I'll admit it: for a long time, the phrase safe space rubbed me the wrong way.
Like many people, I associated it with weakness. It felt like a term that had been turned into a punchline—a way of describing someone who couldn't handle reality.
I've since changed my mind.
Not because someone convinced me I was wrong, but because I eventually discovered I needed one.
And what I found wasn't weakness at all.
It was strength.
Last year was one of the hardest years of my life.
For more than a decade, I had poured myself into building my company. Like many founders, I didn't realize how much of my identity had become intertwined with its success. When things were going well, I was doing well. When the business struggled, I struggled.
As the company entered a difficult season, I found myself in all-to-familiar territory. I was exhausted. Stressed. Unable to see clearly. Every problem felt bigger than it was. Every decision felt heavier than it should have.
I kept looking for solutions in the same places I'd always looked: work harder, push longer, think more, solve faster.
None of it worked.
Eventually, I realized I needed help. I hit a wall and found myself unable to move.
That realization set me on a journey that included therapy, a sabbatical, and some difficult conversations with myself.
Along the way, I was introduced to the concept of a safe space.
Not a physical location.
A place I could return to in my mind whenever life felt chaotic.
A place that reminded me who I was when fear, stress, and uncertainty were trying to tell me otherwise.
What's interesting is that I didn't have to invent mine.
It already existed.
A year earlier, I had completed something that had been on my bucket list for more than twenty years: hiking the Kalalau Trail on Kauai and camping on Kalalau Beach.
The trip didn't go according to plan. Everyone who was supposed to come with me backed out. At the last minute, I had to decide whether to attempt one of the most challenging hikes I'd ever done completely alone.
I almost didn't go.
But this was MY bucket list, and I wasn't about to let the flakiness of others hold me back.
And I thank myself every day for that decision.
For several days, I lived in one of the most beautiful places I've ever experienced. I camped near a waterfall. I listened to the ocean. I watched the sun move across towering cliffs and disappear behind the horizon.
The experience left a mark on me.
Months later, when I was asked to create my safe space, my camping spot popped into my head and never let go. It was such an incredible, spiritual experience... one that defined the strength I was capable of even when I was swimming with doubts.
It was the proudest moment of my life that didn't involve my kids or wife or work or any of the things that occupy my heart and mind most of the time. It was the proudest moment of my life that was about me and ONLY me.
Today, when I meditate, that's where I go.
I can hear the waves.
I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin.
I can smell the ocean air as it fills my lungs.
I can feel the breeze moving through the trees and my hair.
The image is so vivid that stepping into it feels almost automatic.
Over time, it has become something more than a memory.
It's become an anchor.
A reminder that uncertainty isn't permanent.
A reminder that I have survived difficult things before.
A reminder that beneath the stress, the deadlines, the responsibilities, and the noise, there is still a stable version of me waiting patiently underneath it all.
A reminder that I am capable of ANYTHING I set my mind to.
That's what a safe space really is.
Not a hiding place.
Not an escape from reality.
A place where you can reconnect with yourself before returning to reality.
For some people, that place will be real.
A beach.
A cabin.
A mountain trail.
A childhood backyard.
For others, it may be entirely imagined. There are no rules.
The goal isn't accuracy. The goal is connection.
If you're participating in these meditations, I encourage you to create one of your own.
Give it detail.
Notice the sounds.
Notice the smells.
Notice the temperature of the air.
Notice what makes you feel secure there.
The more senses you involve, the easier it becomes to return.
And if you find a place that resonates deeply with you, take a picture.
Save it.
Revisit it.
Let it become familiar.
Because sooner or later, life will become chaotic again.
When it does, you'll be glad you have somewhere to stand.
Disclaimer: I am not a therapist. I am an entrepreneur embarking on a spiritual and mental journey with the guidance of experts, designed to help me think clearly and act intentionally.
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