Safety. It’s a word that’s been circulating in my mind lately. Specifically, I’ve been contemplating our “first world” (yes, privileged) notion of safety, our illusions when it comes to the institutions we expect to provide it, and the calm that grows from its presence — elusive or not.
Safety, or something like it, may derive from traditional roles, relationships, jobs.
But what if there is no such thing? Or have most of us accepted that truth as part of an adult rite of passage?
The Marriage Club
When I married in my thirties, I experienced a new-found sensation of safety, which isn’t something I thought much about before that. Nor was it something I sought. I had always been adventurous in certain aspects of my life, and happy to be independent. But when I joined the exclusive club known as marriage (and I had no idea how many invisible privileges came along with it), I confess, I found a certain sense of belonging that I had been missing.
What I found, for life, or so I thought, was family.
To me, that felt like safety. And while marital status never defined me to me, there’s no question that it meant something to the outside world. Moreover, I enjoyed the feeling of security in having something “foundational” settled.
Settled is likely the wrong word in my case, as my husband was gone more than he was home, and with two babies in the space of the first three years of marriage (along with a full-time job), let’s just say… I was busy. So many moving parts! So many different “masters!” (So few moments to catch my breath and appreciate any of it.)
In all these competing roles and responsibilities, my career was the anchor. My job — or rather, a series of related jobs — formed pillars of both financial and personal safety. Not only did they furnish pay in exchange for my skills, but they were instrumental in reinforcing my identity. Work was a source of self-confidence: I was established, I was known, I was good at what I did; I used my skills, I constantly learned, I took pride in my output; I had industry contacts I respected (who respected me), and I had years of experience that I thought would make me — and keep me — “safe.”
But there is no safety.
Layoff? Identity Crisis!
I went through several significant job changes in my field, the result of a consolidating industry in the 1980s and 1990s, but I had always been able to land on my feet. And fast. In fact, I typically jumped to a new company just before masses of people were laid off. (We could usually see the writing on the wall.) Note, however: I was single then; I went wherever the next job was, and required travel in the job description was not an issue.
Two decades later, when a restructure and layoff occurred at the same time as my marriage was unraveling, it was a different story. It was also a different economy, and I was a worker of a different age and stage. There was no “jumping” to another part of the country. There was no ability to take a travel job. Both of those freedoms no longer existed for me. Besides, one or the other major life event would’ve been challenging enough. Two simultaneously?
Color me in “functional shock,” especially as there was nothing amicable about the end of my marriage or the years of craziness that followed. My primary concern — my only concern, really — was to keep the world as safe as possible for my two sons.
But there are no guarantees of safety.
The most damaging aspect of that period for my sense of self?
Losing my identity as a successful provider.
Is There Safety in Marriage After Divorce?
Some years ago, when I fell in love, once again I felt the return of a sense of safety. This time it had nothing to do with the piece of paper or a name change or public recognition of a new status. It had everything to do with the man in my life providing a level of presence that I had never known before. He was for me and with me, as I was for him and with him. I was slow to trust, slow to believe, but eventually, I let my guard down and allowed the sense of safety in.
Although the issue of marriage came up in conversation, and more than once, that’s where it remained. That’s where it needed to remain. I had learned the hard way that the theoretical contract of a marital union guarantees nothing, except perhaps more public heartbreak, legal headaches, and major expense if one of the parties chooses to dissolve the contract. I may not view divorce as failure, but I do view it as a miserable experience. And if a man or woman is determined to walk, they’re going to walk.
There is no safety in marriage.
And perhaps less so, for some of us, after divorce.
Of course, when a serious relationship ends, pain is unavoidable. We can bury ourselves in work, we can distract ourselves with other people, we can justify our transition back to singleness with soothing self-talk like “it’s all for the best” — and maybe it is. To find oneself — myself — once again in a place without so much as a semblance of safety is, well… odd. To be honest, it’s more than odd. It’s disheartening, disorienting, and at moments, frightening.
Naturally, I have my assortment of mantras, and these days I repeat to myself: There is no safety (you will be fine); there is no safety (you will be fine); there is no safety (you will be fine).
Because there is no safety.
And, if we are to love another human being, truly love, surely there can be no emotional safety.
Ah. Life.
Ah yes. Those medical incidents that come to call. We won’t go there. I’ve had my share, and consider myself exceptionally lucky to be where I am at present, and I’ll leave it at that.
