We all experience pain. For some, itโs a passing ache. For others, it becomes a constant companion โ a reminder that life is not always as we hoped it would be. When pain becomes chronic, itโs easy to slip into resistance: wishing it away, fighting it, or resenting what itโs taken. But thereโs another path โ one that doesnโt demand perfection or control. Itโs the path of acceptance, and nature is a powerful guide.
The Lens of Pain: Understanding Trauma’s Impact
Do not underestimate the power of gentleness, because gentleness is strength wrapped in peaceโฆ
In her podcast, Better Than Happy, Jody Moore talks about how weโve all experienced trauma โ some of us with a capital โTโ and others with a lowercase โt.โ The difference isnโt always about what happened, but how our minds and bodies interpret and hold it.
The same can be true for chronic pain. You get to decide whether your pain feels like Trauma โ a life-altering event that defines you โ or trauma โ something you carry and work with, but not something that owns you. That choice matters deeply, because how we name our pain shapes how we heal from it.
In forest therapy, we slow down. We listen. We notice. The rustle of leaves, the way sunlight filters through branches, the steady rhythm of our breath โ these moments invite us to be with what is, rather than against it.
Acceptance doesnโt mean giving up. It means softening our resistance. It means saying, โThis is what my body feels right now, and I can still experience peace.โ In the forest, we learn from the trees โ rooted, resilient, unhurried. We begin to see that pain and peace can coexist.
Oleilu
Finnish. To relax and simply be. without any agenda. The quiet act of existing in the moment.
Don’t Let Pain Become Your Puppet Master
Pain already takes enough from us. When we let it dictate our thoughts, our plans, or our sense of self, our world begins to shrink. We start saying no to life before life even asks the question.
But you have a choice. You can decide not to give pain more power. You can choose expansion โ moments of joy, awe, and connection โ even in the midst of discomfort. The forest has a way of reminding us that there is always more life available than the pain wants us to believe.
Every time you choose hope, you widen the space inside you where light can live.
It is helpful to feel awesome when preparing for war.
For many of us living with chronic pain, that war happens quietly inside our own bodies. So ask yourself: what helps you feel awesome?
Maybe itโs standing barefoot in the grass.
Breathing in the scent of pine after rain.
Watching a chickadee tilt its head in curiosity.
These moments donโt erase pain โ they remind you that you are more than it.
Nature’s Remedy: Healing in the Woods
Acceptance is not a single choice; itโs a practice. And nature gives us endless opportunities to begin again โ with every breath, every sunrise, every step beneath the trees.
When you allow the forest to hold your pain alongside your hope, something shifts. You stop fighting your body and start listening to it. Healing begins in that stillness.
So go. Step outside. Let the forest teach you how to make peace with what hurts โ and how to feel a little more awesome along the way.
Your body is not a machine, itโs 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 painโnothing 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 wasnโt 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 โperfection.โ Itโs 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 โtalkingโ to our organs, muscles, immune system, and even to our thoughts and memories. That internal sensing is called interoception โ our bodyโs 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) โ 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, itโs a return โ a remembering of who we are.
-Unknown
Here is where the โnice ideaโ begins to feel like a compelling method.
1. Visual contact with nature calms brain & autonomic activity
This overview demonstrates that simply viewing natural elementsโflowers, green plants, woodโinduces 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 brainโs โpain networkโ 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 โcome out of our heads and into our bodies.โ 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 natureโs โsoft fascinationsโโrustling leaves, flowing water, birdsongโwe 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 โbandwidthโ 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 brainโs anticipatory circuitry has a top-down influence on peripheral responses. Link
In simple terms, if your brain predicts threat, your body braces for it โ heart rate rises, muscles tense, and pain signals grow louder. But when your mind learns to recognize whatโs happening without adding fear, it begins to change that loop.
This is exactly what happened to me.
After my hysterectomy, I wasnโt able to take any hormone replacement treatments โ they aggravated my other conditions. My body still struggles today to regulate temperature. I hot flash every thirty minutes. Down to a minute. Iโve timed it.
After about a year of this, my body simply couldnโt 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 โ not just physically, but mentally. My nervous system was on edge all the time, anticipating the next wave. I realized that the dread itself โ the bracing โ was its own kind of suffering.
