mind body connection – SUNBEAM ACRES

Understanding Fibromyalgia: 10 Surprising Symptoms

July 21, 2026 pammunkholm

Out of difficulties grow miracles.

–Jean de La Bruyère

If you’ve ever searched fibromyalgia symptoms, you’ve probably found the usual suspects.

Pain.

Fatigue.

Brain fog.

Poor sleep.

Accurate? 🫡 Absolutely.

Complete? 🤣 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 you’re calmly watching Michael Scott turn an ordinary workday into an HR nightmare. Your hands are so cold someone checks to see whether you’re 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 it’s 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 system’s alarm system becoming far too sensitive. Instead of responding only to danger, it begins reacting to things that shouldn’t 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 “fight, flight, freeze or fawn” 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 you’ll 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 I’ve rubbed myself head-to-toe with fiberglass insulation.

For me, it’s 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. 🚩 🚩

I’ve learned not to argue with it anymore.

2. Random Itchiness

This one is maddening.

I’ll suddenly become fiercely itchy.

No mosquito.

No rash.

No dry skin.

It’s like the itch exists underneath my skin where no amount of scratching can reach it.

If you’ve experienced this, you know exactly what I mean.

If you haven’t, 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 isn’t simply pain.

It’s 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 “up” 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 they’re no longer interested in cooperating.

They arrive uninvited.

They unpack.

They stay far longer than anyone asked them to.

It’s 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,

“Are you okay?”

Apparently, based on my hand temperature, I should have been dead for several hours.

Comforting.

9. The Fake Flu

Out of nowhere…

Nausea.

Aching muscles.

Complete exhaustion.

Like I’m about to come down with something terrible.

Except…

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 I’m 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.

–Brené Brown

Living well with fibromyalgia isn’t about eliminating every symptom.

For me, it’s about calming an overprotective nervous system often enough that it remembers I’m 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 isn’t.
Choose warmth—or cooling—depending 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.

Now…

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 today…

That’s the thing.

Everything else can wait.

Take breaks before I need them.

Fibromyalgia has taught me that resting isn’t the reward for finishing.

Sometimes resting is the reason I’ll 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,

“Yes… thank you.”

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 that’s meditation.

Sometimes it’s prayer.

Sometimes it’s 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 it’s 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 aren’t simply visiting the forest.

You’re 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 Earth’s 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

I’ve learned these are usually my first clues that I need to slow down.

☐ Burning or tingling skin

☐ Random deep itchiness

☐ Light, sound or touch suddenly feel overwhelming

☐ Increased dizziness or balance problems

☐ Pins and needles appearing more often

☐ Muscle twitches becoming frequent

☐ New food suddenly doesn’t agree with me

☐ Hands and feet feel like ice

☐ Fake flu symptoms appear

☐ Heavy, lead-like limbs

When two or three of these show up together, I know it’s time to change course before my body makes the decision for me.

Printable Energy Budget Checklist

Before I commit to something, I ask myself:

☐ Have I slept well enough?

☐ Am I already in more pain than usual?

☐ Have I eaten nourishing food today?

☐ Have I been drinking enough water?

☐ Is this worth spending today’s energy on?

☐ Have I scheduled recovery time afterward?

☐ Can someone help me with part of this?

☐ What can I postpone?

☐ Have I taken a break yet today?

☐ What does my body actually need right now?

Sometimes the healthiest decision isn’t doing more.

It’s 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 enough…

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.

I’d love to hear from you.

What is the strangest fibromyalgia symptom you’ve 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 they’re the only one.

If you’d like to experience what nervous system regulation feels like instead of simply reading about it, I’d love to have you join me for a guided forest therapy walk. Together we’ll 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 don’t 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.

–Erica Layne

Chronic Willpower: The Cost of Being the Woman Who Always Pushes Through

June 30, 2026 pammunkholm

The curious paradox is that when I accept myself as I am, then I can change.

–Carl Rogers

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 isn’t a strength?

What if it’s a survival strategy?

And what if the very thing you’ve 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 am learning that hormones play a major role in mid life. Learn more about hormones and their effects in this past post. Female Hormones: Our Fickle Fairweather Friend

The Problem With “Just Try Harder”

I recently listened to an episode of the Success Genius podcast⁠ 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 don’t 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 isn’t 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:

“I’m exhausted, but I’ll push through.”

“I’m overwhelmed, but I’ll push through.”

“My body is asking for rest, but I’ll push through.”

A withdrawal isn’t necessarily noticeable at first.

Just like spending a little extra on a credit card doesn’t 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:

“It starts as a whisper. Then it becomes a shout. Then it becomes a scream. If you keep ignoring it, eventually it shuts you down.”

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 you’re safe.

When you repeatedly ignore fatigue, stress, grief, overwhelm, pain, or emotional needs, those signals don’t 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. They’re 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.

–Hans Selye

We are designed for stress.

Contrary to what social media might have us believe, stress itself is not the enemy.

The stress of giving a presentation.

The stress of learning something new.

The stress of tackling a challenge.

Those are normal.

Healthy even.

The problem is chronic stress without sufficient recovery.

When we continually override our body’s signals and never allow the system to recover, we remain stuck in a state of ongoing activation.

Over time that can contribute to:

Elevated cortisol
Disrupted sleep
Increased emotional reactivity
Brain fog and reduced cognitive function
Immune system suppression
Hormone disruption
Burnout
Chronic fatigue
Increased vulnerability to illness

Many women eventually find themselves working harder than ever and accomplishing less.

Not because they’re lazy.

Not because they’re undisciplined.

Not because they suddenly lost their motivation.

Because their nervous system has been carrying a debt load for years.

I, myself, believed rest was something you earned after finishing everything. Unfortunately, everything is never finished.

Determination Is the Fuel. Regulation Is the Engine.

You cannot solve a problem from the same consciousness that created it.

–Albert Einstein

One of the most helpful concepts Williams shared,

Determination is the fuel. Regulation is the engine.

Fuel matters.

