When we think of safety, we might think of equipment. A seatbelt, a hard hat, even an instruction manual. Safety can come too in routine and familiarity, and in places where we know there is no risk. In all these ways, safety is relational and embodied. It happens in how we are, alongside or with something else, whether that be an object, an activity or another living being.
Safety may take time to find and isn't always guaranteed. It may also not always be something we are overtly aware of, yet it can have a profound impact on our sense of wellbeing. Like love, it can grow, and through love, safety can deepen, allowing us to grow relationally with the world around us, as well as learn more about our own selves and our identity.
It is with these thoughts that I share a small moment from my own family as an illustration.
My autistic son was recently travelling home with me in the car, and I think I had been talking to him about what he wanted for tea, and what was available. Just as we were coming close to home he told me quietly, 'Mum, I'm sorry I've not been talking much, it's just that I've got two different sized shoes on, and that's really uncomfortable. It's hard to think when one shoe is smaller than the other.'
Thinking back on his words afterwards, I reflected on the felt safety that my son had shared with me in that moment. Firstly, safety had played a role in the time he had been able to take away from our conversation to think about and tune into the physical sensations he was experiencing. This gave him space not only to work out that something was bothering him, but also to know what it was. He further felt safe enough to tell me how his body was feeling, and the impact that that sensation was having on how he was able to be. There was safety too in knowing we were nearly home, and that that uncomfortable sensation would be gone as soon as we were in and he had taken his shoes off. Telling me his thoughts, offered him a way to ask for that reassurance and for me to offer it. Finally, there was the safety that my son wanted to afford to me, to let me know that him being quiet, wasn't something for me to worry about. He wanted me to feel safe as well.
It is likely that there may have been many moments in my son's life where something like wearing odd shoes would have been too big, and would have contributed to, or may have even been the cause of a shutdown or meltdown. Relational safety instead gave him space to process, think and to share his thoughts with me. A moment that could have led to further distress, became instead a moment of shared acceptance, belonging and connection.
I was so grateful to my son for trusting me with his thoughts, and for the lessons he was able to teach me in that moment:
That safety is fluid and dynamic, moving with every moment of our being. Being able to share our experiences is both because of safety, as well as a way of nurturing further safety. Through relational safety, in safe spaces and with safe others, we can create much deeper relational worlds where we can go, if we need to, especially whenever we feel less safe in the motions of the everyday linear and process-driven world that also surrounds us.
(A huge thank you to Elly Chapple for her and Ella's 'Shoeness of a Shoe' story; a hugely important influence on my own journey of re-evaluating where knowledge comes from, and expanding my understanding of learning).
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