compassion – SUNBEAM ACRES

Navigating Emotional Struggles Gracefully: Staying Grounded in the Woods

July 7, 2026 pammunkholm

This line 👇🏼 from a song deserves to stand alone.

The world is hard on beautiful things.

-“Beautiful Things” by Megan Moroney

When I hear this line, I think about the people I know who have been hurt by the world. It takes not only our emotions for a nosedive.

But also our peace.

Our patience.

Our nervous systems.

Our hope.

Our ability to assume the best instead of the worst.

You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.

–Jon Kabat-Zinn

It feels like we’re all moving through life with our shoulders somewhere around our ears. Chronic illness, fear of aging, financial stress, uncertainty, bad news on an endless loop. Some people are simply trying to get through Tuesday with enough energy to make supper 🙋‍♀️ .

It doesn’t take much to tip us over.🐄

A few days ago, mine came in the form of a boat launch.

Anyone who’s spent time around a busy boat launch knows it’s a fascinating social experiment.

An overabundance of strong opinions and egos exists.

There are no rules. Written or unwritten.

Just enough ambiguity transpires, that everyone believes they’re right.

I’ve been launching boats for about fifteen years. I know the rhythm. I stay out of people’s way, wait until my truck is actually in the water before moving, and do my best to keep things safe and efficient.

Apparently one gentleman decided I’d “cut the line.”

Boat launches really do produce fascinating specimens of humanity.

I’ve learned that confidence can be surprisingly unsettling to some people. Especially when it arrives in the form of a woman who knows how to load the boat on the trailer without making a production of it.

It’s funny how a little perceived competition can bring out our inner third-grader.

The equipment may have six-figure price tags, but occasionally the conflict resolution skills still come from recess days gone by.

When I calmly explained why I was waiting where I was. And how the process normally works. He didn’t want an explanation.

He began clapping sarcastically.

The world doesn’t just wear us down through tragedy. Sometimes it does it one sarcastic clap at a time.

–Claire played by Molly Gordon in “The Bear“

As he mocked me it became clear he just wanted an audience.

He got one when a couple of other boaters joined in the jeering.

I wish I could tell you I laughed it off.

Instead, my nervous system hit the panic button.

My cortisol rose faster than I can launch my boat. (I’m a pro at both.)

My heart raced. My hands shook.

My cortisol packed a lunch and settled in for two to three business days.

Several days later, I could still feel my body replaying the scene.

I think what bothers me most, at this point, is somewhere out there is a misguided soul telling the story of the woman who “cut the line” at the dock.

How people treat you is their karma, how you react is yours.

–Wayne Dyer

Maybe you’ve had moments like that.

Perhaps someone says something. Misunderstands you. Treats you unfairly.

And your body reacts long after the event is over.

For those of us living with chronic illness or chronic stress, these moments don’t simply sting.

They cost us.

That’s why a line from a recent episode of the Untangle podcast kept coming back to me.

In “Quiet Strength and Equanimity: Finding Calm in a Chaotic World,” Margaret Cullen explores how we stay peaceful in a world that often seems determined to take our peace away.

One story she shares has stayed with me.

A man is rowing through thick fog when he notices another boat heading directly toward him.

The other boat is bigger. He should have the right of way.

He shouts. No response.

He waves. Nothing.

The other boat keeps coming.

His frustration turns to anger.

“Move!”

Just before the collision, he swerves.

As the fog clears, he realizes…

The boat is empty. No one was steering.

Instantly, his anger disappears.

Who was he angry with?

No one.

Since first hearing that story, I’ve asked myself this question.

Is the boat empty?

Not literally.

But is this personal?

Or am I assigning intention where there may be none?

Maybe they’re exhausted. Grieving. Terrified.

Maybe they simply don’t know any better.

Or maybe they’re carrying hurts I can’t see.

None of those possibilities excuse poor behaviour.

But they completely change where I direct my emotional energy.

Sometimes, seeing clearly dissolves the anger.

Pronoia
The opposite of paranoia. it is the belief that people or the world are secretly working in your favour. That events, people and circumstaces are somehow conspiring to help you.

That’s different from stuffing feelings down or pretending they don’t exist.

You can’t bypass emotions.

You can’t slap a positive quote over a nervous system that’s sounding the alarm.

But sometimes the alarm quiets on its own because you suddenly realize…

There isn’t actually an enemy here.

Just another imperfect human.

