Learning Safety for the First Time

Safety is a strange thing to learn as an adult. Some people grow up with it. They grow up knowing their feelings will be heard, their mistakes will not be used against them and their needs are not too much .I did not grow up with that. I grew up with caution. With watching faces for signs of change. With walking quietly. With trying to avoid becoming the reason someone else became upset.

So even now, when life is calmer and gentler, safety feels unfamiliar. My body has been trained for decades to notice danger that is not there. To tense at silence. To prepare for disappointment. To stay alert even in soft moments.

When I finally slowed down, I realised how deeply my body had memorised fear. Not dramatic fear. Not panic. Just the steady, quiet fear of never fully being allowed to exist without consequence.

Learning safety is slow. It is not a switch you turn on. It is a practice. A repetition. A conversation with a younger part of yourself who still believes she must hide to be accepted.

Sometimes safety looks like putting a hand on my own chest and reminding myself that no one is waiting to hurt me. Sometimes it looks like letting myself cry without apologising. Sometimes it is as simple as sitting down when my body asks instead of pushing through.

I used to think safety meant that nothing bad would happen. Now I understand it differently. Safety is letting myself feel without being punished. It is letting myself rest without guilt.It is speaking honestly without bracing for anger. It is knowing I can be human without being rejected.

There is a part of me that still flinches at kindness because it is new. There is a part of me that expects withdrawal because that is what she learned. But every time I offer myself softness, I am teaching my body something childhood never taught me.

Safety is not a place. It is a relationship. And I am building it slowly with myself. One breath. One moment. One truth at a time.

Rebecca Bloom