Writing Prompt: Where Do You Feel Safe?

Content Warning: Gun Violence in Schools

For the past week, all I’ve heard are warnings about how scary the world is right now.

But fear of the world isn’t new to me.

In sixth grade, I learned how to crawl under my desk after someone carved a bomb threat into the bathroom wall to get out of an exam. In ninth grade, my classmates and I sat in a computer lab just an hour away from Sandy Hook, watching the horror unfold in real time. By senior year, we were huddled in a corner of the cafeteria during another lockdown, quietly asking each other how exactly this was supposed to keep us safe, when all we felt like were targets.

There were at least thirty more drills, threats, or real scares during my years as a student— and I still consider myself one of the lucky ones.

Now, in my late twenties, I’ve chosen teaching as a career. One of the running jokes is that I decided to go back to school forever. That instead of taking the freedom that comes after graduation, I sprinted straight back into essays, reading assignments, and the endless cycle of grades and exams.

But I’ve always known I wanted to teach. There was never a backup plan—nothing else ever felt right. I loved the essays, the classroom discussions, the challenge of helping someone see something in a new way. I love showing students that reading can actually be enjoyable when they find something that speaks to them.

More than anything, I love being able to create a space where my students feel safe, steady, heard, and understood. A space that pushes back against a world that too often tries to wear them down and dim their light.

Of course, teaching comes with its own chaos: the never-ending cycle of grading, planning, emails. But it also comes with fear lurking around every corner. Only now, I’m not the one crawling under a desk— I’m the one mapping out our escape if a threat ever comes through the door.

This morning, our campus issued an alert that there were rumors on social media about a potential shooter on school grounds. Police labeled them “just rumors,” and reassured us we were safe; but I couldn’t shake the unease. I found myself texting former students, checking in on the ones I’ve only just met, and running through a thousand different ways I could make them feel safe in our classroom tomorrow.

The truth is, I still don’t know the right answer.

What do you say to kids who have never known school as a safe place? How do you offer peace to students who have only ever entered classrooms through a haze of fear and uncertainty?

Maybe you don’t have the perfect words— but you show up anyway, and you try to build something softer in the middle of all the hard.

As teachers, the greatest thing we learn to do is to let students know we’re here for them, and that they’re not alone in how they feel. It’s the best thing I’ve been able to offer in my career. I share my own experiences of being afraid, and I remind them that it’s okay to feel this way as long as we have a plan for how to care for ourselves when things get hard.

Last week in class, we talked about the five senses— not just how they can strengthen our writing, but how they can help us better understand ourselves as writers, students, and people. When I brought up “touch,” we had a conversation about internal vs. external sensations. How important it is to tune in to what’s happening inside our bodies, not just the things outside of us that might be hurting.

And in moments like today, that internal awareness (the tightness in your chest, the tension in your shoulders, the changes in your breathing) is more important than anything. That’s your body trying to talk to you. Trying to keep you safe.

So tomorrow in class, my students are going to listen. But first, you can start us off.

Writing Prompt: Where Do You Feel Safe?

Write about a physical or imagined place where you feel most at peace. Describe it using all five senses.

Think:

• What do you see, hear, smell, taste, and feel?

• What makes this space calming?

• How does your body respond when you’re there?

• What happens to your thoughts?

Let this be your place: A space you can return to whenever you need it.

Writing may not fix everything; but sharing our stories with like-minded people can relieve the heavy weight on our shoulders, and help us find those who just may have the words for what we’re still trying to understand ourselves.