Love is often painted as grand gestures and poetic confessions, but for me, it lies in something quieter, deeper—a sacred space where we can both remove our armor. In a world where we’re conditioned to protect ourselves, where vulnerability feels like a gamble, creating a space of safety is an act of love that transcends words.
Safety is my love language. It’s a language spoken in small, consistent actions that say, "You can be yourself here—your messy, struggling, imperfect self—and you won’t be judged, abandoned, or dismissed." It’s more than a feeling; it’s a foundation. It’s built over time, with trust as its mortar, and the knowledge that our authenticity won’t be weaponized against us.
I’ve spent years giving this to others. I’ve offered understanding, compassion, and unwavering support. I’ve held space for their storms without asking them to shrink or silence themselves. It’s the gift I give to the people I love, not because I have to, but because it’s how I love.
But here’s the hard truth: I rarely receive it back.
It’s a lonely realization, knowing you are the sanctuary for so many, yet struggling to find your own refuge. I’ve learned that being a safe space for others doesn’t automatically mean they’ll return the favor. People are often comfortable taking the sanctuary you offer but hesitant to provide the same in return.
And still, I continue. Not because I expect reciprocation, but because it’s who I am. I know the value of feeling emotionally safe—of being seen, not just for your strengths but for your struggles too.
Safety, after all, is the soil where love grows. Without it, love can’t thrive—it withers under the weight of suspicion and fear. To love someone is to say, “You can be your whole self here. I see you, and I’m not leaving.”
To those who’ve been where I am—who give so much and seldom see it mirrored back—let me remind you of this: You are rare. You are extraordinary. And the safety you give is a gift not everyone knows how to hold.
But here’s my promise to myself, and maybe it’s a promise you can make to yourself too: I will not settle for less than the love I give. I will not dim my light to make others comfortable, nor will I wear my armor forever.
Because someday, someone will walk into my sacred space, lay down their own armor, and offer me the same sanctuary I’ve spent my life creating for others. Until then, I’ll keep speaking my love language—because it’s not just about them. It’s about me. It’s about honoring who I am, unapologetically.
And that, in itself, is an act of love.
🫰🫂🫖 JRT
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