Safe Space

There’s a corner of my world that remains untouched by the noise and demands of everything and everyone around me. It’s not a place you can find on a map. No one else knows how to get there, and that’s how I need it to be. This space feels sacred—simple, but safe. I go there to find my breath, to listen to what I’m really thinking beneath all the layers of doubt, worry, and expectation.

Some days, it’s harder to reach. But on the hardest days, it’s where I find a sense of calm that feels more like myself than anything else. This isn’t about shutting people out or hiding; it’s about giving myself a quiet place to be. Here, I’m not fighting for approval, not weighed down by history. It’s just me—free from the expectations of what I should be doing, who I should be taking care of, or who I should try to become.

In this space, my past doesn’t have power over me. The scars I carry are present, yes, but in here, they lose their grip. They don’t define me. They’re just reminders of how far I’ve come. This is where I sort through my own thoughts, letting them fall apart or build into something meaningful, depending on what I need in the moment. Here, I write the truest words and find some clarity amidst the contradictions.

This isn’t a place I can explain to anyone else, and I don’t need to. All that matters is that it’s real and it’s mine. It’s where I anchor myself when life feels like it’s pulling me in every direction, stretching me until I don’t recognize myself. In this place, I gather strength, courage, and the quiet resolve to keep moving forward. I can be whole here, just as I am. And maybe that’s the only thing I really need. Being safe. Feeling safe. Here.