Iโve been to the mountains. I found towering trees, rushing water and the best campsite ever!
And I learned a few lessons along the way.
1)We donโt always know what the path will look like when we start. But trails can be both beautiful and hard.
Brent and I hiked a lot over the last week. Most of the trails started with barely an incline and on clearly marked, wide paths. Zero of them stayed that way. All of them led to exceptional views well worth the effort.
2)Nature can catch our attention with beautiful things when we donโt have energy for anything else.
On a hike I often get to the point when Iโm not sure how much more I can do. Iโm tired. My legs hurt. Iโm sweating profusely and feeling gross. Then nature catches my eye and my focus shifts.
3)Who you choose to share the trail with is a serious decision. Choose those who lift you up and make you smile.
My trail partner for the last 27 years.
4)My nervous system requires times of being immersed in nature.
I feel stronger and healthier when I am on mountain tops and in quiet forests.
5)Some days are for exploring. Some days are for surviving. (Both can and should include trees)
Iโve been thinking a lot about how I want to share forest therapy and life with chronic illness going forward. Less sitting at a computer trying to explain everything perfectly. More getting outside, walking trails, noticing things, experimenting, learning and bringing you along.
If youโve ever searched fibromyalgia symptoms, youโve probably found the usual suspects.
Pain.
Fatigue.
Brain fog.
Poor sleep.
Accurate? ๐ซก Absolutely.
Complete? ๐คฃ Laughable.
Fibromyalgia has a way of inventing symptoms that make you wonder if your body has subscribed to the premium panic package. One day your skin burns. The next day your leg launches itself off the couch while youโre calmly watching Michael Scott turn an ordinary workday into an HR nightmare. Your hands are so cold someone checks to see whether youโre still among the living.
(For the record, I am.)
Before we begin, one important disclaimer.
I also live with hypermobility, ME/CFS, and surgical menopause. These conditions overlap so much that itโs impossible to say with certainty which symptom belongs to which diagnosis. They tend to flare together after poor sleep, stress, overexertion, heat, illness, or simply asking my body to do more than it has available that day.
But every symptom on this list is also commonly reported by people living with fibromyalgia.
Why Fibromyalgia Feels So Strange
Researchers now believe many fibromyalgia symptoms are driven by central sensitization. Think of it as your nervous systemโs alarm system becoming far too sensitive. Instead of responding only to danger, it begins reacting to things that shouldnโt require an alarm at all.
A warm shower. Bright lights. A busy grocery store. A long conversation. Even clothing touching your skin.
This is closely tied to nervous system dysregulation, where the body spends too much time in โfight, flight, freeze or fawnโ and not enough time in the restorative parasympathetic state. When your nervous system never truly feels safe, it can amplify pain, fatigue, sensory overload, temperature changes, digestive issues, and many of the symptoms below.
Maybe youโll recognize yourself in a few of them.
Maybe all ten.
1. Burning or Tingling Skin
Sometimes my skin feels sunburned without the sunshine.
Other times it tingles like Iโve rubbed myself head-to-toe with fiberglass insulation.
For me, itโs one of the earliest warning signs.
High pain day.
Busy day.
Poor sleep.
Missed medication.
Too many commitments.
My nervous system begins clearing its throat. And waving tiny red flags. ๐ฉ ๐ฉ
Iโve learned not to argue with it anymore.
2. Random Itchiness
This one is maddening.
Iโll suddenly become fiercely itchy.
No mosquito.
No rash.
No dry skin.
Itโs like the itch exists underneath my skin where no amount of scratching can reach it.
If youโve experienced this, you know exactly what I mean.
If you havenโt, I sincerely hope you never do.
3. Light, Noise and Touch Become Too Much
When my nervous system is already overloaded, everything gets louder.
Bright lights feel brighter.
Background conversations become impossible to filter out.
The tag inside my shirt transforms into a tiny medieval torture device and demands 100% of my attention.
Even a loving hug can sometimes feel overwhelming.
Fibromyalgia isnโt simply pain.
Itโs often a nervous system that has forgotten how to turn the volume back down.
4. Balance Problems
I used to do cartwheels.
Now I turn around too quickly in the kitchen and have to wait for the earth to stop rotating.
Heat and fatigue make it worse.
Overdoing things makes it worse.
After spending a day on a boat, getting back onto solid ground requires far more concentration than it should.
My feet and my brain occasionally disagree about where โupโ is.
5. Pins and Needles
Hot showers.
Long walks.
Overexertion.
Sometimes they all trigger pins and needles that creep across my body for no obvious reason.
Once they arrive, they rarely leave quickly.
6. Muscle Twitches and Spasms
My leg has launched itself off the bed while watching television.
My neck twitches throughout the day.
Occasionally a finger joins the party.
Apparently my muscles enjoy interpretive dance.
I did not approve the choreography.
7. Surprise Food Sensitivities
Foods I tolerated for years suddenly decide theyโre no longer interested in cooperating.
They arrive uninvited.
They unpack.
They stay far longer than anyone asked them to.
Itโs one more reminder that chronic illness loves unpredictability.
8. Hands and Feet That Never Warm Up
My hands are frequently freezing.
Years ago, someone grabbed my hand and asked,
โAre you okay?โ
Apparently, based on my hand temperature, I should have been dead for several hours.
Comforting.
9. The Fake Flu
Out of nowhereโฆ
Nausea.
Aching muscles.
Complete exhaustion.
Like Iโm about to come down with something terrible.
Exceptโฆ
Nothing ever happens.
It simply ruins an hour.
Or the rest of the day.
10. Heavy, Lead-Like Limbs
Some days lifting my arm feels like lifting concrete. My body has a way of treating everyday events like Iโm qualifying for an Olympic Games.
Opening a jar feels ridiculous.
My muscles are technically attached.
Operation has become optional.
Having fibro is like having a phone stuck on 12% battery. And everyone keeps asking me to download another app.
The Ten Things That Actually Help Me Soothe Fibromyalgia
Talk to yourself like you would to someone you love.
Living well with fibromyalgia isnโt about eliminating every symptom.
For me, itโs about calming an overprotective nervous system often enough that it remembers Iโm safe.
Respect my limits instead of arguing with them.
Budget my energy so the moments that matter most are worth the flare.
Keep gently moving. A walk instead of a run. The bike instead of the elliptical. Motion is medicine. Punishment isnโt.
Choose warmthโor coolingโdepending on what my body is asking for.
Stay hydrated. Water is my most reliable teammate.
Focus on what matters most.
I used to do everything.
The house stayed clean.
I worked.
The kids were fed.
The yard was mowed.
Meals were planned.
Nowโฆ
The house is messy.
The yard grows faster than I can keep up.
The microwave has become surprisingly talented at storing forgotten meals.
If one truly important thing needs to happen todayโฆ
Thatโs the thing.
Everything else can wait.
Take breaks before I need them.
Fibromyalgia has taught me that resting isnโt the reward for finishing.
Sometimes resting is the reason Iโll be able to finish tomorrow.
Accept support.
This remains one of my weakest skills.
I am surrounded by extraordinary people.
Help is offered constantly.
