Tag: forest

🌲When Comparison Becomes a Thorn in Your Forest 🌳

pammunkholm

Sometimes my life feels like a forest—dense, shadowed, and uneven.

Everyone else seems to walk a wide, sunlit path: their maps are clear, their steps steady, their packs light.

Meanwhile, I carry heavy bundles of pain and medicine, stumbling often, wondering if I’ll ever catch up.

~Cue the tiny violins 🎻 🤭~

Beyond the Familiar: Embracing a Different Forest

My therapist keeps telling me to stop comparing myself to other people – that life’s not a competition. Which, to be fair, is exactly what I’d say to someone I was trying to beat, too.

-from 22 Quotes About Chronic Pain

Comparison is never useful. It’s like measuring trees by how tall they look in someone else’s forest, forgetting that soil, roots, storms, and sunlight differ wildly. 

Or like judging an oak tree by how quickly the wildflowers around it bloom. Different roots, different seasons, different reasons for being.

And yet I fall into it—measuring my path against someone else’s trail, forgetting we are not even walking in the same terrain.

Comparing … is a waste of time and effort; we are all different people, experiencing and feeling things differently.

San Diego Prepare Yourself: Sisterhood Adventures Await

Next month, my sisters will gather in San Diego. I am so excited for them. And to hear about their adventures. Sunshine, laughter, time to connect. It’ll be fabulous.

I would love to be there. But the cost of my monthly medicine is about the same as what that trip would take.

I live in a different economy—the economy of pain management. So instead of boarding a plane, I stay home.

~Poor lil’ me 🥲👉👈 🤣 ~

It’s hard not to compare. Their togetherness, my absence. Their momentum, my stillness. I remind myself that longing is not failure—but it still stings.

Screenshots of a Life I Don’t Live: Family Call, Personal Spiral

On a recent morning: my sister called from her vacation in London. On a family video call. At 9 a.m., I was still coaxing my muscles awake.

I listened to the bagpipes she was sharing and checked out the sights in the background. I marvelled at what she has been able to accomplish and see in her life. I joy in her success.

Inevitably another emotion starts to rise. As on the screen, this is what I see:

  • One sister in her home office, thriving in a job that suits her perfectly.
  • Another in her kitchen, caring for her family and home.
  • A sister-in-law outdoors, likely at the park or on a walk with her two littles.
  • My parents smiling in their living room, enjoying retirement and seeing their family.
  • And then there was me—tired, clearly still in bed, clearly accomplishing nothing.

That’s how I saw it. In truth, no one said that. But comparison painted me useless in bold letters across the screen.

~Woe is meee 🐌💤 😜 ~

A Sermon I Couldn’t Speak

At church, I tried to answer a question on a bad pain day after a sleepless night. My words came tangled, incomplete.

I saw my husband’s face and thought, I’m taking too long. I gave up. Without tying my random thoughts together. And I gave him the microphone. He expertly gave a clear, concise answer that was perfectly on point. My effort looked weak next to his polish.

Comparison whispered: why even try?

Fredrik Backman once wrote:

“My brain and I, we are not friends. My brain and I, we are classmates doing a group assignment called Life. And it’s not going great.”

But here’s the truth: trying counts. Even stumbling words are a kind of courage.

The Math of Measuring Up Never Works: The Broken Ruler I Keep Using

Comparison is a thief. It always leaves you with less than you started.

It’s like weighing a feather against a stone and expecting the scale to balance it out. It demands a sameness life never promised. It blinds us to the worth in our own story.

As a people, we tend to magnify the strengths and blessings another person receives. But minimize our own gifts, talents and opportunities. Social media is as helpful as a screen on a submarine when it comes to perpetuating this problem.

There’s no hierarchy of pain. Suffering shouldn’t be ranked, because pain is not a contest.

No one truly wins the “Pain Olympics”.

–Lori Gottlieb

Living with chronic pain means my days will never look like someone else’s. But that doesn’t mean they’re lesser—it just means they’re different.

Brene Brown says:

Fear and scarcity trigger comparison and we start to rank our own suffering.

Brown calls this comparative suffering. She goes on to say,

The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough.

Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices. When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. There’s more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world

This toxic pattern of comparison blocks emotional processing and prevents genuine empathy, creating isolation rather than connection. 

My worth is not judged by what I do in comparison to others, but by what I do with what I have—what love, what compassion, what presence I can offer. Even just in showing up.

Measuring By Love, Not Ladders

I’ve decided to measure my life by something else: in every conversation, I want the other person to leave feeling better about themselves than when we started.

