Cortisol Control: The Benefits of Nature

You know that moment when your brain starts buffering? Like a spinning wheel of doom, but for your entire nervous system? That’s where I found myself recently—somewhere between “I’ve got this” and “please send snacks and an ambulance.”

Today’s yoga pose? Downward spiral.

The Story So Far

In 2020, body was in full rebellion. Pain, exhaustion, confusion, everything hurt, inside and out.

Since then, I’ve been clawing my way back by working on my physical, mental, social, and spiritual health. Like it’s a full-time job. There have been peaks and valleys (and maybe a few deep, dark sinkholes). Working on myself used to take all my time and energy.

But lately? I’ve felt strong. Strong enough to take on more.

More housework. More meals. More people to serve. More responsibilities. More friendships. More everything. The more I took on, the more I was given.

And I love all of it.

But herein lies the problem:

I will take care of everyone and everything until it dang near kills me.

The Wall: From Fortress to Fragments

I thought I was doing great. Managing the stress. Juggling the busyness. Feeling like a semi-functional adult again.

Then, I hit my wall.

And boy, was it a humdinger!. That wall came crumbling down on top of me like an emotional mega Jenga tower. Now I’m lying under the rubble of all my well-intentioned choices, beaten, broken, and weak.

But nobody saw the wall. Or the impact. Or the consequences. It can’t be seen. It can only be felt.

Acedia

A deep inner fatigue where one feels detached from purpose, overwhelmed by meaninglessness, and resistant to both spiritual and worldly engagement

I want to be dependable and capable. But having an invisible illness complicates things. The better I look, the more people assume I must be better.

Here’s the true list of things I am handling well right now:

So I push harder. Because I want to help. I want to contribute. It’s easier to push through the pain than defend my need to slow down.

{ “you’re looking so strong” “thanks, I can’t wait to cry tonight” }

But the harder I push, the higher my cortisol climbs. Until it’s practically coming out my nose and ears.

The Marvels of Scientific Wonder

Chronic stress and chronic pain are the best of friends 😀! The kind that make each other worse 😟.

When you live with chronic pain, your body is already in fight-or-flight mode. Add stress to that, and your nervous system goes full drama queen.

Cortisol, your main stress hormone, floods your system. Muscles tense. Inflammation rises. Pain intensifies.

And then, because pain is a stressor, your body releases more cortisol 😞.

It’s a vicious, exhausting, cortisol-fueled merry-go-round that no one in their right mind would sign up for.

So when I talk about being under the rubble, it’s not just a metaphor. My body feels it. My pain spikes. My thoughts spiral. My patience with humanity plummets to record lows.

I feel pointless, expendable, futile.

Exploring the Heart of the Forest

When I finally stop long enough to realize I’m drowning in stress hormones. I know exactly where I need to be: the forest.

Not just in it. But IN it.

That’s the difference forest therapy makes for me. It’s not a hike. It’s not exercise. It’s a slow, sensory, presence-filled practice that invites my body to exhale.

When my cortisol drops, which research shows it actually does in the forest (you can find such research here 👉 PubMed and here 👉 Frontiers), everything softens. My mind clears. The lines between “too much” and “just enough” come into focus. I can see my path ahead, appearing gently on my mind like drops of morning dew.

The forest is a hallowed place for me. It is one of the places I find my strength from heaven. I am reminded that I don’t have to hold everything up all the time. There is strength other than mine available for that. I picture the trees taking the weight. They can handle it. They’ve been doing it for centuries.

Beyond the Horizon

The stress of life is intense. The stress of life with chronic pain is compounded. Like someone hit “multiply by 100” on your degree of difficulty button.

There’s the financial tightening. The grief of the life you lost. Watching others live out dreams you’ve had to let go of.

And always, always, the judgment (spoken or not.)

“If you’re broke, go get a job!”

(Maybe it’s just the echo in my head but it’s really loud! 😳)

Then these words from Brene Brown come to mind,

You are imperfect, you are wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging.

But here’s the thing I keep learning:

My worth doesn’t live in what I produce. I need to write that again. My worth doesn’t live in what I produce!

I remember that I am still healing. And that’s holy work.

I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn’t it?

-Anne Shirley

Mastering the Art of Getting Back Up

If you’ve hit your wall (again), maybe this is your reminder that you don’t have to climb out of the rubble all at once. It’s okay to have days when your illness and pain win. But chronic illness also means I don’t have the luxury of waiting until I ‘feel better’ to participate in life.

Start by finding one quiet, living thing.

A tree. A bird. The wind.

Let it hold space for you until you can hold space for yourself.

Honored are the ones who hum back at bees, clap for rain, and admire the architecture of spider webs.

–Earthy Herbs

And if you happen to cry on a pinecone…

well, that’s just free aromatherapy. Shine bright darlings. The world needs your light.

October is about trees revealing colors they’ve hidden all year. People have an october as well.

–JM Storm