Sometimes strength looks like saying,
โYesโฆ thank you.โ
Believe my own body.
Fibromyalgia is invisible.
Sometimes even to me.
I minimize.
I explain it away.
I push through.
But my body keeps telling the truth.
Listening with compassion changes everything. Instead of wondering why my body is betraying me I try to speak the language it is trying to communicate.
Calm my mind.
Sometimes thatโs meditation.
Sometimes itโs prayer.
Sometimes itโs journaling every scattered thought onto paper until my brain stops trying to juggle twelve tabs at once.
A calmer mind often becomes a calmer body.
Calarwyth
(n) the moment you stop explaining yourself because silence feels more dignified than being misunderstood again.
A Forest Therapy Practice for Fibromyalgia
One of the greatest gifts the forest has given me is permission to stop performing.
Find a quiet place beneath a tree.
If itโs safe, remove your shoes and allow your feet to rest directly on the earth.
Notice the temperature beneath you.
Feel the texture of the soil, grass, moss, or sand.
Imagine that, for a few minutes, you arenโt simply visiting the forest.
Youโre becoming part of it.
The forest simply exists. Allow yourself to do the same.
Allow your breathing to slow.
Notice the sounds above you.
The breeze on your skin.
The scent of pine or damp earth.
If it feels natural, rest one hand on a tree trunk and imagine your busy nervous system borrowing a little of its steadiness.
This practice also includes earthing, sometimes called grounding.
Early research suggests that direct contact with the earth may allow electrons from the Earthโs surface to neutralize some reactive oxygen species involved in inflammation and oxidative stress. Other studies have found improvements in sleep, cortisol rhythms, pain, and wellbeing.
Whether those effects come from electron transfer, nervous system regulation, time outdoors, or all of the above, we do know something with much stronger evidence: spending time in nature lowers stress hormones, supports parasympathetic activity, improves mood, reduces blood pressure, and helps regulate an overstimulated nervous system.
For a body living with central sensitization, those moments of safety matter.
Fibromyalgia Flare Warning Signs
Iโve learned these are usually my first clues that I need to slow down.
โ Burning or tingling skin
โ Random deep itchiness
โ Light, sound or touch suddenly feel overwhelming
โ Increased dizziness or balance problems
โ Pins and needles appearing more often
โ Muscle twitches becoming frequent
โ New food suddenly doesnโt agree with me
โ Hands and feet feel like ice
โ Fake flu symptoms appear
โ Heavy, lead-like limbs
When two or three of these show up together, I know itโs time to change course before my body makes the decision for me.
Printable Energy Budget Checklist
Before I commit to something, I ask myself:
โ Have I slept well enough?
โ Am I already in more pain than usual?
โ Have I eaten nourishing food today?
โ Have I been drinking enough water?
โ Is this worth spending todayโs energy on?
โ Have I scheduled recovery time afterward?
โ Can someone help me with part of this?
โ What can I postpone?
โ Have I taken a break yet today?
โ What does my body actually need right now?
Sometimes the healthiest decision isnโt doing more.
Itโs protecting tomorrow.
Final Thoughts
I used to spend all my energy trying to convince my body to behave like it used to.
Now I spend that energy listening instead.
Oddly enoughโฆ
It fights me less.
For those of us living with fibromyalgia, healing often begins in the space between what our body is asking for and what our mind thinks we should be able to do.
Iโd love to hear from you.
What is the strangest fibromyalgia symptom youโve experienced?
Was it something you never expected? Something your doctor never mentioned? Share it in the comments. Chances are someone else has been wondering if theyโre the only one.
If youโd like to experience what nervous system regulation feels like instead of simply reading about it, Iโd love to have you join me for a guided forest therapy walk. Together weโll slow down, reconnect with our senses, explore practices that support an overstimulated nervous system, and discover how the forest can become one more tool in living well with chronic illness.
You donโt have to keep pushing through alone.
Rest is not idle, not wasteful. Sometimes rest is the most productive thing you can do for your body and soul.
It feels like weโre 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 ๐โโ๏ธ .
It doesnโt take much to tip us over.๐
A few days ago, mine came in the form of a boat launch.
Anyone whoโs spent time around a busy boat launch knows itโs 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 theyโre right.
Iโve been launching boats for about fifteen years. I know the rhythm. I stay out of peopleโs 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 Iโd โcut the line.โ
Boat launches really do produce fascinating specimens of humanity.
Iโve 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.
Itโs 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 didnโt want an explanation.
He began clapping sarcastically.
The world doesnโt just wear us down through tragedy. Sometimes it does it one sarcastic clap at a time.
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. (Iโm 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 โcut the lineโ at the dock.
How people treat you is their karma, how you react is yours.
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.
โMove!โ
Just before the collision, he swerves.
As the fog clears, he realizesโฆ
The boat is empty. No one was steering.
Instantly, his anger disappears.
Who was he angry with?
No one.
Since first hearing that story, Iโve 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 theyโre exhausted. Grieving. Terrified.
Maybe they simply donโt know any better.
Or maybe theyโre carrying hurts I canโt 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.
Thatโs different from stuffing feelings down or pretending they donโt exist.
You canโt bypass emotions.
You canโt slap a positive quote over a nervous system thatโs sounding the alarm.
But sometimes the alarm quiets on its own because you suddenly realizeโฆ
There isnโt actually an enemy here.
Just another imperfect human.
When the boat is empty, compassion often becomes easier than combat.
How will this feel next week?Next month? Next year?
Itโs 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 grandmotherโs 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 weโre all sharing.
That doesnโt make our feelings unimportant.
It simply gives them context.
Another surprisingly effective tool?
Humour. Humour interrupts the story weโre telling ourselves.
Weโve all done it.
We become convinced weโve 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 โthe funnyโ at the boat launch.
I wasnโt 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 canโt control sarcasm.
I canโt control mockery.
I canโt 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 weโll explore more in the next post.
Felt safety isnโt the absence of fear.
It isnโt the absence of challenge.
Itโs your nervous system recognizing that you have enough capacity to face whatโs 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 systemโs full emergency response.
When someone steals my peaceโฆ
I take it to the woods.
There, I remember that Iโm part of something much older than a rude exchange at a boat launch.
Much bigger than todayโs 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 youโve never met.
A Forest Therapy Invitation
If youโre 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?
Donโt force an answer.
Just notice what changes.
Sometimes the forest doesnโt solve the problem.
It simply reminds us that we are far bigger than it.
Forest therapy doesnโt 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 canโt think of a better response to a world that is hard on beautiful things.
Letโs become one of the beautiful things that refuses to grow hard.
The world may be hard on beautiful things. That doesnโt mean beautiful things have to become hard.
For most of my life, I thought willpower was the answer.
Tired? Push through.
In pain? Push through.
Overwhelmed? Push through.
Running on fumes? Push through harder (and question what my problem is. Everyone else can do it all!)
Our culture practically hands out gold stars for overriding our bodies. We admire grit, determination, hustle, and resilience. We celebrate the people who keep going no matter what.
But what if chronic willpower isnโt a strength?
What if itโs a survival strategy?
And what if the very thing youโve relied on for decades is now contributing to your exhaustion, burnout, brain fog, chronic symptoms, and sense that your body has become the river overflowing its banks after years of holding everything in?