But pouring premium gasoline onto a broken engine won’t 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 body’s 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 isn’t simply the “pleasure chemical.” It’s deeply involved in motivation, anticipation, reward, and learning what behaviors matter. Our brains remember what helped us survive and succeed.

So the pattern becomes:

🏁Ignore body. ➡️ Push harder. ➡️ Get result. ➡️ Receive dopamine hit. ➡️ Repeat. 🔄 😵‍💫 😵

Soon, productivity itself can become a form of self-medication.

The nervous system learns that overriding discomfort equals reward.

No wonder it’s 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 that’s where nature has something remarkable to teach us.

The Forest Doesn’t 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 you’ve earned your rest. Whether you’re keeping up. If you’re winning at life or whether your worth is keeping pace with your to-do list. No one asking whether you’ve justified your existence through accomplishment.

The forest would NE-ver. Trees are refreshingly difficult to impress.

And somehow that’s exactly what makes them healing.

In the forest, many people experience what feels like a serotonin bath. 🛁

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.

Simply walk.

Notice colours. Textures. Movement. Bird sounds. Wind. Light.

Whenever your mind starts solving problems, gently return attention to your surroundings.

Step 2: Sit

Find a place to sit for 10 to 20 minutes.

Allow yourself to do absolutely nothing.

No journaling. No podcasts. No meditation app.

Simply sit.

Notice what emerges. At first you may feel restless.

That’s normal.

Many chronic willpower users experience sitting still the same way a Labrador experiences being told not to chase a tennis ball.

Step 3: Listen

Ask yourself:

“What is my body trying to tell me?”

Then resist the urge to answer immediately.

Wait.

The nervous system often speaks in sensations before it speaks in words.

Step 4: Walk Again

Take a slow walk again.

Notice whether anything feels different.

You are not trying to force an answer.

You are creating conditions where answers can arise.

The body always leads us home if we can simply learn to trust sensation and stay with it long enough for it to reveal its wisdom.

–Pat Ogden

Going Upstream

There is a somewhat unsettling, but well-known parable about a group of adults standing beside a river.

Suddenly they see a child floating downstream and jump in to save them.

Then another child appears.

And another.

Everyone becomes frantically occupied rescuing children.

Finally someone leaves.

“Where are you going? How could you possibly leave at a time like this?” the others shout.

“Upstream,” they reply. “To find out why they’re falling into the river.”

Chronic willpower is often what happens downstream.

Parts of your self are drowning in the river upstream.

Those adults frantically jumping in are your chronic willpower, your nervous system desperately trying to manage the consequences.

But you can go upstream.

You can find the calm your body has been asking for.

You can stop overriding the system long enough to hear what it has been trying to say.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

–Anaïs Nin

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 you’ve 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 isn’t found in pushing harder.

Sometimes it’s found wandering through a lush, green forest, realizing your body wasn’t 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.

Caught in a Battle Between Conventional and Holistic Medicine- A Chronic Sufferer’s Experience

June 9, 2026 pammunkholm

The longer I live with chronic pain, the more convinced I am that modern medicine is excellent at saving lives and often terrible at helping people live them.

That is not an attack on medicine.

I am deeply grateful for surgeons, emergency rooms, diagnostics, imaging, specialists, antibiotics, and every medical professional who dedicates their life to helping people heal. If my arm bone is hanging on by hope and duct tape, I am not reaching for turmeric and positive affirmations. I want a surgeon. Immediately.

My mom shattered her foot in multiple places in a car accident. Her toe was essentially powder. No longer a toe. She needed surgery, pins, screws, and acute medical care. No amount of herbal tea or breath work was going to fix those bones.

Conventional medicine is extraordinary in moments like that.

But chronic illness and chronic pain are often different beasts entirely.

My body failed to coordinate its symptoms in a way convenient for modern medicine.

This is where many patients begin discovering the enormous disconnect between conventional medicine and a more holistic approach to healing.

And by holistic, I do not mean anti-science wellness influencers waving potions around while trying to sell bottled mountain air and enlightenment in the same online bundle.

There is a fine line between integrative medicine and someone trying to sell you powdered optimism for $89.99.

I mean looking at the body as an interconnected system instead of isolated symptoms.

I mean considering nutrition, supplementation, nervous system regulation, sleep, movement, physical therapies, mindfulness, environmental stressors, and individualized treatment options alongside conventional care.

Not instead of medicine.
Alongside it.

Because pain doesn’t stay politely inside one department.

The body cannot always be divided into neat specialties simply because the healthcare system is.

I recently listened to a podcast episode from Untangle: Exploring What it Takes to Be Pain Free featuring Stacey Roberts, and so much of the conversation echoed what I’ve experienced navigating chronic pain myself.

One point especially stood out to me. Roberts referenced pain scientist Lorimer Moseley from the University of Adelaide, discussing how conventional medicine often compartmentalizes the body into isolated systems. The gut, the brain, the joints. When chronic pain rarely behaves that neatly.

Pain spills into everything.

Your nervous system changes.
Your sleep changes.
Your digestion changes.
Your stress response changes.
Your sense of safety changes.

The nervous system remembers suffering long after scans stop showing it.

Pain is real, even when the cause is unclear.

–Lorimer Moseley

For years I was bounced between specialists who all told me some variation of, “Everything looks normal.” 👍 👍

Which was excellent news except for the small detail that I was getting worse.

There’s an exhaustion that comes from hearing “everything looks normal” while actively deteriorating.

Every appointment felt a bit like medical speed dating except nobody wanted a second date with my file.

I was essentially told to go back to physio. This wasn’t really a medical issue anymore.

I believe in physiotherapy. Deeply. It has helped me tremendously. But there comes a point where patients stop needing another treatment and start needing someone to ask bigger questions.

Nothing discourages a person quite like enthusiastically trying a stretch or strengthening exercise that immediately makes things worse.

Every specialist confidently searches for answers inside their own department like medical-themed escape rooms.