I’m also happy for the accident of birth that allows me to find myself in a country, in a neighborhood, in a dwelling with relative physical safety, which is not to be taken lightly. And even in this, naturally, I understand that there are no guarantees. Worse, for millions of people in this nation, they have no similar impression — also an accident of birth.
Still, I long for something more, like so many of us — a team of people to work with who value my contributions; a circle of friends that will not disband when the going gets tough or they must get going for their own survival elsewhere; a loved one whose word I can count on, who understands that tough times are about toughing it out together, though I understand that we all do what we must when our own worlds no longer feel suitable to us.
Suitable in the way we hope and in the way we need; in providing excitement, reassurance, and haven.
We all wrestle with our voices, our motivations, our fears.
What’s Gone Missing in Action?
Like so many others at this age, I make my living in patchwork fashion — alternating between periods of feast and famine — all of it, with no employment protections. Like so many others at this age, I am isolated from peers with similar interests and values, though I do my damnedest to make connections. Like so many others at this age, any family I have is out of reach, as we all feel bound to restart wherever the jobs are — for however long we last in what we imagine to be their relative “safety.”
Like so many others, for me, each day is a question mark, a scramble, a fight — for purpose, for options, for answers, for significance, for a buck, and in so doing, for that semblance of safety — somewhere — well aware that there are no guarantees.
Like so many others, I look at the political circus playing out on the national stage and I am dismayed, disheartened, disgusted. The role of government — what it could be, what it should be — is being dangerously distorted.
And we are all less safe as a result.
Fortunately, I’m not one to back away from a fight. At least, not for long. And while my old concept of safety may now be a thing of the past, there are nonetheless moments that fill me with contentment.
Ah. Kindness.
What puts a smile on my face and worries behind me, if only for a few minutes or an hour?
There is the cashier at the market who speaks French, and we chat, smiling and laughing, as he scans my items and bags them up. There are the phone calls from my sons that tell me they’re happy and yes, they’re safe — as “safe” as they can be. There is the physical therapist who plays me a video clip of his two-year-old daughter as she runs gleefully through the house after her bath, and in her mirth and her giggling, I feel joy.
And as that same physical therapist continues to work his magic on an old injury that has caused me years of pain — a process that is slow, sometimes grueling, and requires patience as I sit, tapping into my phone like this — my mere mention of wishing I had a cup of coffee brings him to a halt. “Black?” he asks. I nod. Then he disappears for a minute into the staff area and returns with a steaming cup of Joe, just the way I like it. And with it, a slice of lemon cake, which he presents to me with a grin.
In that moment, not only do I feel safe in his hands and his company, and in the facility (at last!) that is delivering quality care, but I remember how many kind people there are in the world.
Safety may not exist, certainly not in the way we once believed that it did or should. But kindness is a powerful elixir. And kindness is everywhere.
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There is so much in this to which I can relate. Your heart and vulnerability come through in a way that draws me into your story and I wish I could be a part of your world. I find it increasingly challenging to connect with people and can’t exactly put my finger on the reason why – some reasons are because of me, limited time, priorities, etc. However, when I do make the attempt, it is often not reciprocated. Most of the time, I think reasons are valid, it’s not personal, lives are too full. But I miss a sense of community just the same.
Safety does seem to be quite an illusion. At the end of difficult days, I often console myself with the thought that all my children are under the roof, safe from immediate danger, there is no eminent threat…yet this is an illusion. Life can change so quickly, illness may be present even when we are unaware. The privileges of our birth are not guaranteed to last, especially as we witness such alarming political climates at home and abroad. A history of divorce, abandonment, abuse, etc. highlight the reality that people will fail us, no matter the reason or justification.
The only way that I manage to cope is to accept that I cannot be safe, and I cannot provide complete safety. I can only do the best I am able and strive to do so with kindness. Kindness is the security that folds me into a blanket of safety and to which I will respond by letting go of that breath which I hold so often (waiting for the next ‘shoe to drop). My faith is unchanging and I find security there, but not safety. My safety used to be found in having a plan for everything and every possible situation. Now I seek security and not safety. Security is in the moment, accepting what we cannot affect, resting. Safety is doing what I can, accepting what I cannot.
On a side note, when I shared with my father about my first date with Mr. Wonderful, I described feeling safe.