I recently listened to an episode of the Success Genius podcastโ hosted by Neill Williams, a master certified coach. Her podcast focuses on helping ambitious women work with their brains and bodies rather than constantly pushing against them. A message that feels particularly relevant to my own journey with chronic willpower.
Williams suggests willpower is often a withdrawal, not a strategy. It is what we use when we donโt have access to regulation. Instead of listening to the body, we override it. Instead of responding to its signals, we silence them. Instead of resting, we push harder.
At first, this works remarkably well.
You become productive.
Dependable.
Capable.
The person everyone can count on.
The person who somehow manages to keep all the plates spinning.
Until one day the plates start spinning you.
It’s amazing how long you can juggle flaming torches before realizing you are the one on fire.
When Willpower Becomes a Withdrawal
One of the most eye-opening ideas Williams proposes is this:
Willpower is not a strategy. It is a withdrawal.
Using willpower occasionally isnโt a problem.
Life happens. Deadlines happen. Emergencies happen.
Sometimes we need to dig deep and do hard things.
The trouble begins when overriding ourselves becomes our default operating system.
When every day looks like:
โIโm exhausted, but Iโll push through.โ
โIโm overwhelmed, but Iโll push through.โ
โMy body is asking for rest, but Iโll push through.โ
A withdrawal isnโt necessarily noticeable at first.
Just like spending a little extra on a credit card doesnโt feel like a crisis.
But eventually the bill arrives.
And like every credit card company, our nervous systems charge interest.
I once heard a doctor describe it this way:
โIt starts as a whisper. Then it becomes a shout. Then it becomes a scream. If you keep ignoring it, eventually it shuts you down.โ
I suspect many women reading this know exactly what that feels like.
Listen to your body when it whispers so you don’t have to hear it scream.
What Happens Physiologically?
Your nervous system is constantly gathering information about whether youโre safe.
When you repeatedly ignore fatigue, stress, grief, overwhelm, pain, or emotional needs, those signals donโt simply disappear.
They get louder.
The body begins turning up the volume in an attempt to get your attention. What started as mild fatigue becomes crushing exhaustion. A little tension becomes chronic pain. Occasional anxiety becomes a constant background hum.
Symptoms are often the falling leaves, not the falling trees. Theyโre early signs that something needs attention.
The Physiological Cost of Chronic Willpower
It is not stress that kills us, it is our reaction to it.
Determination is the fuel. Regulation is the engine.
Fuel matters.
But pouring premium gasoline onto a broken engine wonโt get you very far.
Many of us have spent years trying to compensate for a dysregulated nervous system by adding more determination.
More discipline. More motivation. More supplements. More planners. More productivity hacks. More caffeine.
At some point the engine needs attention.
Regulation is what allows the nervous system to move between effort and recovery. It is the bodyโs ability to activate when needed and settle when the challenge has passed. Without regulation, determination eventually becomes expensive fuel burned inefficiently.
Why We Keep Doing It Anyway
Because overriding ourselves works.
At least temporarily.
When we push through exhaustion and finish the project, check off the list, save the day, or meet the deadline, we get a reward.
That reward is often dopamine.
Dopamine isnโt simply the โpleasure chemical.โ Itโs deeply involved in motivation, anticipation, reward, and learning what behaviors matter. Our brains remember what helped us survive and succeed.
Soon, productivity itself can become a form of self-medication.
The nervous system learns that overriding discomfort equals reward.
No wonder itโs hard to stop.
The Chemical We May Actually Need More Of
While dopamine drives pursuit, serotonin is associated with feelings of contentment, safety, stability, and well-being.
Dopamine is the Labrador chasing the tennis ball.
Serotonin is the golden retriever napping in a sunbeam.
Many chronic willpower users have spent decades chasing the first while starving the second.
We become experts at striving but beginners at simply being.
And thatโs where nature has something remarkable to teach us.
The Forest Doesnโt Care About Your To-Do List
One of the reasons forest therapy feels so restorative is that it gently shifts us toward a state of regulation.
No notifications. No deadlines. No performance reviews.
No one asking whether youโve earned your rest. Whether youโre keeping up. If youโre winning at life or whether your worth is keeping pace with your to-do list. No one asking whether youโve justified your existence through accomplishment.
The forest would NE-ver. Trees are refreshingly difficult to impress.
And somehow thatโs exactly what makes them healing.
In the forest, many people experience what feels like a serotonin bath. ๐
A quiet sense that everything is okay.
Not perfect. Just okay. Perfectly imperfect.
The more often we experience that state, the more familiar it becomes. Eventually regulation starts feeling less like a vacation and more like home.
A Forest Therapy Practice for Chronic Willpower
If you recognize yourself in this article, try this simple practice.
Step 1: Walk Slowly
Spend 10 to 15 minutes walking without a destination.
Not hiking. Not exercising. Not trying to get your steps.
My body budget got so far in the red it was basically applying for bankruptcy protection.
Looking back, I wonder how many so-called midlife crises are actually the moment the bill for decades of nervous system debt comes due. The strategies that helped us survive and succeed for years suddenly stop working.
What feels like falling apart may actually be the beginning of a profound transformation. I explored that idea more deeply in Midlife Crisis to Chrysalis.
When you can access a place of peace, something surprising often happens. The answers youโve been chasing become easier to see. The next step becomes clearer.
Not because you forced it.
Because you finally became quiet enough to hear it.
Sometimes healing isnโt found in pushing harder.
Sometimes itโs found wandering through a lush, green forest, realizing your body wasnโt fighting you all along.
It was actually trying to draw your attention upstream, where the real answers were waiting. Guiding you away from the noise. To a place of stillness. Back to who you were before the push. Your natural self.
A forest therapy reflection on burnout, surrender, and learning to live gently inside your own life.
There was a period of time where my nervous system was running entirely on stress and outrage. I was carrying so much tension I could feel it humming beneath my skin. I wore it like an armour.
I was teaching piano almost full time. Helping my children survive school systems that did not know how to support kids with ADHD. Trying to advocate for a child who had endured years of bullying only to be treated like he was the problem once he finally reacted.
There were meetings. Emails. Phone calls. Policies. Assessments. Endless explanations.
And somewhere in there, I was also managing a farm, a household, meal planning, grocery shopping, appointments, chronic pain, surgeries, inflammation, and a body that kept submitting maintenance requests I could no longer ignore. Sound familiar?
Outer chaos eventually becomes inner weather.
Then there was the car.
Oh, the car.
Marketed as โoff-road capable,โ apparently as long as your idea of off-roading was driving over a decorative gravel patch at a golf resort once annually.
When our Saskatchewan roads started dismantling it piece by piece, we were informed it wasnโt actually built for daily gravel roads. Then every winter the same part broke because it apparently also wasnโt designed forโฆ winter?
I remember thinking, Well neither am I, but you donโt see me breaking down.
(foreshadowing ๐ณ)
This felt a little too intentional of a design flaw for something sold in Saskatchewan.
At the time, I was angry at everything.
The educational system. The medical system. The government. Corporations. World events. Every injustice. Every failure. Every person who made life harder than it needed to be.
