’m not okay” signal. Prepared cue + micro-ritual kept ground under her feet.
• The missed-gathering spike (a stable + dynamic interaction): Longer-term loneliness (stable) met a fresh pang of exclusion (dynamic). She walked to the bus stop, considered riding to “that place.”
  What narrowed the bridge? Comparing mind, “I don’t belong.”
  What held it open? A promise she’d made to herself in session: “If I’m near the bus after 9 p.m., I call, not decide.” She phoned; they walked the block together on speaker. If-then plan caught the moment.

This is Span work in practice: not a generic tally of thoughts, but a forensic kindness with the near-bridge hours — the who, what, where, and when of narrowing; the who, what, where, and when of holding.

We also named the layers of risk that shape these tides:

• Static (unchangeable background): family history, age — context, not countdown.
• Stable (slow-moving): chronic insomnia phases, long-standing perfectionism, seasonal isolation — these set the baseline level of the river.
• Dynamic (fast-shifting): emails, conflicts, setbacks — these are sudden rains that raise the water quickly.
• Fluid (moment-to-moment): 2 a.m. wakefulness, an empty kitchen, a harsh inner voice — these are the rip currents at the surface.

Why does this matter? Because prediction stumbles here. A category like “low/medium/high risk” flattens a moving sea into a single snapshot. Span restores motion and tells us when prevention must bite. It teaches us to ask different questions:

• “Across the last 1–2 weeks, when were you closest to acting?”
• “What exactly happened in the 60 minutes before that peak?”
• “What kept you from crossing — even one small thing?”
• “How do we bottle that one small thing and place it earlier next time?”

With Ari, we turned answers into if-then guardrails that widen the bridge on purpose:

• If an unexpected performance email lands after 5 p.m., then she forwards it to her “green list” colleague and schedules a five-minute outside call before replying.
• If she’s awake at 1:30 a.m., then she follows the 5-5-5 grounding, moves to the couch (new context), and sends the moon emoji — no explanations required.
• If she finds herself at the 9 p.m. bus stop, then she calls before deciding and walks a single block while talking.
• If three “moderate” days stack up (4–6 on her scale), then she activates a span reset: shorten work exposure by one hour, add one low-effort belonging act (drop a heart on the group chat, not a paragraph), and schedule a 10-minute craft task that signals competence to herself.

Crucially, Span doesn’t just log danger; it harvests assets. Each non-crossing moment reveals protective factors we can strengthen: Ari’s willingness to send a two-word text, a colleague’s availability, a sibling signal, a grounding ritual that lives on a sticky note. When we name these, we convert “I almost…” into “I also…” — I almost acted; I also reached, paused, breathed, messaged. That language widens the path back to safety.

For teams, Span reframes documentation: alongside frequency and intensity, we record proximity to action, conditions of narrowing, and conditions of widening. We map peaks on a simple timeline, circle “9s/10s” in a different colour, and write the micro-moves that kept the bridge open. Over time, patterns emerge — Tuesday late-day emails, second night of poor sleep, post-event photos — and our prevention plan relocates upstream.

Finally, Span keeps us values-led. When we asked Ari, “What did you protect when you paused?” she said, “Being the kind of person who checks, not vanishes.” That value — showing up kindly — became both motive and method. The more her plan expressed that value (brief check-ins, one helpful act, honest signals), the more sticky the prevention became.

That’s Span: a compassionate audit of closeness to action, and a deliberate practice of strengthening whatever kept the bridge open — so we can place those strengths earlier, easier, and closer at hand next time.

Scenario: Planning the Road Ahead — Together

If State shows us where Ari is now, Source reveals what hurts and what matters, and Span maps how close she’s come to the bridge, then Scenario is where we finally turn our gaze to the road ahead. This is where the practice shift becomes real: from past to future, from deficits to assets, from prediction to prevention.

And let’s be candid for a moment. Think about the typical hour we spend in assessment. How much of that time goes to the past? Fifty minutes? Fifty-five? And then right at the end, maybe five minutes squeezed in on what’s next. But prevention doesn’t live in the past. It lives in tomorrow afternoon, in next weekend, in the second night of broken sleep. Scenario work is about rebalancing the hour.

The AIMS frame in practice

We hold the AIMS framework in mind: Assessment, Intervention, Monitoring, and Step-up or Step-down. But we don’t keep it abstract — we apply it directly to the scenarios Ari is likely to face before we see her again.

• Assessment: Which situations are most likely in the next 7–14 days? Which combinations of static risks (background factors), stable risks (slow moving), dynamic risks (fast changing), and fluid risks (moment-to-moment shifts) could narrow her bridge?
• Intervention: What can we put in place now — skills, supports, changes in environment, means safety — that will blunt those risks?
• Monitoring: Who notices what, and how often? Is it Ari herself, a sibling, a GP, a colleague, or the community team? What’s the signal that should trigger a check-in?
• Step-up / Step-down: What thresholds tell us to move care up a level, and what signs allow us to step back without abandoning?

It’s also where the TAP mindset lives: clarity on who does what, when, where, and how. Ari has a part. Family and friends have a part. Clinicians have a part. The plan is distributed, realistic, and shared.

Walking through Ari’s “what ifs”

From Span, we already know where the water rises for Ari. Now we turn those danger points into rehearsed plays.

Take the first one: work. Imagine an email landing after hours — the kind that makes your heart sink. For Ari, that’s a volatile moment. Evening tiredness collides with a sharp trigger, and in the past, she might have spiralled all night. But together, we rehearse something different.

