The Feeling of Safety

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been searching for what it means to feel safe.

When I was little, my bedroom was my safe haven. I created the cozest corners that held me through the hardest of times. I made sure it smelled good, looked beautiful, and felt safe.
It was in this quiet, internal way where my body could unclench, my breath soften, and I didn’t have to be quite as vigilant.

I didn’t grow up in a home that felt safe. I learned to move quietly, to tiptoe, to make myself smaller so I wouldn’t be in the way. And for years, without realizing it, I’ve been rebuilding safety from the ground up through my work, my home, and the way I choose to move through the world. It’s interesting how we often create for others what we need, too.

What I’ve come to understand is that safety can be built. It’s created through beauty, warmth, and attention. It’s built in the glow of a warm ire, the softness of natural light, the sound of creek water moving nearby. It’s built through kindness, presence, and the willingness and courage to slow down.

That’s what my retreats are really about. They’re not just about getting away. They’re about coming home to safety.

When people tell me that being here feels cozy, grounding, or like a deep exhale, I know they’re really saying, “I feel safe.” And that means everything to me.