When I chose my words of affirmation for 2025, uncertainty was not at the top of the list. We are most definitely living through a moment of deep uncertainty—where economic instability, shifting policies, and dismantled social frameworks leave many of us grappling with exhaustion, grief, and the weight of what comes next.
But if history has shown us anything, it’s this: we do not endure these moments alone.
Community sustains us. It always has.
And right now, as we process loss, uncertainty, and the pressure to simply keep going, we must also create space to pause, reflect, and regain clarity—together.
There is a real grief in this moment.
For some, it is the loss of a job and sense of security.
For others, it is the dismantling of their heart work which they’ve poured themselves into.
For many, it is the realization that spaces once believed to be safe no longer are.
But grief demands to be acknowledged. And in a world that rushes us toward the next crisis, we are rarely given time to process before being pushed forward again.
Before we act, we must create space to feel.
Before we move, we must regain our footing.
And when the weight is too much to carry alone, we need places that don’t just acknowledge our exhaustion, but give us the space to gather our strength again.
Throughout history, we have created community—safe spaces where we could speak freely, organize, and protect one another in times of struggle.
In church basements and at kitchen tables, to community centers and cultural spaces, these havens offered refuge—places where movements intersected, ideas were born, and people organized for justice and survival. They were sacred. They were hard-won. They were necessary
And today, we still need them.
But the landscape has shifted. The spaces where we once found refuge are being challenged. Conversations that were once tolerated are now silenced. The ability to pause, process, and strategize freely is being squeezed by urgency, pressure, and systemic pushback.
That’s why we need safe(r) spaces.
Not because the work of the past was insufficient—but because every era calls for a different kind of protection, a different kind of strategy, a different kind of space to sustain the fight.
Safe(r) spaces are not a rejection of what came before. They are a response to what is happening now.
They are spaces where:
Safe(r) spaces are not about retreat. They are about preserving the ability to think, to breathe, and to move forward with intention.
If we want space to exist for real dialogue, real reflection, and real strategy, we have to create it. Because safe(r) spaces aren’t just places to rest—they are where we build the foundation for the resistance that must follow.
Not all movement is progress. Not all urgency is strategy.
Some of the most powerful forms of resistance begin with a simple act:
Pausing.
And, in stillness, ask:
This is what thoughtful resistance looks like—making intentional choices about when to pause, when to speak, and when to move.
And most importantly, we will move in ways that last. Because resistance is not just about this moment—it is about ensuring we have the strength to keep going, not just in crisis, but in the everyday work of building something better.
So, as you step away from this, ask yourself: Where do I need to create space—either for myself, or for someone else? Because the spaces we build today will determine how strong we are tomorrow.
