The Space to Be — On Safe Places, Sacred People, and the Gift of Ibanga

I don’t know about you, love, but I’ve spent a lot of my life being watchful.

Reading the room. Adjusting my tone. Wondering if I was too much, or not enough.

Learning to be agreeable. Manageable. Useful.

Not because I’m fake — but because I was taught that safety had to be earned.

That if I could just make people comfortable enough, they’d keep me close.

That if I could stay needed, I’d stay wanted.

That if I didn’t take up too much space, there’d always be room for me.

But what happens when you’re exhausted from managing your own existence?

What happens when what you need most isn’t to be impressive — but to be held?

The Gift of a Soft Landing

There are people — and maybe you’ve met one or two in your life —

who feel like exhale.

You don’t have to explain yourself to them.

You don’t have to clean up your mess before you show them your heart.

You don’t have to shrink, sparkle, or strategize.

With them, you can be raw. You can unravel. You can laugh until you snort.

You can cry mid-sentence and they won’t flinch.

They stay.

Not to fix you.

Not to judge you.

But to hold space while you come home to yourself.

That’s what safety feels like.

And if you’ve ever had it — even for a moment — you know how rare and precious it is.

What the World Doesn’t Teach Us

We don’t get taught how to do this for each other.

We get taught how to perform, how to protect, how to keep the peace by staying quiet.

But we don’t get taught how to be safe people for others.

We don’t get taught how to ask for safety, either.

And so we end up in friendships where we’re always the strong one.

In relationships where we’re walking on eggshells.

In families where love feels like obligation, not oxygen.

We wonder why we feel so alone, even surrounded by people.

Why we feel unknown, even when constantly seen.

Why we feel burnt out from always showing up, but never fully showing ourselves.

Ibanga

— The Sacred Space Between

In many African traditions, there is a word: ibanga.

It means “space” — but not just any space.

Ibanga is the sacred space between people.

The space that protects relationship.

That honours your being and mine.

That lets connection breathe instead of bind.

It’s the respectful distance that says:

I will not assume. I will not invade. I will not collapse into you or disappear for you.

I will stay me while I hold space for you to be you.

Can you feel the dignity in that? The reverence?

We Don’t Need to Be the Same to Be Safe

Somewhere along the line, we started confusing closeness with sameness.

We thought “safe” meant “we agree on everything.”

Or “you never upset me.”

Or “you always know what to say.”

But ibanga says something else:

That I can hold space for your experience, even if it’s different from mine.

That I can love you through discomfort, not just around it.

That I can honour your autonomy without needing you to be just like me.

Becoming the Space

What would it look like, love, if we all learned how to be ibanga?

To stop filling silence with advice,

and instead offer presence.

To stop fixing and rescuing,

and instead become soft landings for each other.

To stop performing closeness,

and instead build intimacy through integrity — through clear boundaries, deep listening, and the humility to not know.

Because real safety isn’t always gentle.

Sometimes it means saying, “That’s not okay.”

Sometimes it means telling the truth even if your voice shakes.

Sometimes it means stepping back with love so both people can breathe.

Safety is not about being nice.

It’s about being real — and staying.

Finding Your People

If you’ve never had this kind of safety, I want you to know something.

You’re not broken.

You’re not too much.

You’re not asking for too much.

And you’re not alone.

You deserve people who can hold you in your fullness.

You deserve spaces where your truth doesn’t feel like a burden.

You deserve to be loved without performing for it.

And you can be that space for others, too.

Closing

So here’s what I’m practising now — in my own friendships, in love, in how I parent, in how I lead:

I am learning to stop managing people’s comfort and start honouring my truth.

I am learning to ask for what I need and trust that the right people can hold it.

I am learning to stay grounded in myself while holding space for someone else to be fully them.

This is what ibanga teaches me.

It is not separation. It is sacredness.

It is not distance. It is dignity.

It is the space in which love becomes safe to breathe.