Her Arms (Safe Spaces)

At the start of the pandemic and Illinois’ stay at home order, I began a weekly rhythm of making an hour trip to the northwest suburbs with my niece, whom I affectionately refer to as Nugget, to visit my parents. My main purpose was to run errands for my older parents so that they would be able to quarantine effectively and avoid any potential run in with covid19. Each week, our trip added a new stroke to the painting of what was becoming our new norm - wiping down groceries, Nugget assisting in carrying those items to the assigned grandparent, “tea time,” random nap times, afternoon popsicles, and a walk. 

The walk became our main antidote to the ache we were all feeling with the sudden shift of what had become living life. Everyone attended the walk, regardless of the weather. Each time we put on the appropriate articles of clothing, grab our mask, and make our way down our usual path, down the street and a sharp left onto the path that leads us into the woodsy prairie scape that is my parents’ “backyard” in their subdivision. Often Nugget runs ahead of us, picking up rocks and random sticks, as I straddle keeping up with her and making sure my parents are trudging along without too much strain. At the first bridge, we overlook the stream to see if there is any water running in hopes to see a glimpse of ducks. As we make our way through the path, Nugget often gets bored or tired or begins to express a bit of angst. 

Yet as sure as the cold of Chicago always joins us in the winter, there is a shifting moment. Her face lights up, her back straightens, and her belly softens a bit with a giggle. Nugget sees the top of the castle, the name she generously assigned to the subdivision’s gazebo that sits along the path, and she runs forward without looking back. Upon her arrival, she assigns each of us a seat in the castle and delights in the space - her boredom, tiredness, and angst suddenly a thought of yesterday. She sings and dances, often to “Let It Go” on repeat, with no inhibition.

In her castle, she is free. She is safe. She is.

In the youth restorative justice program that I lead for my organization, we begin each year determining what a safe space is and what our respective safe spaces are, in an effort to determine how to do our best to integrate those qualities in the space we are creating for one another. 

To me, a safe space is a place that invites vulnerability. Where we can arrive and stay regardless of the chaos surrounding us or within us. An opportunity to exhale. A moment to confront and digest what is happening in us and around us. Safe spaces are hard to come by because they are not what the world prioritizes. Walls, guards, barriers are often recommended; not authenticity and the voluntary exposure of our core selves.

When I was first asked to visualize a safe space, my mind went blank and dark. I saw a black rolling screen, the image that comes after the movie is over and the credits have all rolled through. In that moment, fear took over my body - could there really be no place that invites me to release the tension from my raised shoulders? No space that accepts the tidal waves of anxiety and pain to rush out from the dams that hold them in? And my heart skipped as I eventually saw, with a hopeful joy that comes when that extra scene appears at the very end after the credits, set apart for those faithful viewers who stuck it out to the end. My mother’s arms, her embrace, and her warmth came into my mind’s view.

I felt my mother’s warmth and strength that melted away everything else in that moment. A sense of solace in a space of exasperation. She knew just how to hold me. And when. Her arms cradled me after my back served as a punching bag, yet again, for reasons none of us probably knew and I no longer remember. Her arms calmed me after I watched bottles get smashed onto the concrete backyard in a desperate effort to keep the venom away from us. Her arms encouraged me when I woke with night sweats, unsure what was at the root other than the darkness I could not get out of my mind. 

In my mother’s arms, I am free. I am safe. I am. 

Lately I have been thinking a lot about safe spaces. And I often wonder what my mother’s safe space is or if she might even have one. And my heart winces because I think I know the answer… 

The point at which Nugget takes off to her castle...