The Home as Refuge: Identity, Security, and Dignity in Old Age
Some issues seem so obvious that we tend to take them for granted. One of the most basic is having a place to live. I don’t mean just any place, but a dignified one, a place we can call home. A home is more than a roof, more than a door with a lock and four walls, more than a space to keep our belongings. The dwelling, where we shape our home, is also an extension of our identity, a space of security, and an emotional refuge. As one woman told me, “My house is my shelter.” This, which is already important for anyone, is even more so for those who add years to their lives.
One of the first concepts that helps us understand this importance is that of personal space. Robert Sommer, in his work Personal Space: The Behavioral Basis of Design, already stated (back in 1969) that human beings need to control a small environment around them to preserve their psychological balance. Spatial control, that of our immediate surroundings, would be an essential part of our emotional and psychological well-being.
Along these lines, the geographer J. Douglas Porteous describes three benefits that derive from the appropriation and control of the space we consider (from then on) our own: security, identity, and stimulation. These elements would make up what he calls territorial satisfactions and which, in the dwelling, would be expressed in multiple ways: from having the key to the door to being able to decide what objects surround us or how we organize the living room (how important this is, even if it may not seem so). The personalization of space—hanging a picture, choosing a bedspread, painting the walls—is a silent affirmation of our existence, a way of saying: “this is me.” And when we are prevented from doing so, we feel canceled. It can hurt in an almost physical way. Or, at the very least, depress us. It is not equally important for everyone, of course, but the personalization of space, to varying degrees, matters to all human beings. Depriving us of it is cruel.
The spatial dimension and its intersection with the concept of home acquire a crucial importance when we talk about older people. As mobility, income, or social networks decrease, and even the “obligation” to go out (for work, for example), the dwelling acquires a central role: it is where we spend more time, where we build routines that sustain us, and where we can—if conditions allow—continue to be ourselves.
Security, in turn, is not only physical (a dwelling in good condition, without architectural barriers that put us at risk or prevent us from moving), but also psychological. Rapoport, an anthropologist, pointed out that the mere fact of a stranger approaching our dwelling can generate stress. That is why we are so afraid of someone entering our house and why certain fear-driven discourses thrive; it is not so much about being robbed of what we have (without denying its importance) as it is about the violation of our private space. Having control over who enters our own home is a basic component of the perception of security.
And if housing provides security, it also fosters identity. Not only because it reflects who we are or how we see ourselves, but also because it projects how we want to be seen by others. Clare Cooper, in The House as a Symbol of Self, suggests that the home acts as a symbol of the “self”: it shows how we represent ourselves inwardly (to ourselves) and outwardly (to others). Sometimes this is expressed in the plants we choose to place on our windowsill (if we are able to), in the decorations we select inside, in the way we “open” (or not) our doors to the neighborhood. Even the doormat we choose carries meaning.
Some cultures tend to focus more on the private sphere; Mediterranean cultures are more inclined to understand the neighborhood as an extension of the home. In many Spanish cities, the social relationships woven on the staircase, in the entryway, or in the square are almost as important as what happens inside the house. In some way, the neighborhood becomes an extension of the home, and losing it—through forced relocation, gentrification that expels us, or being unable to afford rent—can be a major psychological blow and feel like a form of vital uprooting.
This ties in with what various scholars have shown about how people organize their perception of space (cognitive mapping), from Throwbridge to Kevin Lynch. According to Porteous, we tend to see the world in a home-centered way: the home is the reference point from which we interpret everything else. It is our center of gravity, so to speak. As this author says, “the home is a safe refuge for the individual who is forced to go out daily beyond its limits”; a place that shelters us from a world that often values the roles we play more than who we are. As I tell my students, we cry more easily inside our home than in the middle of the street. We need a space in which to express our vulnerability.
In this sense, ownership or stable control of a dwelling not only guarantees a physical space, but also symbolic rights: to be alone, to decide, to have privacy. Hence the anguish generated by situations such as evictions, unstable rentals, or overcrowded nursing homes without the possibility of personalization. Think, for example, about what happens inside us if we cannot decide to close our door or if we share a room without the possibility of privacy.
Private space—its quality, accessibility, and stability—is a key determinant of health and well-being. And it is also a condition for exercising rights. That is why it matters so much to talk about housing when we talk about aging. Because aging is not just a biological process, but also a personal experience and, therefore, a spatial one. We do not age in the abstract: we age in specific houses, in neighborhoods with names, in rooms with or without light.
Housing for older people is not just about ensuring a roof: it is about allowing them to preserve their autonomy, identity, and dignity. It is about allowing them to have a refuge from which they can continue inhabiting the world. The same as the rest of us will want one day.
