Editor’s Notes: On Spaces & Places

An inside look, just for A+ members, from Autostraddle’s editors on the process, struggles, and surprises of working on what you’re reading on the site. We learn so much from this work before it ever even makes it to your eyes; now you can, too!

I spend a lot of time thinking about spaces. Spaces that are mine, spaces that I’ve been kept out of, spaces that define me or restrict me or restrain me. I’m someone that has lived in a lot of different places, who doesn’t feel attached to any particular region, and never knows what to say when people ask where I’m from. Home for me has always been about people, rather than cities or towns, apartments or houses.

Yet every time I move, every time I have to establish a new space for myself, I gravitate towards the same kinds of things, the same sensory experiences, the same textures and colors and layouts. I know what makes me feel at home, makes me feel safe and comfortable, makes me feel like I can cry and scream and laugh and dream in the ways that I need to. And no matter where you live, no matter what kind of space you call your own, I have a feeling that you do, too.

Spaces & Places is about the physical locations that we fill with our hopes and dreams, our longings, our aspirations. We choose objects of comfort and joy, creativity and inspiration, softness and structure — articles that help us feel anchored, pieces that give us pleasure. This isn’t about owning an extravagant home or being able to do massive, expensive renovations; it’s instead about cultivating a sense of belonging, about having a sacred, personal place that lets us be our full and complete selves without reservation or self-consciousness. It’s about giving ourselves permission to be comfortable, safe, protected.

The last few years have been impossibly destabilizing, in so many ways, for so many of us. The pandemic ripped countless anchors away, forced us to hide and disconnect in ways that we will be discovering and processing for years to come. Many people moved to be closer to family or friends, gave up the homes they’d established in order to maintain the most important connections they had. Others hunkered down in beloved cities or homes, refusing to leave, believing that the space they’d created would be enough to sustain the long months of isolation. We all are surviving in the ways that we know how, making space within our spaces to keep growing, changing, adjusting.

When the pandemic started, I didn’t know that I would end up losing my home. Not only an apartment that I loved, but a person that I’d considered home for thirteen years, a person I’d followed around the world, a person I’d given up places for over and over. It was a break that was done with love and care, but it was still a devastating loss, a massive crack in my personal foundation. I gave up so much safety, comfort, protection, with the hopes that the new life that I would build for myself would also include brilliant inspiration, fierce love, endless magic. My new place isn’t fancy, isn’t extravagant — but it is mine, and I am slowly, tenderly making it a home: a place that I can be my fullest, truest self, that can reflect my many facets, that gives me space to dream and explore.

Over the next few weeks, we’ll be publishing essays and stories, guides and wishlists, galleries and photographs: all offering glimpses of our most sacred spaces, our most personal places, our most treasured retreats. The ways that we allow ourselves to take up space, to make our homes comfortable and reflective of who we are, are gifts that we give to ourselves. And no matter where you work or play or lay down your head, I hope that in exploring these intimacies, in examining the places we spend our days, we can also learn more about who we are, what we need, and how we thrive.

Welcome to Spaces & Places.
-Meg Jones Wall, Guest Editor