Somewhere between “try yoga” and “have you considered drinking more water?” I began expanding my own research.

And I’ve lost count of the books and podcasts that begin with the exact same storyline:

“I was trained in conventional medicine. I trusted the system completely… until I became the patient.”

At first, these doctors often dismiss holistic approaches entirely. Patients mention supplements, meditation, dietary changes, nervous system work, or alternative therapies, and the response is cautious at best and dismissive at worst.

Snake oil.
Pseudoscience.
Non-compliance.

But then something shifts.

The doctor develops chronic pain.
An autoimmune condition.
A lingering injury.
Burnout.
A nervous system disorder.

And suddenly certainty cracks open into curiosity.

Chronic pain turns you into a part-time researcher, part-time philosopher, and full-time reluctant detective.

I have spent an unreasonable amount of my adult life trying to determine whether I am injured, inflamed, overtired, under-rested, dehydrated, stressed, or simply existing incorrectly.

Living with chronic pain means constantly performing the world’s least fun science experiment on yourself.

By year three of unexplained symptoms, I could practically earn honorary medical credits.

To be fair, holistic spaces are not immune to problems either. There is misinformation, exploitation, fearmongering, and an endless supply of expensive miracle cures marketed toward vulnerable people desperate to feel better.

Pain makes people easy to manipulate.
Both systems can fail people in different ways.

That’s why I don’t believe the answer is abandoning conventional medicine for holistic healing.

I believe the answer is integration.

An actual partnership.

Healing is bigger than symptom management.

Patients do not need doctors to be omniscient. We need them to be curious.

Surgeons are trained to operate.
Doctors are trained to diagnose and prescribe.
Specialists are trained to identify patterns within their specialty.

We need practitioners who understand both the power and the limitations of their training. And openly work with other practitioners, conventional and holistic, to find a root cause and treatment plan.

This matters enormously to a patient just trying to survive.

The shoe that fits one person pinches another.

–Carl Jung

Chronic illness does not always fit neatly inside textbook timelines and diagnostic boxes.

Medicine’s symbol speaks of healing being available. Yet many people with chronic illness spend years moving through appointments feeling like fragmented symptoms instead of whole human beings.

Stacey Roberts described asking chronic pain patients to remember a time before they lived with pain. Then she asks them to imagine themselves in the future doing something that currently hurts. Picking up grandchildren. Bending over. Any repetitive movement, without pain.

And many people simply cannot picture it.

Their bodies have become so conditioned toward pain and protection that even imagining safety feels impossible.

This is your forest therapy practice for this week. Find a quiet place in nature and practice this visualization.

Chronic pain doesn’t only affect muscles and joints. It reshapes expectation. Identity. Fear. Hope.

Roberts discussed using visualization, breathing, mindfulness, and repetition to help retrain the nervous system’s response to pain.

That idea connects to what I’ve experienced through forest therapy and time in nature.

Regulation comes while standing beneath trees while wind moves through their branches overhead. The nervous system seems to recognize something there before the mind does. The movement. The rhythm. The reminder that not everything in the world is bracing for impact.

Healing and pain elimination are not always the same thing.

Chronic pain teaches your nervous system to scan constantly for danger. Nature quietly teaches it another language.

No performance. No productivity. No pressure to fix yourself.

Just space to exist in a body that has spent far too long preparing for the next flare.

You can read more about that experience in my post about forest therapy and nervous system regulation. 🌲 Activating Your Vagus Nerve With Forest Therapy 🌲

I appreciated many of the points Stacey Roberts made in the podcast. But I struggled with the title of her book, The Pain-Free Formula.

Not because I don’t believe improvement is possible. I do.

I absolutely believe there are things we can do to reduce pain, improve quality of life, calm the nervous system, support healing, and function better in our bodies.

But chronic illness eventually teaches many of us something medicine rarely does:

Sometimes the greatest medical harm is making patients feel invisible.

At some point I stopped obsessing over becoming pain free and started focusing on becoming supported.

I decided healing would come in time.
And if not, I would still be okay.

Not because I had given up.
But because I finally realized I had the tools, support, and guidance I needed to endure whatever my condition threw at me.

Ironically, that mindset shift brought me more peace than years spent desperately chasing the next solution.

Sometimes acceptance is more freeing than the absence of pain we searched for so desperately.

I hope Stacey Roberts never fully understands that distinction.

Because for her to truly understand it, she may have to suffer at a depth I would not wish on anyone.

At the end of the podcast, the host asked how she would redesign the healthcare system for chronic pain patients. Roberts discussed the need for more investment into preventative health, nutrition research, nervous system regulation, and understanding why certain non-pharmaceutical interventions help people heal.

And honestly, I think she raised important questions.

Because if someone improves through movement, nutrition, mindfulness, supplementation, therapy, nervous system regulation, or lifestyle change, why should that healing be dismissed simply because it did not originate from a prescription pad?

People in pain do not need to be fixed before they are worthy of compassion.

I do think our healthcare system needs to evolve.

Not because doctors are evil.
Not because science has failed.
Not because medicine lacks value.

Oliver Sacks suggests,

To restore the human subject at the center. The suffering, afflicted, fighting human subject. We must deepen a case history to a narrative.

Patients with chronic illness need practitioners who are comfortable saying:
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me more.”
“I believe you.”
“Let’s keep looking.”

Rachel Naomi Remen said,

The most basic and powerful way to cconnect to another person is to listen.

And William Osler advised:

Listen to your patient; he is telling you the diagnosis.

Listen. Not just for the keywords that trigger familiar treatment pathways. But for the whole story.

For the grief patients carry. For the exhaustion. For the devastation of losing trust in your own body. And for the courage it takes to keep asking for help after years of disappointment.

Healing should never have become a battle between conventional and holistic medicine.

People in pain deserve both.

And if you’ve ever had to redefine what healing or success looks like inside a difficult body, I wrote more about that here as well. You Are a Success Story

🌲 Activating Your Vagus Nerve With Forest Therapy 🌲

May 5, 2026 pammunkholm

If you’ve ever noticed your body relax the moment you step into a quiet natural space, you’ve already experienced the vagus nerve at work.