When the boat is empty, compassion often becomes easier than combat.

Margaret Cullen also offers another perspective I love.

Ask yourself:

How will this feel next week? Next month? Next year?

It’s amazing how many mountains quietly shrink into molehills when viewed from a little distance.

Then she takes it even further.

She talks about astronauts experiencing the Overview Effect. Seeing Earth from space and returning with an entirely different understanding of what matters.

Imagine grandmother’s wisdom. Now multiply it by the view from orbit.

Our arguments. Our bruised egos. Our need to be right.

They suddenly become very small compared with this astonishing little blue planet we’re all sharing.

That doesn’t make our feelings unimportant.

It simply gives them context.

Another surprisingly effective tool?

Humour. Humour interrupts the story we’re telling ourselves.

We’ve all done it.

We become convinced we’ve been wronged in the most spectacular fashion imaginable.

Our spouse is over there admiring a duck while we have mentally drafted the closing argument for a trial that nobody else even knows is happening.

Sometimes all it takes is one ridiculous observation from them to break the spell.

I wish I could say I found “the funny” at the boat launch.

I wasn’t there yet.

Maybe next time.

One tool that has helped me far more consistently is asking:

Am I living this moment according to my values?

Not theirs. Mine.

I can’t control sarcasm.

I can’t control mockery.

I can’t control who decides to clap sarcastically at a stranger.

But I can decide whether I respond with kindness.

Integrity. Respect. Compassion.

Those are mine to keep.

The more our daily lives align with our values, the steadier we become.

Peace stops being something we chase and starts becoming somewhere we live.

The idea of felt safety is something we’ll explore more in the next post.

Felt safety isn’t the absence of fear.

It isn’t the absence of challenge.

It’s your nervous system recognizing that you have enough capacity to face what’s in front of you.

That you are enough.

That you can survive this moment.

Forest therapy has become one of the places where I practice exactly that.

The forest rarely requires me to react in the moment.

It stretches time. It expands perspective.

It reminds me that not everything deserves my nervous system’s full emergency response.

When someone steals my peace…

I take it to the woods.

There, I remember that I’m part of something much older than a rude exchange at a boat launch.

Much bigger than today’s frustration.

And much more beautiful than the story my anxious brain was writing five minutes earlier.

Eventually I remember that peace is a terrible thing to hand over to someone you’ve never met.

A Forest Therapy Invitation

If you’re new here and want to learn more about forest therapy and how it works, check out this page. The Gist

The next time something rattles you, resist the urge to replay it over and over.

Instead, head outside.

Find one tree that catches your attention.

Stand with it for five slow breaths.

Now ask yourself:

Is the boat empty?
Will this matter next year?
What would this look like from space?
What response best reflects my values?
How can I become the tenderness this moment needs?

Don’t force an answer.

Just notice what changes.

Sometimes the forest doesn’t solve the problem.

It simply reminds us that we are far bigger than it.

Forest therapy doesn’t help me escape the world. It helps me return to it without becoming like it.

Margaret Cullen ends her book Quiet Strength with words I borrow:

May each of us find a way to bring balance and tenderness to this floating world, moment by moment, drop by drop.

I can’t think of a better response to a world that is hard on beautiful things.

Let’s become one of the beautiful things that refuses to grow hard.

The world may be hard on beautiful things. That doesn’t mean beautiful things have to become hard.

Instead…

Let’s become the tenderness.

In a gentle way you can shake the world.

–Mahatma Gandhi

The Healing Power of Nature and Acceptance

September 30, 2025September 30, 2025 pammunkholm

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.🍂

-F Scott Fitzgerald

Elder Robert D. Hales once said:

When you cannot do what you have always done, then you only do what matters most.

Those words sink deep for me as someone who lives with chronic pain.

There are many things I cannot do anymore—not the way I used to, not with the energy or freedom I once had. And yet, in the midst of those limitations, I’ve discovered that my life is being reshaped around what truly matters most.

🔍 Finding Clarity in Constraints

Elder Hales went on to say:

Physical restrictions can expand vision. Limited stamina can clarify priorities. Inability to do many things can direct focus to a few things of greatest importance.

That is the truth of my life. I don’t have the stamina to do everything I once could. But I do have the vision to see what is worth my energy. Pain has forced me to slow down, to let go of what doesn’t serve me, and to focus on what is most meaningful—faith, relationships, healing moments, and time in nature. 🌲

💛 “Come What May and Love It”

Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin also offered a phrase I want to cling to:

Come what may, and love it.