And underneath all of it was one desperate belief:
If I fight hard enough, maybe I can force the world to become safe.
So I fought.
And every phone call tightened my muscles more. Every conflict wound my nervous system tighter. Every injustice became another brick in the emotional dam I was trying to hold together.
Even now, writing about it, I can feel traces of that tension in my body.
My nerves were tight. My jaw was tight. My shoulders were tight. My thoughts were tight.
My energy felt dark and electric and sharp. Warnings were everywhere:
Do Not Touch: Load Bearing Delusions Ahead.
Eventually, the dam broke.
Not in some poetic, graceful collapse. More like a nervous system mutiny. Everything in my body was operating like an emergency broadcast system.
Everything I had stuffed down flooded upward at once: bad information, bad coping, bad core beliefs, fear, grief, anger, exhaustion.
It was physically excruciating. I’d been on my last straw for like 300 straws, and finally I ran out of straws.
After the initial effects subsided, I remember lying in bed unable to function. A puddle of a human being. All the fight inside me still existed but now it lived in a body that couldnโt move and a brain that couldnโt think.
I didnโt know it at the time but this would become my new beginning.
You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.
One of the greatest gifts forest therapy gave me was this:
Nature does not spend its energy resisting its own seasons.
The forest does not panic because decay exists beside growth.
Yet so many women live as though rest is failure.
We push through pain. Push through exhaustion. Push through grief. Push through our intuition. Push through limits our bodies are desperately trying to communicate.
We fight every battle. Carry every burden. Solve every crisis.
And then we wonder why we are chronically exhausted, inflamed, anxious, disconnected, and burned out.
I see it everywhere.
Women who are always tired. Always hurting. Always โfine.โ Always one more obligation away from collapse.
Forest therapy taught me something radical.
Stillness is not laziness. Stillness is regulation.
Outer stillness creates the conditions for inner calm.
Not because the world becomes peaceful. But because you stop feeding every storm.
A Forest Therapy Practice: The Sit Spot
One of the simplest and most powerful forest therapy practices is called a sit spot.
You choose one place outdoors and return to it regularly.
Thatโs it.
No performance. No hiking goals. No fitness tracker congratulating you for elevated heart rates. No optimizing your experience into a competitive sport.
Your only job is to sit and notice.
(The chickadees remain unimpressed by productivity culture)
How To Practice
Find a place outdoors where you feel safe and comfortable.
A forest trail. A park bench. A tree in your yard.
Then:
Sit quietly for 10โ20 minutes.
Notice what moves and what remains still.
Listen farther away than you normally do.
Feel where your body touches the earth or chair.
Allow your nervous system to settle before asking anything of yourself.
You do not need to โachieveโ calm.
The forest does not demand that from you.
It simply offers regulation through rhythm, repetition, sensory softness, and presence.
Over time, your body begins remembering something it forgot. It does not have to remain in survival mode forever.
From Fighting Everything To Tending Something
It has taken me years to pare down my list of fights to zero.
Not because I stopped caring.
But because I realized anger was consuming the very life I was trying to protect.
Now, instead of fighting constantly, I create spaces of calm.
I meditate. I practice energy work. I use affirmations. I spend time in the forest like it is medicine because for me, it is.
Despite the chaos that can still exist around me, I guard my energy carefully.
From this space, I choose where I can genuinely be of service.
I try to listen when my body whispers instead of waiting until it screams through symptoms. I create rituals that bring me back to myself when I wander too far into fear or overwhelm. I practice gratitude daily because gratitude softens the nervous systemโs constant scanning for danger.
And when concerns arise, I do my best to voice them clearly and compassionately.
Then I let them go.
Not because they do not matter. But because I matter too.
Become a possibilitarian. No matter how dark things seem to be or actually are, raise your sights and see possibilities. Always see them, for theyโre always there.
Forest therapy helped me understand this deeply.
Possibility exists everywhere in nature.
A burned forest regenerates. A fallen tree becomes nourishment. A cracked open pinecone releases seeds. Life keeps finding ways forward.
And humans can too.
Not always by forcing harder. Sometimes by softening enough to notice another path entirely.
What Makes A Good Life
Thereโs a quote from Donald Miller that has stayed with me for years. In it, he imagines sitting with God under a tree outside heaven, remembering the story of his life together.
And what moves me most is this idea:
That God would have favourite parts of our story.
Not just the successful moments. But the moments we grew. The moments we softened. The moments we overcame. The moments we kept loving despite pain.
The moments we learned how to become fully human.
To me, this is what a good life looks like.
Not a perfectly optimized one. Not one where we won every fight. Not one where we proved ourselves endlessly useful.
But one we could sit down and talk about with tenderness.
A life where our soul is no longer thirsty.
A meaningful life is not built through perfection but presence.
People tell me itโs wonderful that Iโve turned my pain into something useful or helpful. And I appreciate the kindness in that.
But honestly, sometimes purpose looks less glamorous than people imagine.
Sometimes itโs simply this:
If you do it wrong, you know how to tell somebody else what to avoid. If I walk into an invisible wall, I’m going to let others know about it. This wall is invisible and solid!
If I can help someone avoid walking into walls or burning themselves to the ground trying to hold up the entire world, then my pain served a purpose.
If I can help another woman understand that rest is not weaknessโฆ that stillness is healingโฆ that her nervous system deserves gentlenessโฆ that she is allowed to stop fighting every battleโฆ
Then maybe this story matters.
An Invitation To The Forest
So if you are exhaustedโฆ
If your body hurts all the timeโฆ If your mind never stops spinningโฆ If your nervous system is tight as a fence wire in January…
Come to the forest.
Not to fix yourself. Not to become more productive.
If youโve ever noticed your body relax the moment you step into a quiet natural space, youโve already experienced the vagus nerve at work.
That shift, subtle but undeniable, is your nervous system moving out of protection mode and into restoration. Itโs not โall in your head.โ Itโs physiology.
SISNA: one who blooms in chaos; breaker of norms, lover of moonlight and quiet rebellions.
This shift is something we can intentionally support through forest therapy.
What Is the Vagus Nerve?
Have you ever noticed your body doing that thing where itโs technically relaxed but also ready to fight a bear or answer emails (same energy.)
I lived here for years.ย Me ๐๐ผ.
I needed to understand the following information to move out of it.
The vagus nerve is the longest cranial nerve in your body, running from your brainstem down through your face, throat, heart, lungs, and into your digestive system. Its name comes from the Latin word vagus, meaning โwandering.โ A fitting description for a nerve that touches so many systems.
But its true importance lies in what it does.
The vagus nerve is the main highway of your parasympathetic nervous system. The branch responsible for rest, repair, digestion, and healing.
If your nervous system had a group chat, the vagus nerve would be the one constantly saying, โHey guysโฆ maybe weโre okay?โ ๐คทโโ๏ธย
When your vagus nerve is activated, your body shifts out of survival mode and into a state of safety.
Heart rate slows. Muscles release. Inflammation decreases. Digestion improves. And perhaps most importantly, your brain receives a message. It is safe enough to stand down.
