What is the safest you’ve ever felt in life?
Could you pinpoint a moment in time when you felt safe and had no worries at all?
The above question was a prompt I recently had from a good friend who is doing a lot of inner work himself. I was thankful that he thought of me to share his own feelings with, and it got me thinking. Suddenly, I found myself running through the rolodex (am I aging myself?) of memories.
Flip, flip, flip…
I struggled finding it.
Did I ever feel safe?
Was there a time where I had no worries? Considering I worry about worrying, it’s hard to imagine. I realized that every memory I paused at as the potential winner to this question had one thing in common. In every one of them…
I was alone.
Isn’t that odd? I felt safest by myself. The girl whose number one fear is being abandoned is at peace when she is alone.
This is worth a dig, eh?
Let’s first go back to the memory that trumped all others.
It’s from a time when I was between five and seven years old. What I’m about to describe happened so many times, it’s hard to pinpoint an exact moment. In a way it’s more of a combined memory rather than an independent memory.
For context, my father owns a greenhouse business.
When I was young it was my home away from home. At work, my parents were busy. There was no time to spare. They were on a mission, and I was left to keep myself occupied.
There were only two speeds at that place.
During “the season” there was no stopping. You were lucky if there was time carved out for a lunch break. Work started at 6:30am and we didn’t stop until long after it got dark. When the season ended, it was a complete shut-down, a ghost town.
I would go on adventures and explore the property. I’m not sure how I got through unscathed, it was definitely not a kid friendly zone.
But even though the conditions might have been on the dangerous side, it was here that I somehow found my safe place.