My Mum comes from the generation of letter writers. Not only does every card that she sends contain a mini play-by-play of the day’s events that she is writing on, but the card itself has been uniquely crafted together for that occasion to convey whatever heart-felt feelings or memories that she was having towards you at that time. Her cards are legendary, and you know you’ve made it when you start receiving your own!
I always wait for the right moment to sit down and read one of these such missives. Preferably the scene is set with a cup of tea and I’m by myself so I can take my time deciphering her elegant scrawl. Her latest card arrived a couple of days ago, but I waited until tonight to read it. I sat in bed, the bedside lamp casting a ring of light over my pillow, pulled out the pages and began to cry as I read her words.
I miss you Mum.
I should probably say that more…
It’s been six and a half years since I lived in the UK and as the hands of time keep moving forward my sense of rootedness in the States grows deeper. The way I miss England feels different now to when I was first making home in New York. Without fail though, whenever challenges arise there will come a moment when I will crawl under my duvet, and wish that I could click my heels three times and be back in my parent’s home. There’s no feeling quite like the comfort and stability of your family’s presence.
We were meant to spend this last Christmas and New Year in England, but Covid had other plans. I had kept hoping and hoping and praying and hoping until I was finally forced to come to terms with the reality that it would not be happening this time. Now that trip has been indefinitely postponed having fallen victim to new circumstances beyond our control. Enter: grief.
I wanted to be done with this state a year ago when Covid first disrupted our world, shut us all down and changed everything. Here we are though, over 12 months later, and grief is still knocking on our doors reminding us of everything we’ve lost. I want to list all of mine, to acknowledge them and share each one with you, to justify my tears and sense of loss, but at the same time I know that my heart is not the only one aching, and sometimes hearing more hard things does not help us manage our own. So for now I will simply summarize and say how much I miss my family, the luxury of being in proximity to them, and the automatic safety that is felt with their nearness.
As I write this, I am reminded again of a phrase I have been using a lot over the last few months, ‘the importance of felt safety.’
“Felt safety is when you arrange the environment and adjust your behavior so your children can feel in a profound and basic way that they are truly safe in their home with you. Until your child experiences safety for himself or herself, trust can’t develop, and healing and learning won’t progress.”
- Dr Purvis, The Connected Child
Although Dr Purvis writes here of the specifics of raising a child, I believe her words apply to every environment which we desire for relationships to thrive in. I think about the conversations around race that have been freshly ignited this year as white people have undergone a ‘great awakening’ to the pain and experiences of their BIPOC brothers and sisters. Conflicts come to mind on both a global and a local community level, as people and nations with different experiences and perspectives wrestle to be seen and heard; valued. The onus lands in the lap of those who have been holding the power to adjust themselves in whatever way necessary in order for those who are in pain, who are more vulnerable, who are in need of support, to come to a place where they feel safe enough to be able to trust again and experience healing. Once felt safety has been achieved learning can progress which ultimately fosters long-lasting change. As long as felt safety is absent, relationships will continue to feel violated and true intimacy and authentic community will remain out of reach.
The felt safety of home is what I crave on night’s like tonight where the world feels big and scary, and the unknown is looming ahead, creeping ever-closer. I think about the atmosphere that I create and hope that it is one of home for others, but who am I kidding? I am not perfect and the reality is I’m sure I have not always fostered this for others. Rather than getting defensive though that someone doesn’t feel safe with us, maybe we should be asking the question, ‘why?’ In what ways can we adjust our environment or behavior to ensure a person or group experiences safety in our presence? Is it as simple and challenging as admitting wrong and saying, ‘I’m sorry?’ Is it swallowing pride and humbly asking how you have caused or added to someone’s pain? Is it owning the impact of your choices regardless of your intentions, and making the necessary steps to right that wrong?
It takes consistent intentionality to create this for one another. It requires a greater value for connection than personal comfort or preference. It is the gentle wooing of the soul that can involve letter writing and making cards from scratch, sending random packages full of items that ‘made me think of you,’ or out-of-the-blue text messages simply containing, ‘how are you?’ It is all the little things that once added together over time communicate in a basic and profound way that you/they are truly safe in your/their presence. And regardless of how much time passes, it always concludes with, “Come on over, it’s been too long!”
