"But Crystal, can I put cheese in mine?"
I’ve always been great at connecting with strangers online, which is a far greater asset for a 30 year old woman than it was as a 14. The internet isn’t the first place that springs to mind when I imagine safety. Unfortunately, as so many survivors learn, sometimes the places that look safest are where the most danger lies. Sometimes we have to take sanctuary wherever and whenever we find it.
I started talking to Crystal in February of 2021 - fan girling her posts around trauma on her blog. Our friendship was formed by sharing: information, expe
rience, emotion and empowerment. Despair and laughter, hurt and hope. We built a shelter from the pieces of what had been smashed around us, and forged trust in virtual vulnerability.
Crys told me about the space that she imagined in her therapy. A sanctuary where the weight of what she carried could be lifted, tucked in bed and left to sleep a while. A place where she could hear over the cries of a broken child who could not be soothed, where all of her could be seen, could speak, could eat - could rest. A place for sandwiches and safety.
Sometimes when we fall asleep we imagine such a place. All alone inside our space ship, curled up inside a cabin, a sailing boat on calm seas, a fireside, a forest - a place where we are held completely yet entirely free.
And as we spoke, that space began to change - keys were cut, the kitchen grew and names changed on the deed. A space we shared, and visited - together and alone. The minders who once lived there, buttered toast and made the beds, no longer stayed the night - instead began to visit once a week to lend a helping hand.
Sandwiches and safety. Simplicity and strength. A place to sit amongst those who can acknowledge, accept and elevate us - those with whom we are not heavy, a place to be heard, a place to listen. The sandwich house has strong walls but a door that is always open. It is the place that we longed for, and a place
we can now come to know.
