When Safety isn't a Given
Photo credit - Mika Baumeister @unsplash
Like many others, I was following the worrying news of the disappearance of Sarah Everard, who went missing a few days ago after walking home in the evening. I willed her to be found safely and returned to her loved ones. Last week the horrific news was that a police officer was arrested in connection to her disappearance. And then Twitter was awash with despairing comments that her body was found. I, like many others, feel deep rage and despair. The subsequent peaceful vigil (also for sisters Nicole Smallman and Bibaa Henry) was then marred with excessive police force. It was a week of such intensity, with such stark realisations about safety, privilege and power.
Sadly, being safe at home shouldn’t be assumed either, as the murder of Breonna Taylor by a policeman as she lay asleep in bed, or the rise in cases of domestic violence (particularly in lockdown) has shown.
I had to have strong boundaries about time on social media, as story after story was being shared about women being followed and attacked. Like so many others, I’ve experienced a number of incidents myself, that I rarely choose to think about. It doesn’t take much for the nervous system to be triggered though.
It’s a palpable shared experience - the heavy feelings that this situation brings up. It was shameful to see the comments that women should be ‘taking care’. Not walking alone, or after dark or wearing ‘provocative clothing’. And the resources of rape alarms and pepper sprays that were being shared. It’s so instinctive for women to assess risk. Whether it’s carrying keys in your hand, wearing trainers so you can getaway quickly, or taking a more indirect but well-lit route.
We have a right to exist, to go about our business without being targeted. There was talk of women staying at home, out of harm’s way. Wouldn’t it be preferable that men (and it’s almost exclusively men) who are at risk of attacking women should be under curfew instead.
Reflecting on these situations, I remembered the times I’ve felt vulnerable working in clinics on my own, particularly in the evenings or early mornings. Although I treat men, I am noticeably more comfortable with male clients who have been recommended by word of mouth, and therefore ‘vetted’ in some way. And I might write about it another time, but some people get off on the ‘nursy nursy’ vibes or make quips about getting pleasure from giving people pain. I’m a trained professional, and I won’t put myself in situations where I have to receive that kind of B.S.
Once at a residential workshop at Embercombe in Devon, I had the chance to sleep outside overnight on my own. Coming from the suburbs, I’d always felt a connection to nature but the risks always took precedent. I was given a bivvy bag to sleep in and chose a little spot to light a fire. Without other distractions, I was alone with the sounds of the night, the depth of the darkness and the brightness of the stars. I had a walkie talkie and knew that others were around if I needed them, but I also got to experience feeling my own strength and connection to being outside in the dark. It’s hard to put an experience like that into words, but it’s so palpable on a body level. For a girl from the suburbs, it was a healing experience to be out in nature in a simple, powerful way. I’m so grateful to those who facilitated that experience.
If you’ve been feeling similar outrage, shock and despair at recent events, I wanted to let you know that I see you and hear you. We need to keep speaking up and showing up. And if we are in a position of privilege, then show up for those who don’t have a voice. We exist and our bodies have a right to be here.
If you’d like some tools to work through feelings around safety, sadness and rage, you might want to join me at Moving Through Loss, to experience deep connection with your body using breathwork, touch and movement. And here’s a podcast episode about safety that I’d like to share.