That shift, subtle but undeniable, is your nervous system moving out of protection mode and into restoration. It’s not ‘all in your head.’ It’s 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 it’s technically relaxed but also ready to fight a bear or answer emails (same energy.)

I lived here for years. Me 👇🏼.

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 “wandering.” 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, ‘Hey guys… maybe we’re okay?’ 🤷‍♀️

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 grandkids’ secrets. 49% air, 50% spit and 1% information. (Toddler secrets are the best 💕)

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? 😷 So the message can be clearly sent and secured.

Regulation is not forced. It is invited.

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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.

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. 🏃‍♀️

When the vagus nerve is underactive (or when sympathetic “fight or flight” 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.

-Brittany McBride

And this is where the forest becomes more than scenery.

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Why Nature Activates the Vagus Nerve

Your nervous system did not evolve in traffic, under fluorescent lighting, or in the constant hum of notifications.

{Does anyone else feel like they constantly have 17 tabs open? One of them was really important but you can’t find it anywhere?}

Your nervous system evolved in relationship with the natural world.

When you step into a forest and begin to truly engage your senses, several things happen:

Your eyes relax as they take in natural, fractal patterns
Your ears shift from sharp alertness to soft, ambient listening
Your breath deepens in response to clean, oxygen rich air
Your body attunes to slower, more rhythmic stimuli

This sensory immersion signals to the vagus nerve that the environment is safe.

Not logically safe. But felt safe.

Your body is not working against you—it’s working overtime for you.

–Brittany McBride

The forest offers consistent, non-threatening input. No pop ups. No deadlines.

No one asking if you’ve ‘just tried stretching.’ 🤦‍♀️ Saints preserve us! Bless them for trying.

Suggested cheeky replies:

“You have such a unique way of understanding things.”

“I’m surprised you feel comfortable enough to say that out loud.”

And then come back to presence. Presence is the language of the vagus nerve.

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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: “Let the Forest Meet Your Senses”

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 sound… then the farthest… 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 “find” 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 5–15 minutes. No goal. No outcome to achieve. Just sensory conversation.

Stillness is not empty—it is full of signals your body understands.

-based on teachings of Eckhart Tolle

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The Genius Behind This Approach

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 “doing” to “receiving”

Over time, these experiences build what is called vagal tone. Your nervous system’s ability to return to a state of calm after stress.

And with improved vagal tone, the body becomes less reactive… and more resilient.

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The Paradox of Stillness

There are people who don’t 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.

I’ve walked with someone like this before, someone whose body trusted movement far more than pause.

So we didn’t 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 wasn’t what happened, but what didn’t.

The expected spike in tension didn’t 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t erase the pain.

But it introduced a different relationship to it.

This kind of experience doesn’t feel like much until you realize your body stopped arguing with itself. And when you’re used to those arguments lasting 2-3 business days, the silence is sweetly deafening.

And when the nervous system experiences even a brief interruption to its usual pattern, it begins to update its expectations.

And that’s where change begins. Not in dramatic shifts, but in quiet moments where the body realizes:

this isn’t unfolding the way I thought it would.

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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 into—it 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.

–John Muir

Not because the forest fixes you.

But because it reminds your body of something it has always known.

How to come back to itself.

Exploring Meaning Through Painful Moments

April 28, 2026 pammunkholm

There’s a quiet crossroads that people with chronic pain arrive at again and again.

In the small, ordinary moments of a day.

When your body says no again.
When plans have to be cancelled.
When energy runs out before the day even begins.

And at that crossroads, there’s a choice. Not one I have always recognized. It begins with this question.

What will I do with this pain?

Not why do I have it?
Not how do I fix it?

But… what can I make out of it? Today.

In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.

— Albert Einstein

Pain, especially chronic pain, has a way of shrinking life if we let it.

It narrows what feels possible.
It redraws the edges of our days.

And to be clear. This is not about pretending pain is a gift.
It isn’t.

If it were, most of us would politely decline and slide it right back across the table. Thanks but no thanks.

It’s hard. It’s exhausting. It’s unfair.

You are not here to be the perfect, inspiring example of someone who is chronically ill and somehow always positive.

But there is a difference between:

pain that isolates
and
pain that becomes a bridge

Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls.

— Kahlil Gibran

Anyone that knows me knows how much I adore my grandkids.

We live in the same house, which means I get to be part of their everyday world. If it were up to my heart, I’d spend all my time with them.

But my energy doesn’t always agree with my heart.

Today, my grandson wants to go “hwimming.”

And I want to go with him.

But I already have one “big thing” on my list today. And my body has made it abundantly clear, there’s room for one big thing… or a few small ones.

Not both. Never both! My body is many things, but it is not a reasonable negotiator.

The frustrating part?
This is actually an improvement from recent years.

And still… it stings.

ELPIS– Greek (n) A quiet, persistent hope, even in dark times. It is the last light that refuses to go out, the promise that tomorrow still holds room for healing.

This is the crossroads.

I can let that moment turn into frustration, guilt, or the quiet grief of what I wish I could do.

Or…

I can choose something else.

Maybe I sit with him while he plays.
Maybe I listen to him sing from downstairs 🫠 ❤️ .
Maybe I ask him to snuggle.

Maybe I let myself feel both things at once:

I wish I could go.
And I’m still here.

Still loving him.
Still part of his world.
Still showing up. Just in a different way than I would choose, but a real one.

This probably seems trivial. It is. But a lifetime of lost trivial things somehow adds up over time. A succession of lost opportunities. Striking the same chord vibrating that heart string that is still inflamed from the previous strike.

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

— Kahlil Gibran

Pain doesn’t just take.

Sometimes, quietly, over time, it teaches.

It teaches you how to notice what others miss.
How to sit with someone without trying to fix them.
How to love in ways that aren’t loud or impressive but steady and real.