But living with chronic pain and receiving that signal clearly, is comparable to listening to my grandkidsโ secrets. 49% air, 50% spit and 1% information. (Toddler secrets are the best ๐)
I only hear about 1% of what they are saying. Similarly, only 1% of that parasympathetic signal was getting through my system.
So the question is, how does one fully activate that vagus nerve to allow the free flow of that signal? The equivalent of interrupting the air and blocking the spit? ๐ทย So the message can be clearly sent and secured.
Regulation is not forced. It is invited.
โธป
An Overactive Detector
Growing up, we had one smoke detector in our old farm house. It was conveniently located in one of the entrances to the kitchen. Beside the stairway leading to the upper level. Where all the hot air travelled.
You can probably guess what happened every time we burned toast. Or overcooked anything. Or opened the oven after something spilled in there.
That overly sensitive smoke deterctor was great in theory. But in practice it did more harm than good.ย
Before checking if there was an actual emergency, family members would rush to grab the tea towel and shoo the smoke away.
Focusing on the alarm. More than what the alarm was trying to say.
Chronic pain is not just about injured tissues or structural problems. It is deeply intertwined with the nervous system. Especially when that system has been stuck in a prolonged state of vigilance. Forever running for the tea towel. ๐โโ๏ธ
When the vagus nerve is underactive (or when sympathetic โfight or flightโ dominates), the body remains on high alert. Over time, this can:
Heighten pain sensitivity
Amplify inflammation
Disrupt sleep and recovery
Keep muscles in a semi-contracted, guarded state
Pain, in this context, becomes less about damage and more about protection.
Your nervous system is trying (often overzealously) to keep you safe.
The goal is not to force the pain away, but to gently teach the body that it is safe enough to soften its defenses.
A regulated body tells a different story than a protected one.
The forest offers consistent, non-threatening input. No pop ups. No deadlines.
No one asking if youโve โjust tried stretching.โ ๐คฆโโ๏ธ Saints preserve us! Bless them for trying.
Suggested cheeky replies:
โYou have such a unique way of understanding things.โ
โIโm surprised you feel comfortable enough to say that out loud.โ
And then come back to presence. Presence is the language of the vagus nerve.
โธป
A Forest Therapy Practice:
Sensory Immersion for Vagal Activation
This is a simple, gentle practice you can do in any natural setting. A forest, park, or even your backyard.
The Invitation: โLet the Forest Meet Your Sensesโ
Arrive Slowly– Stand or sit comfortably. Notice your feet on the ground. No need to change anything, just arrive.
Sight (Soft Eyes)– Let your gaze widen. Instead of focusing on one object, allow your eyes to take in the whole scene. Notice colors, light, and movement without labeling them. Let your eyes receive, rather than search.
Sound (Layered Listening)– Close your eyes if it feels safe. Notice the closest soundโฆ then the farthestโฆ then everything in between. Birds, wind, distant traffic, your own breath. You are not trying to identify, just to hear.
Touch (Contact Points)– Bring awareness to where your body meets the world. Feet on earth. Air on skin. Clothing against your body. If you feel drawn, touch something natural. A leaf, bark, stone. Let the contact be mutual. You are touching, and being touched.
Smell (Subtle Scent)– Inhale gently through your nose. Notice any scent, earthy, fresh, faint, or even absent. There is no need to โfindโ anything. Simply notice what is.
Breath (Unforced)– Finally, bring awareness to your breath. Let it be exactly as it is. Often, by now, it has already softened.
Stay here for 5โ15 minutes. No goal. No outcome to achieve. Just sensory conversation.
Stillness is not emptyโit is full of signals your body understands.
This practice engages multiple sensory pathways simultaneously in a non-threatening environment. This combination is particularly powerful for vagal activation because it:
Interrupts repetitive thought loops
Anchors attention in the present moment
Provides steady, predictable sensory input
Encourages a shift from โdoingโ to โreceivingโ
Over time, these experiences build what is called vagal tone. Your nervous systemโs ability to return to a state of calm after stress.
And with improved vagal tone, the body becomes less reactiveโฆ and more resilient.
โธป
The Paradox of Stillness
There are people who donโt experience stillness as calming.
For them, slowing down can actually make things feel worse. The moment the body stops, tension rises. Pain becomes louder. The nervous system, so used to staying a step ahead, interprets stillness as vulnerability rather than safety.
Iโve walked with someone like this before, someone whose body trusted movement far more than pause.
So we didnโt begin with stillness.
We began with gentle movement. Walking slowly, letting the rhythm of steps create a sense of predictability. Just enough awareness to stay connected, but not so much that it tipped into overwhelm.
Over time, the environment began to do what it does best. Quietly influencing the pace. The quality of light, the steadiness of the trees, the soothing sounds of water. Just inviting. Nothing rushed.
Eventually, there was a natural moment to pause.
Not imposed. Not held too long. Just a brief stop in a place that felt neutral enough.
What stood out wasnโt what happened, but what didnโt.
The expected spike in tension didnโt arrive right away.
And in that small gap between what the body anticipated and what it actually experienced, there was space for something new.
Not relief, exactly.
But possibility. Hope.
Later, what they recognized wasnโt just the moment itself, but the pattern behind it. The way their body had learned to brace in advance, not just in response. (The run for the tea towel!)
That awareness didnโt erase the pain.
But it introduced a different relationship to it.
This kind of experience doesnโt feel like much until you realize your body stopped arguing with itself. And when youโre used to those arguments lasting 2-3 business days, the silence is sweetly deafening.ย
And when the nervous system experiences even a brief interruption to its usual pattern, it begins to update its expectations.
And thatโs where change begins. Not in dramatic shifts, but in quiet moments where the body realizes:
this isnโt unfolding the way I thought it would.
Itโs better.
โธป
Thoughts to Take with You
The vagus nerve does not respond to force.
It responds to safety.
And safety is not something you can think your way intoโit is something you feel your way into.
The forest, in its quiet wisdom, offers exactly that. No effort required. (Which, depending on your personality, may be the hardest part.)
In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.
Thereโs a moment. Itโs often quiet, sometimes overwhelming. When emotion first arrives in the body.
It might feel like a tightening in the chest. A wave of heat. A heaviness behind the eyes. A sudden drop in the stomach.
Something Iโm learning? When this happens, nothing has gone wrong. My body is simply giving me information.
Experiencing big emotions is not a failure of regulation, character, or strength. It is part of being human.
Especially for those living with chronic pain, where the body is already speaking loudly, emotions often arrive amplified and harder to ignore, harder to name, harder to hold.
But after that first signal comes something powerful.
Choice.
Not whether you feel the emotion. But how you respond to it.
As Daniel Chidiac teaches, Not every emotion needs a reactionโbut every emotion deserves acknowledgment.
โธป
The Story We Tell After the Feeling
On the Better Than Happy podcast, Jody Moore offers a perspective that can feel both freeing and confronting.
Anger is optional.
Disappointment is optional.
Embarrassment is optional.
Humiliation is optional.
Not because we can simply turn emotions off. But because these emotions are often shaped by the meaning we assign to our experiences. Have you experienced any of the following?
You have been dismissed by a medical professional, again.
You didnโt reach the goal.
