You Are My Safe Space
A beloved client of mine recently said to me: “You are my safe space.”
It landed so profoundly that a feeling of deep reverence washed over me. These words felt like a measure of trust we have built over years of working together.
Immediately I had three thoughts:
What an honor it is to hold space for others.
How important safety is for a relationship.
We cannot control how safe someone feels with us.
Hearing her words reminded me of why I do what I do. Why I love what I do and how much I cherish the work I do with clients. Holding space for healing to happen is a deep honor for me.
Since early on in my life I struggled to feel belonging and safety.
I was the odd one in my family, a kind of ugly duckling. I never really felt I belonged anywhere even though I desperately wanted to.
In elementary school I would cautiously approach the lunch room table as if I was waiting for the other kids to turn me away, bracing myself against the potential words: “you can’t sit here”.
I don’t recall anyone ever saying that to me, but the fear of rejection, the not fitting in, and the unease it caused in my body, were palpable.
It was such an odd experience as a child: the expectation of not being liked. A feeling pervaded my experience as if there was something inherently wrong with me.
Perhaps I was already naturally introverted or my introversion came from the fear that others would not like me. As irrational as this fear may have been, or invisible to those who knew me, it overwhelmed me with insecurity and affected my interactions.
Suffice it to say I got really good at reading the room and making sure people would like me.
My introversion functioned well as protection, until it didn’t. It sheltered me from, and contributed to, the ways in which I did not feel safe in the world. Perhaps my shyness and hesitation was tied to an innate need to survive and so therefore be loved and accepted by my community. Perhaps my way to defend myself against how different I felt myself to be from “the norm” was to hide in quietude.
Regardless of the reasoning, the fear, and all the overwhelm it caused in my tiny body, helped me make a clear and distinct choice: never to let anyone feel as if they were not welcome in my presence.
This proved to be both good and bad for several reasons. Helpful at times, perhaps even a noble gesture, but in the long run a challenge to know where firmer boundaries in relationships were in fact needed.
One day, I came to the recognition that in fact not everyone was welcome and the need to put boundaries (where previously there weren’t any) became a necessity.
I learned that my boundaries were in fact not holding a safe space for me in my relationships. I learned how to track when my boundaries were off. I learned how to actively track my emotional states, how to regulate my nervous system, release unhelpful thoughts and expectations effectively and restore my own (physical and psychic) energy by holding better boundaries with myself first.
When I got better at being more present with myself boundaries with others improved. Having healthy boundary in relationship meant I felt safe with me first, allowing permission to be myself and respect my inner knowing, no matter what another person’s needs, expectations, demands or judgments of me might be.
It took practice and a much deeper awareness about the places within myself that would get confused by, or collude with or to easily merge with other people’s pain, suffering, or difficulties.
Enough experiences of not having a boundary finally brought about a commitment to building stronger, clearer self-response-ability in every interaction.
I can confidently say at the age of 47 I’ve learned a thing or two about boundaries.
To be truthful I thought I’d never learn. (If you’re wondering this too, I promise it’s possible.)
With time, a great deal of compassion for myself, enough challenging experiences, and the right support I learned, with greater self-awareness, how to discern, at a deeper level, whether or not a relationship was good for me.
I started holding my relationships differently, and with practice, started seeing where things were off much clearer and faster. As I came to know myself more deeply, what I needed, what felt good and grounded vs. what felt wonky and weird, I was able to make better choices for myself. Not just with romantic relationships but in my professional relationships as well.
With these realizations, some relationships were let go of and others remained. New ones arrived and a whole new perspective on love and belonging in relationship became available. This is when I met my partner Alexander. (But thats a story for another time).
So what does this mean: “healthy boundary”?
Well, what if we were to see it as permeable, fluid, in a way that allows both people to feel safe enough to be seen by one another? Where our defenses and intuition are not ignored, can be felt and respected, so that the armoring can soften enough to reveal something more true, more vulnerable, more real, more connected?
Someone recently shared with me a great quote by David Whyte that I feel elucidates this point:
“The ultimate touchstone of friendship is not improvement, neither of the other nor of the self, the ultimate touchstone is witness, the privilege of having been seen by someone and the equal privilege of being granted the sight of the essence of another, to have walked with them and to have believed in them, and sometimes just to have accompanied them for however brief a span, on a journey impossible to accomplish alone.” - David Whyte
When the ultimate touchstone of friendship is alive between people we are seen. We are felt in our vulnerability and we heal. We share in the process of coming home to ourselves and one another. We help each other be here more purposefully and alive. We thrive together. In each others’ presence we reflect back the power and beauty of who we are to each other in relationship.
The challenging part here is that we need to be in relationship to repair and tend to the parts that fear connection.
We do not heal in isolation. We cannot move our life in the direction of what we most long for if we force ourselves to do so or try it all on our own.
There is something nourishing when we have the feeling of safety enough to share what we least want people to know about us. And for this to be available feeling trust with yourself and safety in the relationship is essential.
Relationships that provide safety give us permission to be who we are as we are. We get to be self-expressed in a way where new choices for our life become possible. Even when the feelings we are having in the moment (about ourselves, our life, or a relationship) are challenging us to stay present.
When safety abides in a relationship we can feel what is here and now our living breathing experience. We can show up for the moment, for ourselves, because we sense we are supported unconditionally.
We are welcomed.
We are accepted.
We are embraced.
We are seen.
We are heard.
We are felt.
For who we really are.
Even when, at times, it all feels like an unbearable mess.
Imperfect and afraid…terrified that love might leave us.…deathly ashamed that who we are is not good enough to be held and loved in our weaknesses.
Relationships change us.They grow us through the uncertainty and aliveness that repairs the hollow spaces inside that were carved long ago. Made for our return to love.
When we come together in the safe space of relationship we mend what has been broken, lost, or forgotten by tending and listening. Inviting new awareness to the light of forgotten, sometimes painful, memories. When we are willing, we welcome in more compassion, empathy, and understanding to emerge.
We all need a safe space. We all need our people. We need the nourishment that comes from our shared presence and listening for one another. We remind each other what love and compassion feel like when we remember it for ourselves.
With so much uncertainty, aggression, and unrest at large I can think of nothing more important than cultivating stronger bonds of human decency and love.
With respect and deepest care for our shared vulnerability,
Andrea