For those of us who grew up in the North, testing the thickness of ice is a familiar and almost sacred process, one that taught us patience, caution, and trust. As kids, we eagerly awaited the freezing temperatures to stretch over a prolonged period, anticipating that magical moment when our pond would freeze over. Thin layers of ice would begin forming around the edges, as fragile as paper. Slowly but surely, the ice would thicken and spread across the surface, inch by inch, until the entire pond was sealed in a frozen embrace. That’s when the real fun—and testing—began.
We would start small, tossing a pebble onto the ice and watching it skitter across the surface. Then, we’d search for larger rocks, branches, anything to gauge the ice's strength. These objects, strewn across the frozen pond, were our little markers of confidence. The next step was finding a stick to hit the ice, listening for the sound it made—was it a deep, reassuring hum, or a dangerous crackle? Finally, with cautious excitement, we’d gingerly place a foot on the edge, transferring just a fraction of our weight. If the ice wasn’t ready, you’d be greeted with the sharp, cold shock of your foot plunging into icy water. But when the conditions were right, when the ice passed all of our tests, we would step out fully, carefully making our way farther from the edge. In time, we’d forget our initial caution, playing hockey with makeshift pucks and chasing the dog, fully trusting the ice to hold us.
This process of testing the ice mirrors how we test the safety in relationships —whether romantic, friendships, or even work-related. Each relationship, much like stepping onto a frozen pond, requires careful consideration of whether it will support us.
At first, we look for signs, elements that give us reason to explore—shared values, common interests, or a sense of alignment with where we’re headed in life. We begin testing the edges of the relationship, engaging in small conversations about what matters most to us, just as we tested the ice with pebbles and rocks. Each interaction is a way of leaning in, feeling out whether this relationship is one we can step onto with trust.
But the ultimate test of a relationship’s safety isn’t at the edge of the pond. It’s in the middle—the point where we’ve ventured far from the shoreline and must trust completely in the strength of the ice. The middle of the pond is where we have to ask ourselves: “Do I feel safe here with this person? Do I trust them with my emotional, spiritual, and physical well-being? Can I rely on the stability of our connection, or will it give way beneath me?”
Every relationship involves testing, trust, and a growing faith in the other person’s integrity and emotional support. Sometimes, we’re halfway across the ice when we hear that heart-stopping crack—a signal that the safety we once felt is no longer there. Maybe we misjudged the conditions, or perhaps something has changed. Either way, it’s time to retreat. The same applies to relationships. We may sense a break in trust, a misalignment, or an emotional vulnerability that leaves us feeling unsafe. And just like on the ice, when we realize it’s no longer secure, we have to step back to protect ourselves.
When we think of safety, physical safety is often the first thing that comes to mind. But safety runs deeper than that. For us to fully thrive, we need emotional and spiritual safety, too. Feeling secure in a relationship means knowing we can be our true selves, express our needs, and lean on the other person for support without fear that the "ice" will shatter beneath us. If we ignore the early warning signs—those small cracks in trust, integrity, or respect—we risk falling through the ice when it matters most. Each aspect of safety is like a layer of ice—if one cracks, the whole foundation can become unstable.
Just as we learned to trust the ice to hold us, we must also trust ourselves to recognize when a relationship feels solid or when it’s time to step back. True safety in relationships, like a frozen pond, comes when we can confidently move toward the middle of the pond, knowing the relationship will hold us . When these are in place, we can step fully into the relationship, knowing that it will support us as we move, play, and grow.
So the next time you find yourself stepping onto the ice of a new relationship, ask yourself: “Would I feel safe with this person in the middle of a frozen pond?” Because when you’re too far from the edge to run back to safety, that’s when the strength of the ice—and the relationship—matters most.
And when the conditions are right, the possibilities are endless.
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