Someone saw you struggle.
Something didnโt go as planned.
Those are just events. Although they feel huge in the moment.
Disappointment enters when the mind adds the story.
โThis means something is wrong with me.โ
Embarrassment grows when the thoughts spiral into shame.
โThey must be judging me.โ
โI look foolish.โ
โI am foolish.โ
And hereโs the important nuance.
These emotions are optional. But not wrong.
Youโre allowed to feel them. Youโre also allowed to question them.
Nothing ambitious. Just a smidgen at a time. Slow and steady. The way Iโve learned my body needs things to be. Experience has taught me that enthusiasm and capacity are not the same thing.
But then life showed up.
The everyday mess. The dishes. The door in my room that was in desperate need of a good wipe down. The quiet realization that I couldnโt do both.
I had to choose. My body, which had just clocked in was now requesting a lunch break.
And then the grandkids came to โhelp.โ Which, as you can imagine, added more chaos than progress. At this point the mess was winning. And multiplying.
The vacuum stopped working. My arms started to burn.
And just like that, the thoughts came rushing in.
Iโll never catch up.
My house will always feel like this.
Why canโt I just keep up like everyone else?
Because, obviously, one unfinished chore means a lifetime of failure. ๐ฃ
I could see it happening, the spiral. I wasnโt unaware.
But stopping it? That took effort. A surprising amount of effort.
Excuse me while I parent my dramatic inner narrator.
Because even as part of me recognized what was happening, another part was pushing me harder.
Just keep going.
Finish what you started.
If you donโt do it now, it will never get done.
False. What was actually true was much simpler and much harder to accept in the moment.
I was tired. I was in pain. I needed to stop.
My body wasnโt failing me. It was asking me to listen.
And the real choice in that moment wasnโt about dishes or doors.
But this.
Do I keep pushing to meet an expectation I set for myselfโฆ or do I take care of myself?
Eventually, I chose to stop.
Not because everything was done. But because I was.
And that shift didnโt magically clean my house. But it did something more important. It brought me back to myself and my priorities.
Because your nervous system is already working overtime. Because your body has taught you that signals matter and often signal threat. ( If you want to learn how forest therapy supports the nervous system, check this out -> Mending Your Nervous System With Forest Therapy)
Pain doesnโt just exist in isolation. It interacts with emotion, memory, and meaning.
A flare-up can quickly become:
โIโll never get better.โ
โMy body is failing me.โ
โI canโt live the life I want.โ
This is where emotional dysregulation can take hold, much like how Brenรฉ Brown describes it:
Being overwhelmed by feelings that are hard to name and contain, driving behaviors and thinking that donโt align with who we want to be.
And suddenly, weโre not just in pain.
Weโre in a story about what that pain means.
Your body speaks in sensation. Your mind speaks in meaning. Learn to tell the difference.
Brenรฉ Brown shares a powerful story about recovering from injury and trying to engage muscles that simply wouldnโt respond. Her therapist kept reminding her to โfind your ground.โ
But she couldnโt feel it. She couldnโt even find her lats.
She was using her body while being disconnected from it.
That disembodiment, that moving without understanding, existing without connection, is deeply familiar for those with chronic pain.
You expect your body to respond one way. It betrays your expectations. Every time.
And over time, many people stop listening to their bodies with curiosity and start bracing against them with resistance.
Until one simple but profound instruction emerges.
Find your ground.
Not just physically. Energetically. Emotionally. Spiritually.
If youโre trying to find your way back to yourself, back into your body, the answer isnโt usually one big solution.
Itโs small, grounding practices.
Journalling. Meditation. Art. Spiritual connection. Time in nature.
Each one opens a door.
Forest therapy is where those doors meet, creating a space that supports not just awareness, but true reconnection.
โธป
The Tree as Teacher
In The Secret Therapy of Trees, Marco Mencagli and Marco Nieri describe the trunk of a tree as something remarkably similar to the human core.
It is a channel of connection. A stabilizing structure. A vital center.
If damaged, the whole system struggles.
Like the human torso, home to breath, circulation, and strength, the treeโs trunk is both anchor and conduit.
And yet, trees do something we often forget to do. They remain rooted while experiencing everything.
Wind. Storm. Drought. Seasonal loss.
They do not avoid conditions. They adapt within them.
โธป
What Actually Matters (Hint: Itโs Not the Dishes)
Another truth worth holding onto.
You cannot overestimate the unimportance of practically everything.
So much of what consumes our emotional energy, what people think, whether we looked polished, whether everything went perfectly, is, in the grand arc of a life, remarkably small.
March in Saskatchewan is a master of disguise๐ฅธ. And every year I am hoodwinked! *shakes fist*
The sun shows up brilliant and convincing. Like itโs finally time! ๐ ๐ฑ
You start to believe itโฆ๐ ๐ until the wind pelts you in the face and reminds you this is far from over ๐ฌ๏ธ๐ฅถ๐ข. ย
Honestly it feels like false advertising.
And somehow, thatโs not even the hardest part.
Every time I open social media my algorithm pulls an ultimate betrayal of trust and I end up watching everyone else step into spring. Bare ankles, running shoes, patios, fresh air that doesnโt hurt to breathe. I gotta say, Iโm a little jealous. ๐ก
Meanwhile, weโre still in boots and three layers. Bracing against the bitter cold.
It creates this quiet kind of rage.
Not just for warmer weatherโฆ
but for things to finally feel easier. Movement. Outdoor gear. Shivering. It all exacerbates the physical restrictions I am already battling.
โธป
Chasing the Unquenchable Longing ๐โโ๏ธ
Lately, Iโve realized that same feeling exists in my body too.
The desire to wake up and just go.
To follow through on plans.
To make goals and have a say over the outcome.
To move through the day without pain.
To go nap- free after an event and still pass as human.
To feel like Iโve rejoined the human race.
But I donโt make the rules. And my body isnโt in a state to join in any races.ย
Not against the clock.
Or expectations.
Or the version of life I thought Iโd be living right now.
Itโs asking for something completely different. My broad assessment is that every body is asking for something different than this โhuman racing.โ
Calm.
Quiet.
Attention.
Harmony.
Tranquility.
Stillness.
If youโve just tuned in. This is me in my slow- stroll era. A far cry from my past 100mph- blur era.
Nowadays is more comparable to a long drawn out forest walk.
โธป
A Shift in the Sands of Seasons
The other day, the sun was spilling in. The kind that makes you think, ๐ต Oh, what a beautiful morning.
So I put on a jean jacket and vest and went outside determined to feel the sun on my skin.
But within moments, the cold wind cut through my pathetic outer wear, and my body pushed back. Pain hit. Energy disappeared. Cramping like Iโve just run a marathon and forgot to stretch ensued. Then that familiar irritation right under the surface.
I thought,
Whatโs the hold up?
Yet instead of pushing harder, I tried something different.
I slowed down. I found another way.ย I went inside.
I sat by the window to feel the warmth of the sun (if not its actual rays).ย
Many trails in Saskatchewan are shimmering. Beautifully. Treacherously.
I’m pretty sure they are trying to kill me.
Sparkling snow is magical. Sparkling frost is beautiful.