If that email arrives after five, Ari forwards it to her trusted colleague with the subject line “Sense-check.” She doesn’t reply straight away. Instead, she steps outside, takes five minutes to ground herself, and only then drafts a short, two-sentence response. No long, defensive essays written in the dark. And her laptop? It now locks automatically at half past nine. Her phone switches into Focus mode with crisis contacts pinned. Small frictions, designed on purpose, widening the bridge.

The second hotspot is sleep. Ari knows she can survive one bad night, but by the second, her thoughts grow darker. So we practice it ahead of time.

If it’s past one-thirty on that second night, she shifts rooms, makes tea, and listens to a compassion script saved on her phone. Her medication isn’t lying loose on the bedside table anymore; it’s in blister packs, in a locked box, the key held by someone she trusts. Again, friction engineered in advance.

And then there’s the weekend. Friday night, when plans collapse and loneliness swells after nine p.m. For Ari, those empty hours are treacherous. So she has a Plan B.

If plans fall through, she takes a twenty-minute walk while on speakerphone with a “walk buddy.” Back home, she does something hands-busy: folding laundry, cooking, or a small craft project. She also drops a quick message into her group chat. Belonging doesn’t always mean deep talk; sometimes it’s just a tiny act that reminds you you’re part of a thread.

From tipping points to protective combinations

Notice what’s happening here. We don’t just name the tipping points — the email, the insomnia, the loneliness. We also build protective combinations. Light, movement, connection, small values-based acts. When Ari says one of her deepest values is “showing up kindly,” we weave that into each if-then plan. A kind word to herself. A supportive text to a colleague. A small act of connection to a friend. Prevention sticks when it’s tied to identity.

Making it practical

And we don’t leave it floating in conversation. We document each scenario in a way that can be lifted straight into a care plan:

• The scenario and risk layers — was it static, stable, dynamic, or fluid?
• The if–then sequence — three clear steps, plain language, time-stamped where relevant.
• The who / when / where / how — TAP clarity.
• The thresholds — what monitoring looks like, and what step-up or step-down means.

That transforms notes from narrative summaries into operational safety.

The hour you have

So when you next sit down with Ari — or with anyone you’re supporting — think about the time split.

Twenty minutes on the past week, just enough to surface the peaks where the bridge narrowed.
Thirty minutes on scenario building — two or three “what ifs,” each rehearsed.
Ten minutes on clarity — who does what, when, where, and how — and write it down in the person’s own words. Photograph it, print it, stick it on the fridge.

On the ward? Rehearse the first hour off the ward. In the community? Rehearse the first difficult evening. Scenario is rehearsal. And rehearsal is prevention.

This is where TAP breathes. We stop trying to control the uncontrollable and instead co-design what control will look like when life gets loud. We accept the reality of static and stable risks, we watch for dynamic and fluid shifts, and then we place practical, values-true actions right where the bridge tends to narrow. That’s how prevention becomes possible — not someday, but this week.

Weaving Risk Into STEPS

Before we close, let’s pull the risk threads through the whole cloth.

When we sit with Ari, risk isn’t one blunt label. It has layers:

• Static risks are the background—unchangeable facts that set baseline vulnerability.
• Stable risks shift slowly—longer-term drivers like chronic illness, loneliness, or insecure housing.
• Dynamic risks move fast—life events, ruptures, relapses, new stress at work.
• Fluid risks are the minute-to-minute swells—poor sleep, a cutting comment, an evening dip.

In practice, warning signs always trump risk factors. What matters most is what Ari is showing us now: agitation, rehearsing methods, withdrawing, hopelessness that tightens. Those are the signals to act on today.

We also hold the time-shape of risk in mind:

• Acute risk: a sudden storm that needs immediate shelter.
• Chronic risk: a long winter that calls for steady warmth and routine.
• Acute-on-chronic: a storm inside a winter—urgent action now, plus sustained support after.

This is where the 4S work earns its keep:

• State keeps us oriented: pre-attempt or post-attempt? Predisposition, ideation, intention, action? The questions we ask change with the ground under Ari’s feet.
• Source shows us what matters and what hurts—often the very same places where hope and values live.
• Span maps the nearest narrows in the bridge—how close has she come to crossing ideation into action, and what held her back?
• Scenario rehearses the next bends in the road—if this, then that—so prevention becomes something we do together, not something we hope for.

And through it all, we stay with TAP—Together as Partners. Not “Who is responsible?” but “Who is responsible for what, when, where, and how?” Ari, her people, and we—each with a clear role. That shared clarity is part of safety itself.

Closing Reflection — Toward the HOPE Framework

Narrator (gentle, uplifting):
So here, at the heart of STEPS, we’ve walked the four anchors: State, Source, Span, Scenario. Together they turn box-ticking into relational safety you can feel. We understand where Ari is, what hurts and what matters, how close she’s come to the edge, and what we’ll actually do when life gets loud. That’s the move from prediction to prevention, from past to future, from deficits to assets—and from TOP to TAP.

In our next episode, we’ll take the next stitch: the HOPE framework—our values-based way of weaving Acceptance and Commitment Therapy into everyday conversations. We’ll ground safety in what matters most, and translate values into tiny, doable actions that carry Ari (and those we serve) through the week ahead.

Because in the end, safety isn’t found in certainty. It’s found in presence, partnership, and preparation—and in the steady work of aligning care with values that last.