If they do, then I’ve accomplished something real. It may not be a promotion, a trip abroad, or a picture-perfect moment. But it’s love, and it’s within my reach.

In such a headspace there should be no time for shame and comparing. Only felicitations and adulation.

Broken But Still Moving

Mandy Harvey is a singer/ songwriter. I saw her on an America’s Got Talent clip. Mandy lost her hearing when she was 18. Interestingly enough she has EDS which is similar to my connective tissue disorder.

On the show, she spoke about initially going to dark places. And when she decided she wanted more for her life, she wrote this song. And performed it in front of a live audience and judges and cameras.

She beautifully sings,

“I don’t feel the way I used to / The sky is grey much more than it is blue / But I know one day I’ll get through/ And I’ll take my place again… So I will try…

There is no one for me to blame/ Cause I know the only thing in my way/ Is me…

I don’t live the way I want to/ That whole picture never came into view/ But I’m tired of getting used to/ The day

So I will try..

Those words hold me when comparison tries to unravel me.

Forest Therapy: A Way Forward

If comparison is a thorn, forest therapy can be a balm.

The forest floor is messy. Layers of leaf litter, moss, dead wood. It doesn’t pretend to be clean and perfect. It is rich because of its imperfections.

Your struggles, limitations, pain give richness and texture to your life story—not flaws to hide.

Walking a path in woods, you may have to step over roots, navigate mud and stray branches. But each step gives you awareness, grounding, breathing space.

Comparison often makes us spin like leaves in the wind; forest therapy anchors us.

When comparison grabs tight, I go to the woods.

The forest does not compare:

  • Trees don’t measure their height against one another.
  • Moss doesn’t resent the ferns.
  • Streams don’t ask why the river runs faster.

Each element grows where it is, as it is. That is enough.

Roots, Rituals and Small Resets

Here are ways the forest has supported me:

Leaning against a tree and letting its rootedness remind me that I, too, belong.

Listening to the birds until my thoughts soften.

Sitting by water and imagining my comparisons floating downstream.

From Forest Floor to Open Sky

Yes, I still compare. Yes, it still hurts. But when I remember that comparison steals joy, I find space to choose something else.

I may not be in San Diego, or London, or even fully awake at 9 a.m. (to those who are, Have as good a time as possible, given that I’m not there. Heehee 😊)

~Life said nope 🙃🍋~

I can still offer kindness, presence, and love.

And maybe that is enough.

I want to feel good about my life. Not in the sense of “as good as anyone else,” but as my life, full of the shape I have.

Chronic pain is part of the soil I grow in. It’s changed what I can do, yes—but also deepened what I can feel, what I can appreciate.

If everyone else seems to be walking on sunlit paths, I may be walking in dappled shade, or in a different time of day. But my path is still mine, and still worthy. Because even in the shaded parts of the forest, light still filters through.

The Economy of Chronic Pain

pammunkholm

I got saved by the beauty of the world.

-Mary Oliver

A dear friend once said something to me that I can’t get out of my head: chronic pain has its own economy. She suggested I write a post on it. So here we are. (@soulfullifebyamanda)

For anyone under the impression that disability payments and medications cover everything in chronic pain, this quote is for you.

Illusion is the dust the devil throws in the eyes of the foolish.

-Mina Antrim

For anyone suffering financially and energetically, let this post be your validation. And don’t worry. “Whatever doesn’t kill us only makes us weirder and harder to relate to.”

Does anyone else feel like their body’s ‘check engine’ light has been on for months and you’re still driving like, “it’ll be fiiiiine,” because you can’t afford to do anything about it anyway?

When I think of the economy of chronic pain. I picture myself stepping into the forest with only a small shopping basket. Every choice I make—financial or physical—has to fit inside that basket. There’s no room for waste, no luxury of tossing in extra. Just like in the forest, every twig, every step, every breath matters.

For those of us living with chronic pain, our baskets are small. They hold both our financial and our energy reserves—and both run out faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.

In Canada, disability payments exist, but they are like shafts of sunlight that barely break through a dense canopy. They aren’t enough to warm the forest floor.

And so, we ration. We stretch. We weigh every step carefully. And in the process provoke our fussy nerves into an outraged uproar over and over again.

Surviving the Price Tag

Here’s one example from my own life: every month, I spend about $600 on medication for pain relief. There’s no coverage for it. It’s outrageously expensive, but it’s what allows me to keep moving through the forest at all.

Others I know make different choices. Some decide not to medicate, and instead spend their limited resources on healthier food, therapy sessions, or simply keeping a roof overhead.

There is no right way. Each of us is navigating our own overgrown path, deciding what can fit in the basket we carry.