How to recognize pain in others.

And some days, it teaches you how to lower your expectations to what is possible instead of what is perfect. The real over the ideal.

A forest therapy practice: “Follow What Still Moves”

On days when your body feels limited, this is an invitation to gently reconnect with possibility.

Step outside. Your yard, a park, or even just one tree.
Begin a slow, wandering walk. No destination.
Let your attention be drawn to movement:
- leaves shifting
- branches swaying
- light flickering
- birds moving through space
When something catches your eye, pause and gently mirror it:
- shift your weight like the tree in the wind
- slowly move your hand like a branch
- turn your head to follow light or shadow
Rest whenever your body asks.

This isn’t about pushing through pain.

It’s about remembering,

Even when parts of you feel stuck…
life is still moving.

And you are still part of it.

We don’t heal in isolation, but in community.

— S. Kelley Harrell

Using your pain for good doesn’t mean turning it into something impressive.

It means allowing it to shape you into someone who:

notices more
loves deeply
connects honestly
and finds meaning in moments that might otherwise be overlooked

A life that is still full.

Even here.

Especially here.

Feeling It All: Big Emotions, Chronic Pain, and Finding Your Ground in the Forest

April 21, 2026 pammunkholm

There’s a moment. It’s 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 I’m 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 reaction—but every emotion deserves acknowledgment.

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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 didn’t reach the goal.
Someone saw you struggle.
Something didn’t go as planned.

Those are just events. Although they feel huge in the moment.

Disappointment enters when the mind adds the story.

“This means something is wrong with me.”

Embarrassment grows when the thoughts spiral into shame.

“They must be judging me.”

“I look foolish.”

“I am foolish.”

And here’s the important nuance.

These emotions are optional. But not wrong.

You’re allowed to feel them. You’re also allowed to question them.

The feeling is real. The story is optional

– John Delony

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A Simple Task: A Heavy Story

Here’s how that looks in my life.

I set out to do a little spring cleaning.

Nothing ambitious. Just a smidgen at a time. Slow and steady. The way I’ve 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 couldn’t 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 “help.” 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.

I’ll never catch up.

My house will always feel like this.

Why can’t I just keep up like everyone else?

Because, obviously, one unfinished chore means a lifetime of failure. 😣

I could see it happening, the spiral. I wasn’t 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 don’t 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 wasn’t failing me. It was asking me to listen.

And the real choice in that moment wasn’t about dishes or doors.

But this.

Do I keep pushing to meet an expectation I set for myself… or do I take care of myself?

Eventually, I chose to stop.

Not because everything was done. But because I was.

And that shift didn’t magically clean my house. But it did something more important. It brought me back to myself and my priorities.

——

Chronic Pain and Emotional Amplification

Pain is loud. But it is not the only voice.

– Liz Newman

If you live with chronic pain, this truth lands differently. (You might also find this helpful -> How Forest Therapy Can Transform Your Pain Experience)

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 doesn’t just exist in isolation. It interacts with emotion, memory, and meaning.

A flare-up can quickly become:

“I’ll never get better.”

“My body is failing me.”

“I can’t live the life I want.”

This is where emotional dysregulation can take hold, much like how Brené Brown describes it:

Being overwhelmed by feelings that are hard to name and contain, driving behaviors and thinking that don’t align with who we want to be.

And suddenly, we’re not just in pain.

We’re in a story about what that pain means.

Your body speaks in sensation. Your mind speaks in meaning. Learn to tell the difference.

–Deb Shapiro

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Disconnection: When the Body Becomes Unfamiliar

Brené Brown shares a powerful story about recovering from injury and trying to engage muscles that simply wouldn’t respond. Her therapist kept reminding her to “find your ground.”

But she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t 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 you’re trying to find your way back to yourself, back into your body, the answer isn’t usually one big solution.

It’s 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.

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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 tree’s 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.

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What Actually Matters (Hint: It’s Not the Dishes)

Another truth worth holding onto.

You cannot overestimate the unimportance of practically everything.

– John C Maxwell

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.

Jody Moore offers a striking reflection.

Imagine your tombstone reads:

“At least the dishes and laundry were always done.”

“She really stayed on top of the laundry.”

“At least no one had a reason to judge her.”

That’s not the legacy most of us want.

What we want is something closer to this.

She lived fully. She went all in. She gave her whole heart.

Not perfection. Participation.

Because the real tragedy isn’t failure. It’s not trying at all.

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Vulnerability, Courage, and the Nervous System

Brené Brown reminds us:

There is no courage without vulnerability.

And vulnerability means feeling.

It means stepping into uncertainty.

Risk.

Emotional exposure.

For those with chronic pain, vulnerability can feel even riskier. The body already feels unpredictable. Why add emotional exposure on top of that?

But avoiding emotion doesn’t create safety.

It creates disconnection.

And disconnection pulls us further from our “ground.”

EMBERLIN: (n) the small unbreakable flame inside you that refuses to go out, even on your darkest days.

⸻

A Forest Therapy Practice: Finding Your Trunk

Here’s a simple forest therapy invitation you can try.

The Trunk and the Story

1. Arrive

Find a tree that draws your attention. Stand or sit near it.

2. Observe

Notice the trunk. Its thickness. Its texture. Its steadiness.

3. Connect

Place a hand gently on the tree (or simply sit close if touch isn’t accessible).

Bring awareness to your own torso.

Your breath
Your chest
Your core

4. Journal

Bring a journal or write in the dirt with your finger or a stick. Answer these questions,

What emotion is present in you right now?

Not the story, just the sensation.

Where is it in your body?

5. Separate Sensation from Story

Gently answer this,

What am I feeling?
What am I making this mean?

Draw a line between the two answers. Let those be two different things.

6. Root

Imagine your body like the tree.

Grounded below
Supported in the center
Responsive, but not uprooted

7. Choose

Without forcing anything, ask this,

How do I want to respond to this feeling in this moment?

Write your answer.

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Final Thought: Feel First, Then Choose

You are not meant to bypass emotion.