His mother taught him those words, and he later reminded us that

adversity, if handled correctly, can be a blessing in our lives.

I admit—I don’t always love it. There are days when pain feels relentless, and my instinct is to resist, to grieve what I’ve lost, or to dwell in shame when I make mistakes. I make a lot of those. Mistakes. I find my brain just checks out while dealing with chronic pain. 🧠

🚤 A Maritime Memoir Best Left Unsailed

Like this past weekend, for example. I may or may not have put my husband and myself in mortal danger on the lake (😬 oops). I turned off the boat engine when the battery was low—thinking I’d heard Brent say to shut it off. Turns out, he had said the opposite. 😳

This process set off so many megaddons-

We would have drifted helplessly across the lake. But Brent, my hero, jumped in and anchored us to shore 🥶 . Now he was soaked through with no dry clothes.

Meanwhile, the navy was literally training around us, however, we were too embarrassed to ask for help. What would you have done?

My dad had to haul out his sailboat ⛵️ that was already getting packed away for winter. The sight of them motoring across the harbor with no sails…well, let’s just say it was memorable.

There we were, covered in lifejackets and wrapped in blankets, being eaten alive by biting flies.

At the time, I didn’t want to “come what may and love it.” I wanted to wallow in shame for the mistake that stranded us. But shame didn’t help. It only made me feel worse.

Looking back, I see parts of it that were quite humorous.

Brent’s pants (they had to be fished out of the lake after the wind blew them from their safe perch where they would stay dry while he swam us to safety) soon had the appearance that we had been shipwrecked for months by the time rescue came.

Wet sweatpants are diabolical. Wet sweat shorts on the other hand- marginally better.

So out came the fishing knife (he did not have them on at this stage of the procedure) and off came his pride and a few inches of dripping fleece. Suggesting a shipwreck much longer than the hour or so that it actually turned into.

I couldn’t help but think in this scenario, I was the Gilligan.

On the contrary, the more loving response—for myself—would have been to let it go. To choose self compassion. To laugh. To accept my parents’ kindness.

And Brent’s! Even as he frantically thought through what he needed to do then jumped in the water. Even as he stood there shivering and dripping wet. Even as he swatted flies in nothing but my blanket, he told me not to worry. Not to feel bad.

He encouraged self compassion from the outset. To remember that we would survive the “fly apocalypse,” catch a fish 🎣 , and make it home safely. He reminded me to stay focused on what matters.

Meanwhile…

The devil whispered in my ear, “You’re not strong enough to withstand this storm.” I whispered in the devil’s ear, “I love your eggs.” 🤦🏼‍♀️

🍄 Woodland Wellness: Discovering Peace Among Trees 🌲

Elder Hales reminded us that even the senior leaders of our church aren’t spared from affliction:

Rather, they are blessed and strengthened to press forward valiantly while suffering in and with affliction.

That idea gives me hope. If they can press forward valiantly, maybe so can I. Maybe so can we. Whatever our struggle may be.

That’s where forest therapy comes in for me. When my pain feels like too much, I turn to the forest.

Dendrolatry
a deep reverence for the trees, where every branch whispers ancient wisdom and every root holds the secrets of the earth– to honour a tree is to honour the quiet, sacred connection between life and nature.

The forest is where I remember how to breathe, how to soften, how to let go of shame and find a thread of joy. The forest teaches me that even in adversity, there can be beauty. Even when I’m hurting, there can be laughter, resilience, and connection.

My adversity is chronic pain. It is woven into every corner of my life. It shapes my days and my choices, and so it will show up in my writing and conversations, too. It is part of who I am.

Some people wish I’d talk about it less, but this is my reality. And it’s also where I’ve learned to discover meaning, humor, and even joy.

The woods invite me to notice beauty even when pain is loud. The trees 👆🏼 don’t erase adversity, but they remind me that I am still alive, still loved, and still capable of joy. 🍃

💖 Embracing Love, Bidding Farewell to Shame

So next time I find myself swarmed by biting flies (literally or figuratively in the form of invasive thoughts), or when I am caught in the grip of pain, I hope I can remember Elder Wirthlin’s (and his mother’s) invitation:

Come what may, and love it.

