When people talk about safety, I’m feeling that we usually think of it in very narrow terms, such as the following:

• Physical harm,
• Rules,
• Boundaries,
• What’s “allowed” and what’s not.

Those things matter, but they’re a baseline and somewhat obvious.

As I’ve been figuring out my path over the past few years and sort myself out, I’ve realized there’s a much deeper nuance we might be tippy toeing around. We know it’s there, we just don’t bring it to the forefront of thought.

I’d like to talk about safety in the context of belonging — I’m talking about something broader and quieter. Something most of us feel instinctively but rarely name.

Safety is what allows a person to stay.

Safety Is Not the Absence of Harm

Safety isn’t just the absence of violence or overt cruelty.

A room can be technically “safe” and still feel hostile.

A group can follow every rule and still make people shrink.

A space can say everyone is welcome and quietly punish those who test that claim.

Real safety isn’t about what doesn’t happen.

It’s about what does.

What People Are Scanning for When They Enter a Space

When someone walks into a room — especially someone who has been marginalized, traumatized, or repeatedly excluded — they are scanning constantly. I know I do, subconsciously, asking questions like:

• Am I welcome here, or merely tolerated?
• What happens if I say the wrong thing?
• Will I be ignored, corrected, mocked, or dismissed?
• Who seems relaxed, and who seems guarded?
• Is attention given freely, or does it come with a cost?
• What happens when someone is vulnerable?
• Do people stay consistent, or do rules change depending on who you are?

This isn’t paranoia. It’s pattern recognition.

People learn very early what it costs them to be visible.

Safety Is Predictability

One of the most important and underrated components of safety is consistency.

People feel safer when:

• responses are predictable
• kindness isn’t revoked without explanation
• boundaries are clear and stable
• feedback doesn’t come wrapped in shame
• affection doesn’t suddenly disappear

You don’t have to be perfect to be safe. but I propose you do have to be reliable.

Inconsistent warmth is one of the fastest ways to make a space feel unsafe.

Holding Space Is an Active Practice

We often talk about “holding space” as if it’s passive. It’s not.

Holding space means:

• letting others take time without rushing them
• allowing discomfort without trying to fix it
• resisting the urge to center yourself
• noticing who hasn’t spoken — and why
• not punishing people for being careful
• not demanding performance as proof of belonging

Holding space doesn’t mean lowering standards or abandoning boundaries.

It means enforcing them without humiliation.

Safety Is About Not Making People Earn Their Right to Be There

Many spaces claim to be inclusive but quietly expect newcomers to prove themselves.

To be confident enough. Interesting enough. Resilient enough. Easy enough.

That’s not safety — that’s audition culture.

Safety exists when people don’t have to minimize themselves, overperform, or apologize for taking up space just to remain welcome.

Why Safety Comes Before Belonging

Belonging is often framed as something people should choose. I have argued in previous posts that choosing belonging requires safety first.

Without safety:

• the nervous system stays alert
• risk feels dangerous instead of exciting
• connection feels temporary
• withdrawal feels like self-protection

People don’t fail to belong because they lack courage.

They struggle because safety hasn’t been established yet.

What It Looks Like to Create Safety

Creating safety doesn’t require special training or perfection. It looks like:

• saying hello and meaning it
• following through on what you offer
• being clear instead of clever
• naming mistakes without shaming
• staying curious instead of defensive
• noticing power dynamics instead of pretending they don’t exist

Most of all, it looks like showing up the same way tomorrow as you did today.

Consider that safety Is an Invitation to Stay

When safety is present, something subtle changes.

• People breathe differently.
• They stop scanning exits.
• They take small risks.
• They stay five minutes longer.
• That’s how belonging begins.
• Not with declarations.
• Not with slogans.
• But with consistency, care, and the quiet signal:

You’re okay here. You don’t have to disappear.

A Final Thought

If you run a group, host a space, lead a team, or simply care about community, here’s a question worth sitting with:

What does someone have to do in your space to remain welcome?

The answer will tell you more about safety than any mission statement ever could.