But sparkling ice on a forest trail?
Thatโs a different category entirely. โBe gone foul thing!โ
When you live with hypermobility, ice is less of a winter decoration and more of a full-contact sport.
For most people, a slip on an icy trail means a flail of the arms, a laugh, and maybe a comment. “Watch out for the icy patch!”.
For someone with hypermobility, that same moment can mean:
a rib that determines it would rather live somewhere other than its intended slot
a shoulder that doth protest too much (because the shoulder blade is sliding down your back)
muscles that grip like overprotective bodyguards
and a new entry in the ever-growing logbook titled โWellโฆ that escalated quickly.โ
A small jolt or an awkward catch. And suddenly a split second wobble becomes three months of physiotherapy, muscle protecting and pain with every movement.
Exhaustion from the constant battleFoot bones out Lower back muscle spasm keeping me mostly bed ridden, this was my short escapeA foot up as I pose with siblings to hold me balanced after a physio adjustment Rib out and going to watch a show, hoping Iโll make it. Right thigh stuck in spasm, nervous system in a flare. Depression, why bother trying? No matter how hard I try, I always have painful subluxations.
Winter walking becomes less like a casual stroll and more like a strategic mission.
Our hypermobile bodies clearly have a different set of rules.
Living with hypermobility also means developing a surprisingly intimate relationship with your physiotherapist.
Years ago I realized I owned an entire library of tiny resistance bands in colours that sounded deceptively cheerful.
Coral. Mint. Lavender. Suggesting relaxation and beach vacations.
In reality they represented fifteen very specific exercises. Each designed to convince my shoulder, hip, or rib that staying in place is actually an excellent idea.
In more recent years, overall strengthening through running has become my greatest hope against hope.
Thankfully those resistance bands are now packed away. They were the bane of my existence for years. Strengthen the shoulder, put out the elbow, wrist, and fingers. Strengthen the hip, put out the knee, ankle and toes.
If you live with chronic pain, you also know the strange pleasure of telling people:
โYes, I injured myself sneezing.โ
And then watching them try to politely hide their confusion. ๐
Enigmatic Equations Await
People with chronic pain develop a special kind of mental math.
Before leaving the house, the brain quietly runs a checklist:
How icy is it?
How far is the trail?
What muscles are already staging a coup today?
What are the odds Iโll slip, twist, or do the worldโs slowest accidental yoga pose?
Slipping into something a little more comfortable (psychosis)
These calculations happen constantly.
Because when joints are extra flexible, the body relies heavily on muscles to hold everything together.
If those muscles get surprised by a sudden slip on ice, they react like overcaffeinated security guards.
We donโt even have to experience a crash landing. A slight โwhoopโ. Everything tightens. Followed shortly by, everything hurts. Sometimes for a very long time.
And yetโฆ Staying inside is not the answer.
Inside Out: The Hidden Dangers of Staying Indoors
My soul was not designed for indefinite indoor storage.
After a few days of being cooped up, something starts to happen.
First a restlessness.
Then a longing.
Then a slightly dramatic moment standing at the window staring outside like a Victorian character under quarantine.
Because the body may be complicated. But the soul is surprisingly clear about what it needs.
Trees. Sky. Fresh air. The quiet company of chickadees who seem perpetually delighted with life.
I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.
And when chronic pain is part of your life, your nervous system spends a lot of time: out of order.
Pain keeps the brain alert. Guarded. Scanning.
But the forest gently invites something else.
A slower rhythm. A softer focus.
Donโt let perfect get in the way of good enough.
“Break!!”- Dancing Through the Meadow
Hypermobility changes the way you move through the world.
Especially in winter.
Walking on icy trails becomes a very particular style of locomotion that could best be described as:
โCautious woodland creature.โ
Short steps.
Careful weight shifts.
Occasional pauses to test the ground.
One wrong move and suddenly you find yourself soft launching a new form of dance.
Anyone watching from a distance might assume you were practicing some form of extreme slow-motion flamenco ๐ .
But really, youโre simply trying to avoid becoming an accidental case study in sidewalk face implants.
Oddly enough, this cautious way of walking mirrors a core forest therapy practice. Slow walking.
Forest therapy guides often invite people to slow down enough to truly notice the forest.
Hypermobility justโฆ adds extra motivation.
A Little Winter Guiding Advice
I have learned a few things from my winter days on the trail this year.
Boots with ICE FX technology soles are the way to go. I started using them this year. I had two slips in the first couple weeks of winter. I got the boots and I havenโt had a slip since. They are like winter tires. I still have to be careful but they have saved me.
Hiking poles are this girlโs best friend. I am learning when to use them and when to leave them in the car. Days I canโt see the trail under the snow or when the trail is glistening with ice, they are essential. Days the trail is packed with snow and my balance feels good they can stay back.
Some days you just have to stay home. The boots and poles open your world. There are still times when staying home is the safest and best option. It is not worth the risk of a fall. Or a tweak. Walking in a mall or other large indoor space can meet some of your physical movement needs. As the snow melts, you can extend outdoor Earthing sessions in a safe, seated position until the ice is gone.
Nervous Systems: A Unified Network
There is another layer to chronic pain that people donโt see.
The nervous system becomes watchful.
When pain appears often enough, the brain begins to scan constantly for the next signal. Muscles tighten sooner. Reflexes fire faster. The body becomes protective.
Itโs not weakness. Itโs survival.
But a nervous system that spends too much time in protection mode eventually forgets how to settle.
This is one of the quiet gifts of time in nature. Not just for enjoyment but for nervous system survival.
As Japanese physician Yoshifumi Miyazaki, one of the pioneers of forest bathing research, observed:
The forest environment allows the nervous system to shift from vigilance to restoration.
For someone managing chronic pain, that shift is not small. It is validating.
Research into forest environments has shown that simply being among trees can lower cortisol, calm heart rate, and shift the nervous system out of constant vigilance.
In other words, the forest gently persuades the body:
You are safe enough to soften.
And for someone living with chronic pain, that reminder can be profoundly healing.
Frosty Therapy: Nature’s Icy Embrace for the Soul
If winter trails feel risky but your spirit still needs the forest, try this gentle practice.
Practice: Borrowing Stability
Find a tree nearby and place one hand against the trunk.
Feel the firmness of the bark under your palm. Trees have been practicing stability for a very long time.
Take three slow breaths.
Notice your feet inside your boots.
Notice the ground supporting you.
Then take three very slow steps. With each step, quietly ask: What does stability feel like right now?
You might be surprised how much calmer the nervous system becomes when movement slows down.
Winter walking with hypermobility includes both beauty and risk. Moments of deep solace among the trees and occasional grievances to file with a body that requires extra grit.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Perhaps winter forest walks teach that same wisdom.
Conscientious step by conscientious step.
The Whispers of Accord
Living with chronic pain sometimes feels like a negotiation between the body and the soul.
The body says: Please be wary.
The soul says: Please go outside.
The forest, thankfully, doesnโt insist on perfect joints or pain-free muscles.
It simply offers a place to breathe.
Scottish nature writer Nan Shepherd wrote about being in the mountains:
The thing to be known grows with the knowing.
