The power of a safe space

The phone buzzed aggressively against the wooden bedside table, jolting Sara awake. It was her second alarm - they were running late. She felt Owen shift beside her; at some point in the night, he had found his way into her bed again.

She gently shook his shoulder, whispering for him to hurry, before jumping out onto the cold floor. They moved through the morning in a near-silent, well-rehearsed dance - taking turns in the bathroom, getting dressed, grabbing school bags. Sara almost believed they were going to make it on time - until Owen tripped over a phone charger. The sudden jerk sent her phone flying, knocking over a glass of water. The glass hit the wooden bed frame before crashing onto the floor, shattering.

They both froze.

Sara barely had time to brace herself before the bedroom door flew open.

Her mother’s voice sliced through the air.
“What the fuck are you both doing, waking the entire fucking street? Why are you even here, making so much bloody racket?”
She took a slow breath, her face contorted with fury.
“Get to fucking school.”

The door slammed as she shuffled back into the darkness of her bedroom, still muttering, “For fuck’s sake... fucking kids.”

Sara kept moving. She got Owen to school - his eyes full, his stomach empty. But she wasn’t so lucky.

Signing in late at reception was always humiliating. Under the reason for lateness, she scribbled slept through alarm. The staff member barely glanced at her before smirking.
“Well, maybe break-time detention will remind you to actually get up tomorrow.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and rushed to her form room, already dreading the moment every head would turn as she walked in.

“Eee, what time do you call this, Missy?” Miss Greene’s voice rang out.

Sara slid into her seat, hoping that was the end of it.

“You know this means another break-time detention, right? Is this Tabi’s influence? I didn’t think you were that kind of student - especially not in your GCSE year.”

Across the room, Tabi threw her arms in the air in mock outrage, drawing laughter and attention away from Sara. Grateful, Sara shrank into her chair.

The school day dragged on.

Double Chemistry.

As she walked the long corridor, dread coiled in her stomach. Had she packed her homework? She could see it on her bedroom desk but couldn’t remember picking it up.

In class, the teacher called her name. “Sara, were you late this morning? That’s not like you.”

It wasn’t said with any malice, but Sara still felt another tiny piece of herself chip away.

She rifled through her bag - heart hammering - before her fingers brushed the sheet of paper. Relief. At least one thing had gone her way.

Detention.

The deputy head swaggered in, clipboard in hand, arrogance in the other.

“How can you pass an exam if you haven’t been in school - you can’t ”, he declared. “Missing vital education, throwing away your GCSEs - you’ll never get a good job, never amount to anything.”

Sara sat in silence. She had only missed a few minutes of registration, but his words burrowed deep. Maybe he was right.

By lunchtime, hunger gnawed at her. She grabbed a pasta pot and one of the last cookies before handing over her lunch card.

The cashier barely looked at her as she chatted to a colleague about some bloke named Dave. She swiped the card. The machine booped.

She swiped again, more forcefully. Another boop.

“Are you free school meals, love?” she asked, voice carrying over the queue.

Sara nodded, cheeks burning.

Another swipe. A beep of approval.

She was waved along, feeling even smaller than before.

Sara entered the counselling room in silence and sank into the chair.

Helen sat down across from her.

The room hushed.

Minutes passed.

“It’s been…” Sara tried, but the words caught in her throat.

“I know.”

Sara looked up. Helen’s soft smile said it all - that she did know. That she saw her.

A single tear slipped down Sara’s cheek.

They stayed quiet.

Slowly, her shoulders loosened. Eyes closed. Her breathing deepened. Her jaw unclenched.

Helen wondered if she had fallen asleep.

After a while, Sara opened her eyes.

Helen offered some colouring. They sat together, filling in intricate mandalas with smooth, satisfying markers, chatting mostly about colour choices.

Sara didn’t talk about her morning.

But she left the session lighter.

Maybe next week, she would.

There have been times when the exhaustion - physical or emotional - has been viscerally present as a young person enters the room.

Sometimes, that room is the only safe space they have. A space with no demands, no expectations, no judgment.

I have sat with students in silence for an hour. Sometimes they sleep. Sometimes we colour or craft. Sometimes we just talk about pizza toppings.

To an outsider, this may look like nothing.

But something deeply powerful is happening.

We are modelling safety. We are modelling acceptance.

And sometimes, simply knowing that this kind of space exists can save lives.