Sunday, March 22, 2015

Sunday Confession: Safe


I struggle with the word these days. Though sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew the feeling.

I used to go to Wal-Mart in the middle of the night.  I told my ex's mom that once and she completely flipped, telling me I needed to make sure I wasn't followed home.  I shrugged it off as her big city paranoia.

I feel safe where I live.  And it feels good.  It has been a long time since I felt safe.  The truth of the matter is that once I'm inside and I know the door is locked, I feel safer here in my home than anywhere else and I wonder if this is why I hate to leave now.

I feel exposed anywhere else.  Here... I know the sounds.  I know how the house creaks and the furnace clicks.  I know if I hear something, it is more than likely the teenage boy down the street and one of his girlfriends, or his mom and her boyfriend; One summer, she found lipstick on his underwear.  I just stay in bed and listen for when things escalate and then I call the police.

I've become a cop caller, and I'm ok with it. I once knew what it was like not to feel safe in my own home.  I remember when someone made me feel afraid in the place where I laid my head at night. And so when I hear someone is making someone else afraid, I'll stay safe in my home and I'll make the call for them every time. Just the way I wish someone had made the call for me.

1 comment:

  1. I love the way you went with this ❤

    Totally agree I'd rather err on the side of caution and call for help for someone else rather than just sit and do nothing.