Where I Learned the Difference Between Being Held and Being Tolerated

For me, recognizing safe spaces has always been about knowing the difference between being held and being tolerated.

There is a difference, and my body has always known it, long before I had the language to explain it.

Growing up as a military brat, movement was constant. Cities changed. Schools changed. Any space that began to feel familiar eventually required adjustment. I learned how to read rooms, soften my tone, and make myself smaller so I could fit. I survived many spaces by enduring them, not because they held me.

My parents’ house was different.

No matter the city or state, home never asked me to perform or brace. It gave me room to breathe, speak, and exist fully. My body relaxed there. My voice stayed steady. I did not have to earn comfort or prove that I belonged. I was simply held.

When I moved away from my parents in high school to live with family, I expected familiarity to equal safety. It did not. That home required silence and endurance. My body never settled. I was tolerated, not held. Without fully realizing it, I found my safety elsewhere.

The gym became my refuge.

On the basketball court, my shoulders dropped. My breath deepened. The consistency, structure, and guidance of that space grounded me in ways home could not at the time. It taught me that safe spaces do not have to look traditional. They just have to feel steady in your body.

That lesson followed me into adulthood.

I built a home with my son and my partner, and over time, that space became safe. But when we relocated, everything on paper stayed the same. Same relationship. Different location. My body knew before my mind did. Safety disappeared. I found myself bracing, monitoring, and enduring again.

What I learned is that safety is not guaranteed by familiarity, longevity, or proximity. Some spaces others find safe are not safe for me. Safety, for me, requires consistency, accountability, and calm.

When those things disappeared, anxiety took their place.

Eventually, I returned to the one place my body had always recognized as home. My parents’ house. Not because I failed, but because I listened.

This Safe Spaces Check-In is not about confrontation or cutting people off. It is about clarity. About noticing where you can exhale and where you are constantly holding your breath. Pay attention to where your shoulders relax and where they tense. Those reactions are wisdom.

Not every space that feels familiar is safe. Not every relationship that lasted was supportive. And not every place you outgrew was wrong. It may have simply served its season.

You deserve spaces that do not require survival skills. You deserve community that meets you with care, not conditions. You deserve rooms where you are held, not just tolerated.

This is your Safe Spaces Check-In. No judgment. No pressure. Just honest noticing.

Because being held feels different than being tolerated, and you are allowed to choose the difference.