You are meant to experience it, fully, honestly, humanly.

And then, from a grounded place, choose your next step.

Not from fear. Not from the story that says you are failing.

But from the deeper truth that you are still here, still rooted, still capable of living a meaningful life.

Even with pain.

Even with uncertainty.

Even with a door that still needs cleaning. 🧼 🚪

Forest Bathing: Breaking the Pain Cycle

January 13, 2026 pammunkholm

What if the goal isn’t to eliminate pain? But to change your relationship with it.

Not by forcing positivity. Not by chasing the next miracle cure. But by learning how to stand in a forest, breathe, and gently step outside the storm long enough to see it clearly.

That’s where mindfulness in the forest becomes powerful. Not as an escape from pain, but as a way to interrupt the pain cycle itself.

Benefits don’t emerge from merely experiencing mindfulness as a state. Instead they happen when we cultivate mindfulness as a personal trait.

–@brilliantlegalmind

Breaking the Chains of the Pain Cycle

Chronic pain is never only physical. It is neurological, emotional, and deeply shaped by our stress response.

This is not to say that you don’t experience actual, real, physical, deep pain. Only that our pain experience can be altered according to how we choose to interpret it. Which is especially important in chronic pain when so often there are no answers or treatments.

Pain feeds on:

Fear of what’s coming next
Hyper-vigilance in the body
Frustration over what we’ve lost
The endless search for a fix

This creates a familiar loop.

Pain → tension → fear → more pain.

Mindfulness, especially when practiced in nature, doesn’t deny this cycle.

It teaches us how to step out of it.

Don’t stress the ‘could haves’, if it should have, it would have.

MINDFULNESS (n):

“The practice of being aware of your body, mind and feelings in your present moment, thought to create a feeling of calm.”

Finding Harmony: In Nature’s Whispering Wisdom

Mindfulness anywhere can help.

Mindfulness in a forest does something more.

Natural environments gently regulate the nervous system without any concentrated effort on our part:

Heart rate slows
Breathing deepens
Muscles soften
The brain shifts from threat mode to restoration mode

Research on shinrin-yoku (forest bathing) shows that time in forests lowers cortisol, reduces blood pressure, and increases parasympathetic nervous system activity (the part of us responsible for rest, repair, and emotional balance.)

In other words, the forest doesn’t erase pain.

It loosens pain’s grip.

Captaining the Currents of Our Existence

Mindfulness helps us understand the waters in which we are swimming.

If you live with chronic pain, the pain is not you.

It is the water around you.

Some days you can float on your back.

Some days you need the survival position.

Some days you just enjoy swimming. (But those days are few and far between.)

Some days you simply tread water and keep breathing.

Mindfulness helps us step just far enough back to see,

This is the water. This is not my identity.

That small shift changes everything.

Untangling Hope: Innovative Lessons for a Brighter Tomorrow

In the podcast Untangle: What Does it Mean to Live a Good, Meaningful Life? Despite the (really) Hard Stuff, philosopher Kieran Setiya reflects on living with chronic pain and the trap many of us fall into. Hoping only for a cure. His story resonates with me. Because it is also my story. Is it yours too?

For years, he moved from doctor to doctor thinking, maybe this one will fix it. When he stopped, something unexpected happened. He felt freedom. Less frustrated. More grounded in how he would actually live his life.

At first, he thought he had rejected hope.

Later, he realized he had simply changed what he hoped for.

Not hope for a magic solution.

Hope for a life that would still feel meaningful. Even if pain remained in the background.

He describes the exhausting seesaw many of us live on:

hope → despair → hope → despair.

And suggests something radical. Getting off the seesaw altogether! That doesn’t mean stop seeing doctors or looking for answers. What it does mean is this.

The real question isn’t:

Should I hope or despair?

It’s,

What is realistic to hope for right now?

Mindfulness in the forest supports exactly this shift. Grounding hope in lived possibility instead of fantasy cures.

Choosing Joy in a Body That Hurts

It’s been said that one person’s joy ride is another person’s panic.

I love riding on the back of my husband’s motorcycle. Joy.

I love sitting at the front of a sailboat as it bounces across the water. Joy.

Someone else might question my sanity.

I don’t like roller coasters that go upside down. Panic.

I have no desire to drive an F1 car. Panic.

I question the sanity of people who enjoy those things. Which made me wonder.

What influences our desires? Our thoughts? Our emotions?

Are we just born joyful or grouchy? And that is how we have to live out our days?

Or do we choose? Can we choose our thoughts, our desires and thereby influence our emotions?

What if, even in a tangled mess of pain, emotions, relationships, and loss, we are allowed to choose joy?

Not reckless joy.

Not denial.

But brave joy.

The kind that says:

I will still step into wonder.

I will still feel exhilaration.

I will still live.

That is what mindfulness in the forest has given me.

I get to decide.

And honestly?

There’s no need for recreational anxiety around here. There’s enough regular anxiety to go around.

Inward Insights: The Wisdom Within

Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and it will ever bubble up, if thou wilt ever dig.

-Marcus Aurelius

The forest helps us dig. Quietly, gently, without force.

Mindfulness reduces activity in brain networks that amplify pain through rumination and emotional reactivity, lowering perceived suffering even when pain remains.

Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.

-Simone Weil

When we give attention to our own experience. Without judgment. We change how pain lives in us.

Nature’s Cradle: A Forest Therapy Practice

Interrupting the Pain Cycle (7 minutes)

You can do this in a forest, park, or anywhere you can sense the natural world.

1. Arrive (1 minute)

Stand or sit comfortably. Let your eyes soften. Notice three natural textures. Bark, stone, leaf, snow, or water.

2. External Anchor Practice (2 minutes)

Choose one steady element in the landscape. A tree trunk, rock, horizon line, or patch of ground.

Let your attention rest there. Softly.

When your mind drifts toward pain or worry, gently return your awareness to that anchor.

