What Does It Really Take to Feel Safe?

By M.E. Avila 

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, and I've been thinking about what safety really means. We often talk about domestic violence in terms of leaving, getting help, and starting over. But I wonder how often we stop to think about what that actually looks like for someone. Where do you go when you have nowhere to go? How do you start over when you don't have the financial means to do so? What happens when the person you're trying to get away from is also connected to your home, your children, your transportation, or your livelihood? These aren't simple questions, and the answers aren't always found on a resource list.

And here's something I think we need to say more often: leaving isn't always the safest option at a particular moment, and staying doesn't mean someone has accepted the abuse. Survivors are often making careful decisions based on risks, responsibilities, and circumstances that the rest of us may never fully understand. Safety looks different for everyone, and survivors deserve to define what safety means for themselves.

For those of us who work in community, particularly Community Health Workers (CHWs), I think there's an important lesson here. We don't always know what someone is carrying when they walk through our doors. We don't know what it took for them to show up, ask a question, or share even a small part of their story. And we certainly don't know everything they've already done to survive.

I've always believed that relationships matter in this work. Not the transactional kind where we provide a referral, check a box, and move on. I'm talking about the relationships where people know they can come back, where they don't have to explain themselves over and over, and where their decisions are respected even when we might not understand them. That's what I mean when I say trust is infrastructure.

Being survivor-centered means we don't make decisions for people. We listen, respect their choices, protect their privacy, and recognize that they are the experts on their own circumstances. It also means understanding that safety planning isn't a one-time conversation or a checklist. It is an ongoing process that should reflect each person's needs, priorities, and changing circumstances, with specialized support when needed.

Sometimes we get so focused on helping people that we forget to ask whether the help we're offering actually works for their lives. We ask why someone stayed. Why they went back. Why they didn't follow through. But what if we asked what was missing? What would have made more options possible? What could our organizations, our workplaces, and our communities have done differently? I think we'd learn a lot more by listening. And I don't want this conversation to be only about what isn't working, because I believe there is so much possibility in what we can build together.

I've seen what happens when people show up for one another. When someone shares a resource, makes a connection, offers a little flexibility, or simply listens without judgment. Those things may seem small, but when someone is trying to find their footing, they can mean everything.

For CHWs, this is already part of the work we do. We build relationships, recognize strengths, connect people to resources, and help navigate systems that aren't always easy to navigate. We don't have to have every answer or fix every problem. We also need to recognize when specialized domestic violence advocates are better equipped to provide support. Our role is not to investigate, pressure someone to disclose, or decide what they should do next. It is to help people understand their options and access support when and how they choose, while being clear about any limits to confidentiality or reporting obligations.

This October, I hope we think about domestic violence a little differently. Not only in terms of what survivors need to do, but what the rest of us have a responsibility to create. Because I don't think safety should depend on how resourceful someone is, how much money they have, or whether they happen to know the right person. Everyone deserves the opportunity to feel safe, to make their own choices, and to imagine a future that looks different from their past.

And maybe that's where hope begins. Not with telling someone everything will be okay, but with building the relationships, resources, and communities that make something better possible. That's the kind of work I believe in. And it's the kind of community I hope we continue building together.

If you or someone you know needs support: The National Domestic Violence Hotline offers confidential support and safety-planning resources at 800-799-7233, by texting START to 88788, or at thehotline.org. If your phone or internet activity may be monitored, consider using a safer device to seek support.