When I was a child our house had a small garage, painted red and white like a little barn. It had a steep pitched roof and small side lean-to that I could scale, giving me access to sit on top of the garage roof and survey my domain. Even from what felt like a dizzying height to a child, I felt safe. Above the garden, my tire swing hanging from a huge oak tree and the red bench that surrounded the tree I felt somewhat invincible. Nobody could hurt me there.
My current favorite safe place is my office. Painted in calm colors and filled with my plants, books, art supplies and a comfy chair complete with fuzzy blanket this cozy room helps me to feel happy and secure. I can create, write and escape from the world there. Though I am no longer in danger, internally my nervous system, as evidenced by my Complex PTSD, tells me otherwise. A person with PTSD can feel triggered into feeling unsafe at any moment and sometimes for seemingly no reason at all.
Everybody needs a safe place but especially those who have been victimized. When your world has been invaded by those who mean you harm the thing you crave most, in addition to peace of heart and mind, a place where nobody can hurt you. A sanctuary.
All people, even those who have been deeply wounded by humanity, crave connection with the souls of others. One of the greatest blessings in my life is friends that help me feel safe. They listen, answer wisely and wittingly, and most importantly reassure me that in the midst of my crazy and uncertain mind there are soft trusting place to fall and fail. I am deeply grateful that there are still such places in the world and I hope to be that, a place of love and safety to those whom I love.