This shifts the nervous system from internal threat scanning to external safety awareness. Especially helpful if breath-focused practices feel uncomfortable.

3. Name the Water (2 minutes)

Silently say:

This is pain. This is not me.

Notice sensation as experience, not identity.

4. Choose Your Stroke (2 minutes)

Ask yourself:

Do I need to float, swim, or rest today?

Let your body answer.

Mindfully Brave

For a long time, I thought mindfulness meant becoming calmer.

What I didn’t expect was that it would make me braver. Braver about feeling, braver about choosing joy, braver about living fully even when my body hurts.

The forest didn’t take away my pain.

It gave me back my choice.

Key Takeaways

Mindfulness in the forest teaches us:

Pain is real. Suffering is optional. Hope doesn’t have to live on a seesaw.

We can step out of the waters long enough to see them clearly. And then choose how to move within them.

Or as one forest therapy guide once said quietly on a trail,

We don’t come to the woods to escape life. We come to remember how to live it.

Trek Into the Frosty Adventure

If this spoke to you, you may also enjoy my post on finding connection through group forest therapy walks, where I explore how shared presence in nature reduces isolation and builds resilience for people living with pain and fatigue.

Faeloria (n):

The beauty that comes from the wounds you thought would destroy you.

Research at a Glance: Why This Works

Bottom line.

Mindfulness in the forest doesn’t cure pain. But it interrupts the feedback loop that keeps pain amplified by fear, stress, and resistance.

For those interested in the research, check out the following links. Let me know what you think in the comments.

1️⃣ Forest environments reduce stress hormones and activate relaxation responses

The 2010 Shinrin-yoku studies show forests lower cortisol, pulse rate, blood pressure, and increase parasympathetic nervous system activity (relaxation response).

👉 “The Physiological Effects of Shinrin-yoku…” — Environmental Health and Preventive Medicine (Park et al.)

Also see:

👉 Forest bathing reduces cortisol and stress — systematic review on cortisol as a stress biomarker

2️⃣ Forest bathing supports psychological well-being, mood, and anxiety reduction

Systematic reviews and meta-analyses show forest exposure reduces anxiety, depression, and improves emotional well-being.

👉 The effects of forest bathing on psychological well-being

Additional evidence on emotional and stress benefits of forest settings:

👉 Forest bathing: effects on mood and stress recovery

3️⃣ Forest immersion reduces negative affect and enhances mindfulness & introspection

A recent systematic review shows forest bathing decreases negative effects and enhances mindfulness and introspection. Key components of emotional regulation and pain resilience.

👉 Effects on self-criticism, self-compassion & mindfulness

4️⃣ Mindfulness and Pain Research : Neuroscience & Catastrophizing

✔ Mindfulness meditation alters how the brain processes pain

Studies show mindfulness meditation changes pain-related brain activity. Indicating real nervous system engagement, not just placebo.

👉 Mindfulness meditation helps reduce pain through distinct neural mechanisms

✔ Mindfulness is associated with lower pain catastrophizing

Research suggests higher mindfulness traits correlate with lower pain catastrophizing and greater ability to cope with pain.

👉 Trait mindfulness linked to higher pain thresholds & reduced catastrophizing

5️⃣ Mindfulness meditation itself has measurable effects on pain perception

Comprehensive reviews of mindfulness meditation include clinical and experimental insights into how it reduces pain intensity and unpleasantness across conditions:

👉 Mindfulness meditation–based pain relief review

January for the 5 senses:

Sight: late morning and early evening light on bright, blue clear days
Sound: shushing of steps in the snow
Taste: hot teas with honey
Smell: evergreen trees
Feel: the touch of cold noses and toes

Mind-Body Connection: Nature’s Soothing Benefits

October 7, 2025October 10, 2025 pammunkholm

Your body is not a machine, it’s a conversation.

-Jennifer Perrine

I remember a morning in spring. There was still a noticeable chill in the air. I slipped outside, to the sights and sounds of my summer second home.

My muscles were tight, my mind crowded with worry and pain—nothing dramatic, just persistent soreness that has become my constant companion.

I wandered toward the trees, the sound of the wind through the leaves soft but insistently present. I closed my eyes. I felt my breath slow. My shoulders dropped. And, almost imperceptibly at first, the ache that had built over a winter, within me softened.

That moment wasn’t some mystical escape. It was evidence of something real: the mind-body connection responding to something ancient: nature.

This post is a little more technical than some of my others. In this post, I want to walk you through the science behind how nature calms the nervous system, lowers pain perception, and gives the body a chance to remember how to rest.

This is not just a nice idea or a self-help quip. I see it working in my life, and the research backs it. I share some of that research in the links provided. Feel free to check it out or to give those links a hard pass.

Mind Meets Body: A Dialogue of Perspectives

Healing is not forcing the body into a state of ‘perfection.’ It’s listening to what it has been trying to say.

-Dr Joe Dispenza

First: we are not two separate things. The nervous system is constantly sensing, interpreting, and “talking” to our organs, muscles, immune system, and even to our thoughts and memories. That internal sensing is called interoception — our body’s ability to monitor its own internal state (heart rate, gut sensation, breathing, tension) and for the brain to make meaning of it.

When we live under chronic stress or chronic pain, that conversation becomes distorted. The sympathetic branch of our autonomic nervous system (fight-or-flight) is persistently overactivated. Our brain becomes hypervigilant to threats, amplifying pain signals, even in places that may no longer need it.

But there is a counterbalance: the parasympathetic state (rest-and-digest) — a state where the body repairs, digests, heals, breathes deeply.

Engaging that side is essential for true resilience. And nature offers a powerful entry point into that parasympathetic realm.

Querencia
{Spanish concept}(n) a place where one feels emotionally safe, a place from which one’s strength of character is drawn.

Nature’s Remedy: Calming the Nervous System

The forest is not merely an escape, it’s a return — a remembering of who we are.

-Unknown

Here is where the “nice idea” begins to feel like a compelling method.