Thank you for revealing your heart today. I have much to think about after reading your thoughts.
What a lovely post, D.A. Growing up (at least until the age of 14) in a single parent home with three siblings, limited cash flow, and a mum who was constantly anxious, worried, stressed…. I was hard-wired to look for safety. When Mum married my farmer step-dad… ahhhh… that felt like a safe place and was. As the youngest, I was the only one still living at home when Mum remarried and she and I still joke about the time when “we” married my step-dad. A package deal, for sure.
P.S. I’d be thrilled to be on your “team.” xx
Sue, I loved reading your comment. My daughter refers to the day I married for the second time as “our wedding.” I truly think she sees it that way. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you, D.A., for this post. As others said, it is beautiful in its relevance.
I can remember various levels of emergence from the protective bubble of an earlier time.
The first was when I was in high school, going along, studying, trying to figure out what life was about. The letter from the Selective Service was a heck of a shock. I’m going to have to do what? I might have to go where? And be shot at? Killed? But I’m only seventeen…..
After my father passed away I realized how much I was still psychologically dependent on the concept of a parent, even at age 44, with a solid career, a house, a wife. It hits me that I’ve always subconsciously counted a support network, and now I’m down to my wife and my mother. Five years later, as I visit my mother, I watch her reach for something high on the bookcase and realize that she is getting feeble. It is my first glimpse of having to be the ultimate backstop. At least I still have my wife.
Five years later my mother loses most of her sight. She can no longer drive. Among many new realities comes the realization that when I drive three hours to see her I am pretty exposed. Any mishaps or mechanical failures, and I could be coming home in a different vehicle. Fortunately there are cell phones. And road services, as opposed to the former dependably available relatives. At least I still have my wife.
Three years later my health collapses. At least there are doctors. But doctors can’t find anything wrong. At least there is the internet. And, if you are “in the know”, places to get what is needed to cure you. At least I am “in the know”, and can afford it. A somewhat new friend suddenly says “If you need anything, like a ride to the doctor, let me know”. I say – But, you’re on the other side of town (45 minutes)… ! “It doesn’t matter”.
A couple of weeks ago, one of my mother’s caregivers starts having seizures. At least there’s ……well, I’m not sure what there is at this point.
That is all just one train of thought. It doesn’t mention a close relative that becomes prone to saying very bizarre things, or the pronouncement of a serious illness, and the threat of another. But I consider myself pretty lucky. I look at people who have had to endure physical violence, and wonder how they cope. I see mothers who give their all for children with severe illnesses or disabilities, living moment to moment, never knowing what will happen next, including the financial consequences, and can’t help but think they are incredibly special, even as I know everyone fighting a battle is special in their own way.
I read people saying life is unexpected, wonderful, and it all works out. I’m not sure what to think. I am still here. Buddhism takes the attitude that if you are here, that is all that matters. If you are not, it doesn’t matter. That is a little too one-dimensional for me. I still hold out hope for some unexpected wonderfulness. In the meantime, I suppose I’ll take one step at a time. At least there’s still… the future…
OMG. What a heartfelt post. I can feel exactly what this is about. I was widowed when I was very young, with a four year old daughter, of course I was devastated. Remarried after two years and know exactly that safe feeling, that’s exactly how it felt after I met my second husband. I confess this has brought tears to my eyes. Love your blog.
Beautiful post. From an early age I have known that any idea of safety in life was always to be taken with a grain of salt. My parents divorced after 27 years, Even though it was the best for them, the idea that the length of time in marriage did not guarantee safety dawned on me.
Instead of safety, I now seek peace. The peace the warrior feels in between battles when enjoying everything she has fought for, always prepared for the next fight, but wishing that it was not necessary.
I am looking forward to new connections as more people of a certain age understand the peace this may brings to their lives.
I like this – seeking peace as the goal. For me, I would think peace is an integral part of safety.
It is impossible to underestimate the importance of financial security as it relates to a feeling of “safety”, especially as we mature. The absence of it compromises our ability to enjoy some of those activities that feed our souls. The struggle to secure it at a more advanced age sabotages our confidence and erodes that vital feeling that we still count. For those of us caught in this reality, I think we must view the struggle as one of the greatest challenges we have ever faced, and believe in ourselves…our strengths…our talents…our belief that we are up for the challenge…our faith that we will overcome…that we will prosper, because, until we leave this life, we most definitely still count.