Even those of us diagnosed with chronic pain conditions may not see the myriad of options. Of what could go in the basket. Given the resources. More frustrating is the knowledge that some therapies, while proven extremely effective, will not be financially viable. In some cases, not even offered in my area.

  • counseling sessions; the cost coming out of pocket (no job=no benefits) is high, yet the benefits of CBT and ACT psychotherapy for pain have been shown to be impressive, marriage support is also much needed in the case of ongoing pain and illness
  • therapies; acupuncture, Reiki and other energy healing work, physiotherapy, massage, chiropractor, aqua therapy, hypnotherapy, the list can seem limited for your specific needs, but there are always new options coming available
  • medications; these are also ever evolving, I believe in a combination of medicine and natural therapies, this is a personal decision
  • lifestyle changes; Saskatchewan winters call for a gym pass to stay active, these are not free
  • dieticians; can support with ongoing needs
  • stress reduction therapies; FOREST THERAPY!!, meditation courses and classes, yoga, tai chi, music, art or pet therapy,
Spinkie- Den: Scottish; a woodland clearing filled with flowers.

The Grove of Dilemmas

When you live in this economy, everything has a cost. The pressure keeps me marvelously productive. I entered the kitchen to do the dishes, but saw the pile of laundry on the floor, so I watered a plant, while looking for my phone to make the doctor’s appointment. To sum up, I couldn’t find it in time and now my leg is swelling and I have to put it up again. I accomplished nothing. 😤

Given the choice, where are you willing to “pay” extra?

Do you get help with your home to attend to the piling dishes, laundry and dog hair, or put on blinders to the mess because there are no funds for such frivolity as clean dishes, clothes and floors?

“Any dog can be a guide dog if you don’t care where you’re going.”

Do you take the shorter trail to an appointment (closer parking) or save money by forcing your body down the longer route?

Do you use precious energy to cook a nourishing meal, or save your strength and spend more money on convenience?

Do you go out to meet a friend, knowing it will mean a day of recovery afterward, or do you stay home and bear the weight of loneliness?

The forest is full of paths, and each one demands a toll.

Costs That Lurk Beneath the Canopy

The cost of connection. Friendship and belonging are like wildflowers in the undergrowth. But they don’t bloom without effort. They often require money for transportation, or the strength to leave the house, or both. Yet the cost of isolation can feel heavier than any of it.

The cost of time. Chronic pain asks us to wait. Waiting for appointments. Waiting for medications to maybe work. Waiting for healing that never seems to come. Time here drips slowly, like water from moss after rain, and once it’s gone, it cannot be gathered again.

“The hardest thing about illness is that it teaches patience by stealing time.

-Unknown

Both remind me that even in this strange economy, even in this forest of loss and trade-offs, there is still gentleness. There is still strength in being here, still roots growing quietly beneath the soil.

Forest Therapy: A Rich Investment in Well-Being

And this is where forest therapy becomes not just a metaphor, but a lifeline.

When my basket is empty, when my reserves are gone, the forest offers a kind of wealth that doesn’t demand dollars or energy I don’t have. Sitting under the trees, breathing in the scent of pine, listening to the rustle of leaves—these are exchanges that give more than they take.

Forest therapy reminds me that not everything of value is bought or measured. The forest doesn’t charge for its healing. It simply offers. It allows us to rest, to breathe, to remember that even when our budgets—financial and energetic—are painfully small, there is still abundance to be found.

The economy of chronic pain is harsh and unrelenting. But the forest’s economy is different. It trades in stillness, in breath, in presence. It offers shade when the sun is too much, and quiet when the noise of survival is too loud.

This is why I keep returning to the trees. Because while the world asks me to spend what I don’t have, the forest reminds me: here, you are enough, just as you are.

The forest hides more than it reveals, yet what it reveals, sustains us.

-Unknown

The True Currency: Compassion

To those supporting people with chronic pain, we love you and we thank you. Please remember to lead with compassion. Your person is not lazy or careless, but living within an economy most cannot imagine. Lead with compassion and the way forward can be made clear.

We do not see nature with our eyes, but with our understandings and our hearts.

-William Hazlitt

To recap, I caution against developing chronic pain and illness. It is terribly expensive and inconvenient for others. 😏

September you are promising. The beginning of a gorgeous and necessary decay. The edge of triumph before the deep rest.

-Victoria Erickson

Maiden Forest Therapy Walk

pammunkholm

While I have spent a lot of time in the forest and learning about forest therapy and the healing available there, I had not as of yet experienced my own personal, forest walk. I chose a day and made it happen. I have to tell you, I experienced a peace and tranquility that I do not find in many places in my life these days. There’s really something to this! Walking in nature is great. Join me to experience a forest therapy walk that takes it to the 10x level. Head over to my contact page to book a walk with me.