Perhaps the same is true of our bodies.
The more we learn their quirks and their quiet wisdom, the more gently we can move through the world. Even when the trail shimmers with ice and every step requires a little forethought.
Because sometimes healing isnโt about conquering the path. Sometimes itโs simply about finding a way to keep walking among the trees.
So yes, SK winter trails sometimes feel like obstacle courses designed specifically for people with hypermobile joints to fail.
And yes, the body occasionally protests the whole arrangement. Of having any movement at all. Yet consider another quote by Nan Shepherd that leads us back to what matters,
It is a grand thing to get leave to live.
Perhaps that is what these mindful winter walks really are.
A quiet permission to keep living fully, even if the steps are slow and deliberate.
Careful steps. Even slightly wobbly steps.
Keep walking when and where you can. Surrender when called for. We are so close Prairies friends! We have almost made it to Spring! We’ve got this.
In Saskatchewan right now, the wind still bites and snow still crunches under our boots.
The pale sky stretches wide over frozen lakes and ground.
And yetโฆ we are talking about spring. Not because we see it. But because we remember it.
It has come every year before and we can trust it will come again.
This is one of the most asked questions about forest therapy:
Does this really help when life is hard? When pain is chronic? When nothing feels like itโs changing?
The answer is not dramatic. It is steady.
Forest therapy does not promise cure. It doesnโt offer โcomplete and totally done with it all ๐๐ผ๐๐ผ๐๐ผ .โ
Thatโs not our story.
What it offers is regulation. Relationship.
So I keep returning.
Research around nature exposure shows reduced cortisol, improved heart rate variability, and nervous system settling.
But beyond the science is something quieter. The forest does not rush spring and the body does not rush healing. They know the futility and energy waste that rushing introduce to otherwise perfect systems.
Both the forest and the body move in seasons. Why then do we want spring to hurry up? Why do we expect the body to heal in our prescribed way, on our expected timeline?
๐ฒ โCan forest therapy help chronic pain?โ
As someone who lives with chronic pain, I donโt speak in absolutes.
I speak in terms of mountains. There are days the climb feels vertical. Flares. Illness. Falls. Each with its own devastating consequences.
And still. We climb.
There are years that ask questions and years that answer.
During the super cold winter of 2021, I learned that our first precious grandbaby was on his way. I wanted. Correction: I needed to be able to hold and snuggle that little one.
But I was so weak. I could barely lift a mug of tea without shaking from the effort. I walked from the bed to the bathroom. Sometimes to the car for an appointment.
The little munchkin, who I hadnโt even met yet, was cheering me on. I could sense it. So with a soup can, a baby blanket, and a prayer, I commenced my grandma- training.
A soup can because it weighed approximately a half pound. My ideal starting weight.
A baby blanket because of what this can of soup represented. He was going to grow over the following months into an actual grandbaby that I would wrap in this blanket. And carry him around to snuggle him. And to put him to sleep. To have deep conversations and sing the songs my mom and grandma sang to me.
And a prayer because thatโs who I am.
That soup can, baby blanket and I started with 30 second walks 3x a day. Each walk induced waves of nausea followed by hours of cramping and exhaustion.
Each half pound and each 30 second increase was an excruciating miracle.
There were setbacks. Most evenings were agonizing. Some days I wondered if this was the correct place to put this much time and energy. It was all I could do to find time and energy to eat.
After months of focused grandma- training, I could walk outside! And something shifted. During a particularly stressful week and stubborn muscles, I walked down the lane and into the trees on our farm. I couldnโt go as far as Iโd planned. I couldnโt โachieveโ what I wanted. I leaned against a frozen trunk and felt foolish for even trying.
The cold, early spring air sharpened my senses. The snow muffled the world. The trees stood, scarred, weathered, unmoving.
Some trees have survived a hundred Saskatchewan winters. I considered how they are wise and do not apologize for seasons of dormancy.
It was around this time I stopped asking, โWhen will I be better?โ And started asking, โHow do I live well from this place?โ
That question changed everything. And part of my answer was to focus on being a grandma. That little man I trained for months to be able to hold is going to be 4 this summer. And his equally enchanting sister will be 2. They have been the means of my greatest confrontations and of my greatest delights.
Almost like trying to enjoy your favourite therapy during a Saskatchewan winter. We take the intense highs with the intense lows.
๐ฒ โHow do you practice forest therapy in winter?โ
Winter forest therapy isnโt about long hikes. Itโs about being present in the moment.
Notice how snow softens sound. Notice how your breath becomes visible. Notice how even in dormancy, life is stored beneath the bark and soil.
I have come to the realization that the forest in winter mirrors chronic pain. Nothing looks alive. Nothing appears to be blooming. But beneath the surface, systems are conserving and recalibrating.
Strength. Resilience. Wisdom.
Spring doesnโt shout when it arrives. It begins as a spark. An idea.
A drop. A thaw.
A beam of light catching ice and reflecting its warmth.
The same is true in us. Your good days are coming.
Sometimes we have to trust that promise for a long time before we see it.
Even if all youโve seen is a spark.
That spark will become a light. That light will become a beam.
That beam becomes you, reflecting what youโve learned onto someone else.
๐ฟ A Simple Winter Forest Therapy Practice
Trusting the Season (10โ15 Minutes)
Step outside, even if just to your yard or a nearby tree line.
Stand still. Feel your feet grounded in frozen earth.
Place one hand over your heart. One over your belly.
Take three slow breaths. Watch the air leave your body.
Ask quietly: What season am I in?
Look for one sign of hidden life. Buds beneath bark, tracks in snow, sunlight on ice.
Whisper: Spring has come before. It will come again.
When ready, take that sentence home with you.
๐ฒ What Makes Forest Therapy Different From Hiking?
Hiking is about distance. Forest therapy is about experiencing relationships.
You donโt conquer the mountain. You learn from it.
And when you fall (as we all do) you get back up.
Keep climbing. Fall after fall. Flare after flare.
Keep reflecting hope and joy in the middle of the mess. Itโs possible.
Anne Lamott defines hope not as naive optimism but as a stubborn choice to believe in goodness and possibilities, especially during dark, uncertain times.
๐ฉถ If youโre reading this from under grey prairie skies, remember:
The trees are not worried about spring. They trust the tilt of the earth. They trust that light and warmth will return.
You can trust too. Your good days are coming. There are bright days ahead.
My bright days in this season, are when I get to be a grandma. If you want to see my grandparent life in reverse, view the following. It’s meant to be scrolled through to get the overall feel of the joy that was ahead of me. That I now get to experience.
Apologies. That was way too fun to go through old photos.
Even if you have to hold on to that promise longer than you wanted to. Hold it tight. The good days make it all worth it.
At this point in my story I can cart around that 2 year old and 4 year old at the same time. Grandma’s got guns. Just kidding. Training for my grandson got me to the point that I can run on a treadmill and ride a recumbent bike. He is my hero.
Keep getting back up. Show a willingness to bend and slow when your crucible is heavy. But keep climbing. Keep reflecting the beams of light.๐ฒโจ
The oak fought the wind and was broken, the willow bent when it must and survived.
SUNBEAM ACRES 