When I was little, my I would’ve told you my safe place was that spot behind the couch where I could build a world with all my Barbies. Or I might have said curled up on that same couch with my dad. Those places never lasted. I had to clean up, dad had projects to work on, nothing that felt comfortable could stay forever. We got a new house later in life. I wasn’t allowed to paint the walls. I couldn’t set plants on those shelves. Couldn’t light candles, you know, living in the basement things. I didn’t pick this mattress but it’s nice and it’s mine for now. Then I moved into a dorm at university. I had 3 roommates (I miss you, if you’re reading this). And I mean yeah, we spilled cider into the carpet and left hair dye in the shower but. It wasn’t ours. It definitely wasn’t mine. I moved twice a year for the next 4 years. And then hopped to a few different homes after that. Living in a suitcase. Went back home for a while, moved my bed around, which was nice. I sticky-tacked some pictu...