Walking in a forest has many benefits. I don’t suspect it’s any coincidence that while I am spending more time outdoors and learning of the benefits, my health is finally improving. I’ve been able to tackle this beast of a bump in the road of my life. I have been trying since May of 2011 to find out what was wrong, then to fix it, then to manage it. In reality, I was in pain long before that date. I see nature is starting to do it’s work.

For years I have not been able to build and maintain muscle. It would start to build and then I would have a setback. A fall. A jolt. Getting overconfident and trying to go for a walk in boots instead of shoes (the difference in weight would drag my foot bones out). Minor incidents would set me back months. And every time the frustration around the whole situation would build.

I did not stop to take care of myself. This is my piece of advice for this week. When you are sick or hurting, it is your body telling you to stop or rest. Listen to your body. Regardless of what others are telling you. I cannot stress enough how important it is to take time to reassess what really matters. I suspect if you looked at it, you’d agree your health should be closer to the top of your list of priorities.

This cannot be proven in a court of law but this is my truth for what has happened to me. My body had a condition that made functioning in life extremely painful on a daily and hourly basis. Hyper mobile joints joined by endometriosis. I lived a seemingly normal life while managing the pain. Managing by ignoring until bedtime and then taking a daily prescribed dose of pain medication to knock myself out. I didn’t think I could stop and take care of me. I had kids to raise! Supper to make! Laundry to ignore!

I kept going until there was a period in my life that was very high stress. Constantly. This set off a jack in the box effect of nerve problems. Now I twitch. I spasm. I shake. My body is subpar at best when it comes to keeping a reasonable temperature for more than a few minutes at a time. Absurd and erratic symptoms. And it is not something I have figured out how to stuff back in that so- called box. And I keep seeing this in others. An underlying condition that is difficult to manage while living life. And yet they do. Stressful situation that triggers an emotional reaction. And nerve pain and silly symptoms ensue. Worst jack in the box ever!

So what do we do about it? There are not many answers. Meditation. Medication. Sleep enough. Eat well. There is value in adjusting your life to meet the needs of your condition. These are great for overall health for everyone. But what about when the need is immediate and great? What about when your friend with stage 4 metastasized cancer is in so much pain that nothing is helping, no medication can mend that. Or when your body feels like it’s falling apart but the doctors say you are fine, there’s only so much meditation can do. What about when you feel you have no support and you are running on empty?

Forest therapy. Join me in remembering my first walk.

I took along my trusty sidekick. This is Odin. No the perspective of this picture is not off, he really is that big. He is not impressed that we are stopping in the middle of a perfectly good walk to take pictures.

I found the sun. It’s been hiding. I look forward to sharing the changes of the seasons through pictures and words. On this particular day it was so still. It was just Odin and I on this beautiful trail. I could hear a few birds chirping. There was one spot on the trail where the creaking of a tree that was on its way down and braced by other trees was really loud but I never would have noticed that before. The air had a chill but it was perfect as we warmed up on our walk. I enjoyed breathing in deeply. Drawing in what winter has been keeping safe until its time. The cold air felt good on my lungs. I could hear Odin breathing. He is the heaviest breather of all time. I didn’t mind. It fit the surroundings. Better here than in my kitchen.

I followed this butt all the way around the trail. I looked at the different tracks in the snow and pictured the wildlife that was close by and peering at me from their hiding places. I tried to identify the different types of trees and shrubs.

Behold the beauty of my elephant skin hands. I’ve come to embrace it. They look like my Grandma’s hands. I came upon a bench just off the trail. I sat down for some time to feel and just be. This tree was by the bench. It seemed like a good tree. While I can’t yet put my toes directly on the ground at this time of year, holding a tree can provide the same benefits of grounding.

Such a happy guy. Hard to get a picture with all his messy kisses. He’s a nincompoop but we love him. Petting a dog while they are grounded also gives you the benefits of grounding. Holy moly. Does anyone have a breath mint for this guy? Did something die in there?!?! Cheese and crackers!

This is just a glimpse into what I experienced on my maiden forest walk. Even looking back at the pictures brings the uplifting feeling back. I strongly encourage you, if you are able, to get outside and watch the changes of nature as we progress into spring! And if you have a hard time making it happen on your own or you want some company, head over to my contact page to book a forest therapy walk today.

The price is right for the first two weeks. Free! Spots are limited so book today.

Take care out there, my sweet friends.