1. Visual contact with nature calms brain & autonomic activity

This overview demonstrates that simply viewing natural elements—flowers, green plants, wood—induces shifts in the brain and the autonomic nervous system, compared with urban or non-natural environments. Link

More recently, neuroscientists have shown through brain imaging that exposure to nature lowers pain perception by reducing neural signals associated with pain processing. Link

In one study, subjects viewed virtual nature scenes while receiving mild pain stimuli, and the brain’s “pain network” lit up less strongly than when viewing urban scenes. Link

2. Nature reduces physiological stress markers

Time outdoors helps shift us from sympathetic arousal toward parasympathetic. Essentially, nature helps us “come out of our heads and into our bodies.” Link

Forest bathing (shinrin-yoku), for example, has been associated with lowered cortisol, reduced blood pressure, decreased heart rate, and improved immune function. Link

3. Attention restoration & easing mental fatigue

One pillar in environmental psychology is the Attention Restoration Theory (ART), which states that when we gaze at nature’s “soft fascinations”—rustling leaves, flowing water, birdsong—we can rest our directed attention (the kind used to suppress distractions) and recover cognitive capacity. Link

When our cognitive resources are less taxed, the brain has more “bandwidth” to regulate our threat systems and lower baseline arousal.

4. Pain modulation is emotional & contextual

Pain is never just a signal from tissues; it is affected by context, anticipation, emotion, and attention. One fMRI study found that anticipation of pain modulates how strongly sympathetic nervous responses occur, and that the brain’s anticipatory circuitry has a top-down influence on peripheral responses. Link

In simple terms, if your brain predicts threat, your body braces for it — heart rate rises, muscles tense, and pain signals grow louder. But when your mind learns to recognize what’s happening without adding fear, it begins to change that loop.

This is exactly what happened to me.

After my hysterectomy, I wasn’t able to take any hormone replacement treatments — they aggravated my other conditions. My body still struggles today to regulate temperature. I hot flash every thirty minutes. Down to a minute. I’ve timed it.

After about a year of this, my body simply couldn’t keep up. The constant swing from sweltering heat to shivering cold became unbearable. There was no rest. No pause between storms.

Then I started to notice the toll — not just physically, but mentally. My nervous system was on edge all the time, anticipating the next wave. I realized that the dread itself — the bracing — was its own kind of suffering.

So I tried an experiment. When I felt that familiar rush rising, I paused. I prepared but didn’t brace. I reached for my water, turned on the fan, maybe sat down if possible. I still remind myself in those moments: this will pass. The less weight I give it — but the more gentle attention I offer — the easier it is to ride out.

These days, my hot flashes still come every thirty minutes. But they are not as draining. They are little blips on the screen — reminders that my body is doing its best to find balance. And in meeting that discomfort with compassion rather than panic, I’ve discovered something powerful: the way we feel our pain changes the way we experience it.

A Walk on the Healing Side

The wound is the place where the Light enters you.

-Rumi

Not long ago, back pain had eaten away my joy. I was down to minimal movement, scared of flare-ups, medicated, trying every therapy that sounded promising. Yet my life was shrinking.

I decided on a small experiment: every morning for two weeks, I would walk down the lane of our farm (or sit quietly under a tree if I couldn’t walk). I would try to notice one thing—perhaps a bird’s call, the play of light on water, a soft breeze. No goal, no agenda.

Day 1: I came back discouraged — I didn’t feel anything.

Day 4: My back still hurt, but I felt… calmer. My breathing was softer.

Day 8: The pain seemed less urgent. The thoughts around it quieter.

By day 14, I don’t know if the pain was less in absolute measure, but I am less ‘in it.’ I have more distance. More space.

Over months, I was able to move farther, sit longer. The pain never vanished, but its domination receded.

My story is not unique. What I was discovering is that the mind-body conversation can shift — the “volume” of pain need not always be maxed out.

The Secret Sauce: How This Works for Me and You

If you have felt that creeping tightness, that locked jaw, that ache that feels like both body and memory. When I walk through forested trails, when I sit by a lakeshore, when I simply stare at mossy bark and inhale the green air, I feel a shift. The chatter quiets. My breath lengthens. My internal tension softens. The pain, though still there, becomes less commanding.

The science shows these are not placebo effects. They are biological responses rooted in ancient neural circuits. We evolved in natural worlds. Our nervous systems know these landscapes. They remember how to open.

If you struggle with chronic pain, anxiety, overthinking, or tension, nature may be a tool you undervalue — not a luxury, but a medicine written into our being.

How to Make the Mind-Body & Nature Practice Relatable, Real, and Sustainable

Here are some practical suggestions (adapt to your pace):

Start small. Even 5 minutes of forest view, or stepping outside to touch grass, can activate calming circuits.
Engage the senses. Smell, listen, feel textures, watch movement. Let nature draw you back from rumination.
Use “indirect nature.” If you’re indoors, look out a window, use nature audio, or view images/videos of nature — these have shown measurable benefit.
Pair movement & stillness. Walking in nature is stronger than walking elsewhere.
Be consistent. The cumulative effect matters. Some studies suggest 120 minutes per week in nature correlates with better well-being. Link
Watch your attitude. Let go of “must heal fast” thinking. Allow nature to be patient, gentle.
Journal your experience. Track tension, mood, pain before and after nature time. Over weeks, patterns can emerge.

Epiphanies and Reflections: To Our Journey’s End

Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.

-Lao Tzu

We live in an era of constant stimuli, complications, and demands. Our nervous systems were not built for perpetual alarms. The ancient pulse of wind through leaves, water over stones, soil underfoot — these are languages the body still knows. Nature asks us lowly: come back. Listen. Breathe.

So next time the ache presses, try this: walk quietly through green, or sit beneath trees, allow your senses to soften, invite rest. You may find that pain loosens its grip, that your nervous system sighs, that mind and body remember their trust.

Peace is this moment without judgment. That is all.

-Dorothy Hunt

Perhaps part of the answer is: to slow down. To open to nature. To let the body learn again.