Not because it’s easy. But because it’s the better way forward. 😊

September was a thirty-
days long goodbye to
summer, to the season that 
left everybody both happy 
and weary of the warm, 
humid weather and the 
exhausting but 
thrilling adventures

-Lea Malot

As we bid farewell to shame we also bid farewell to summer. The following is an unorganized smattering of my summer adventures. Enjoy perusing (or skip it altogether). I encourage you to do the same. Enjoy your memories. Feel free to share stories or pictures in the comments!

Enjoy your life and the beauty that nature provides. If you’d like to schedule a forest therapy walk before the snow flies, let me know in the comments, or email me @ pam.munkholm@gmail.com I’d love to show you how healing it really is.

A Grid of Love and Light

April 2, 2024May 31, 2024 pammunkholm

As a young girl and, honestly, until recently I always pictured my progress in the world according to my values and my identity that I have built over my life. I would either be going up on a ladder, going down, or falling onto my face depending on whether I lived up to those values and expectations or not. Add to that, high anxiety and low self esteem. This has resulted in years of comparing myself to others. I worried about anyone getting higher on any ladder. Sometimes I felt like I was looking around to make sure nobody was going to knock my ladder over.

This is not how I picture this life anymore. I still want to be facing the right direction and chasing my goals. But it’s not always about progress in the area where you would like to put your focus.

For example, I was a runner. A long distance runner in high school. And a treadmill runner in my older years. I would do anything to be able to run like that again. But my body is not able to do that in the way I used to at the moment. This does not mean I am low on the ladder of physical fitness for me. For a person with chronic pain, any physical movement in the day that ends on a positive note is a good thing. I can’t control how high I can climb on that proverbial ladder.

In other news, I stink at throwing anything. I turn back the progress that women the world over have made when I throw anything. It is pathetic. Wind up, throw with all my might and it would sail beautifully through the air all few feet. I practiced for hours one summer trying to get just the right angle and release. It was so embarrassing every. single. time. It would actually stop the game while everyone felt bad for me. Bless me for trying. That does not mean I am low on the ladder of throwing. And that I shame women everywhere with my less than valiant effort.

I play the piano well. That doesn’t mean I am towering over others on their low rung of I-wish-I-had-listened-to-my-mom-and-stayed-in-piano-lessons. I do not look down at them from my throne and laugh at their efforts. And yet when I am on the “low rung” that is what I am feeling from the masses.

I have changed my thoughts on this.

Now, I see a grid of light. At each crossroads there is a woman doing her very best. Sometimes it is less-than and her light is dim. Sometimes in her great efforts she shines brightly. On this grid are so many women with so many varied talents. Each offers bright light in some areas. And needs the light of others in her areas that are dimly lit. I can share the light I have to offer. I can play the piano at a funeral for someone I barely knew. I have supported my boys in their musical talent with the light I can offer in that area. I needed the support of others when it came to teaching my boys to throw. Thankfully, none of them got my arm. I have not been able to pass on my love of running to them as they have grown up, for the most part, through years that I have not been able to run. But they know my desire and they see my efforts. And when that wasn’t enough they could look to other examples of physical fitness.

I want to offer the light I have in any area I can. I want others to know they can borrow my light when theirs is dim. I want to trust in and allow others to lend their light in the areas where I am struggling. Some areas are due to circumstance. Some are due to our own choice. Some to the choices of others.

There is no comparison in this grid. Comparison is never useful. We either feel bad about ourselves, less than or better, more than. Neither is a good place to be. Comparison here, in this space of light, becomes compassion. Where can I lend my light? Where do I need the light of others?

I choose to use this perspective with women because I think we need each other. We need to recognize that, as a shirt I read says, We Are All Babes. We each have light to offer and need to borrow the light others can give.

Speaking of light, I LOVE THE SUN. I know that getting my feet on the ground and in the dirt and sand is healing. My one piece of advice this week is to get outside as much as possible. Ditch the shoes and get your feet on the grass (if you can find a dry spot). The earth has healing properties. If you watch certain kids and all dogs, you will see their love of the earth. Dogs will wriggle into the ground and dig on instinct. Kids also on instinct collect rocks and will lay on the sand or grass given the chance. I enjoyed a book I listened to on the subject titled, Earthing written by Clint Ober. It seemed wonky to me at first but as in so many other things, necessity is the mother of trying something weird.

Let me know what you think of this idea. And if you want to give this whole forest bathing thing a try, send me an email from my contact page. I hope to see you in the forest my sweet friends.