The "Healing Place"
I've come to call my home the "Healing Place," since I'd built it as a sanctuary where I could recover from entirely too many recent catastrophes. But it also seems to exert a strangely magical relaxing/uplifting/revealing effect on other people as well. So in addition to my "Healing Place," I've come to call it the "Safe Space," as people tend to bare their souls almost spontaneously not long after arriving.
I'm not about to reveal what people have said in the "safe space" for what should be extremely obvious reasons (akin to patient confidentiality—which is not to say I'm a doctor of any kind). But I can say it's quite extraordinary what's been uttered in confidence within the walls of my living room.
I'm not sure why this happens so often, although the setting may have much to do with it; I suspect it allows people to feel genuinely safe and free of judgment, and intuitively know that their "confessions" often make them feel better. I'm not certain how others may feel being here, but for me it's probably as close to a religious experience as I'm ever likely to have, and it makes me feel honored and humbled to be here and able to share it with others.
Regrettably, while it's an emotionally healing place, it's not a physically healing place; it would be nice if it could cure my congestive heart failure. Oh, well.