So I tried an experiment. When I felt that familiar rush rising, I paused. I prepared but didnโt 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 โ but the more gentle attention I offer โ 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 โ reminders that my body is doing its best to find balance. And in meeting that discomfort with compassion rather than panic, Iโve 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 couldnโt walk). I would try to notice one thingโperhaps a birdโs call, the play of light on water, a soft breeze. No goal, no agenda.
Day 1: I came back discouraged โ I didnโt feel anything.
Day 4: My back still hurt, but I feltโฆ calmer. My breathing was softer.
Day 8: The pain seemed less urgent. The thoughts around it quieter.
By day 14, I donโt know if the pain was less in absolute measure, but I am less โin it.โ 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 โ the โvolumeโ 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 โ 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 โindirect nature.โ If youโre indoors, look out a window, use nature audio, or view images/videos of nature โ 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 โmust heal fastโ 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 โ 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.
Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.๐
-F Scott Fitzgerald
Elder Robert D. Hales once said:
When you cannot do what you have always done, then you only do what matters most.
Those words sink deep for me as someone who lives with chronic pain.
There are many things I cannot do anymoreโnot the way I used to, not with the energy or freedom I once had. And yet, in the midst of those limitations, Iโve discovered that my life is being reshaped around what truly matters most.
๐ Finding Clarity in Constraints
Elder Hales went on to say:
Physical restrictions can expand vision. Limited stamina can clarify priorities. Inability to do many things can direct focus to a few things of greatest importance.
That is the truth of my life. I donโt have the stamina to do everything I once could. But I do have the vision to see what is worth my energy. Pain has forced me to slow down, to let go of what doesnโt serve me, and to focus on what is most meaningfulโfaith, relationships, healing moments, and time in nature. ๐ฒ
๐ โCome What May and Love Itโ
Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin also offered a phrase I want to cling to:
Come what may, and love it.
His mother taught him those words, and he later reminded us that
adversity, if handled correctly, can be a blessing in our lives.
I admitโI donโt always love it. There are days when pain feels relentless, and my instinct is to resist, to grieve what Iโve lost, or to dwell in shame when I make mistakes. I make a lot of those. Mistakes. I find my brain just checks out while dealing with chronic pain. ๐ง
๐ค A Maritime Memoir Best Left Unsailed
Like this past weekend, for example. I may or may not have put my husband and myself in mortal danger on the lake (๐ฌ oops). I turned off the boat engine when the battery was lowโthinking Iโd heard Brent say to shut it off. Turns out, he had said the opposite. ๐ณ
This process set off so many megaddons-
We would have drifted helplessly across the lake. But Brent, my hero, jumped in and anchored us to shore ๐ฅถ . Now he was soaked through with no dry clothes.
Meanwhile, the navy was literally training around us, however, we were too embarrassed to ask for help. What would you have done?
My dad had to haul out his sailboat โต๏ธ that was already getting packed away for winter. The sight of them motoring across the harbor with no sailsโฆwell, letโs just say it was memorable.
There we were, covered in lifejackets and wrapped in blankets, being eaten alive by biting flies.
At the time, I didnโt want to โcome what may and love it.โ I wanted to wallow in shame for the mistake that stranded us. But shame didnโt help. It only made me feel worse.
Looking back, I see parts of it that were quite humorous.
Brent’s pants (they had to be fished out of the lake after the wind blew them from their safe perch where they would stay dry while he swam us to safety) soon had the appearance that we had been shipwrecked for months by the time rescue came.
Wet sweatpants are diabolical. Wet sweat shorts on the other hand- marginally better.
So out came the fishing knife (he did not have them on at this stage of the procedure) and off came his pride and a few inches of dripping fleece. Suggesting a shipwreck much longer than the hour or so that it actually turned into.
I couldn’t help but think in this scenario, I was the Gilligan.
On the contrary, the more loving responseโfor myselfโwould have been to let it go. To choose self compassion. To laugh. To accept my parents’ kindness.
And Brent’s! Even as he frantically thought through what he needed to do then jumped in the water. Even as he stood there shivering and dripping wet. Even as he swatted flies in nothing but my blanket, he told me not to worry. Not to feel bad.
He encouraged self compassion from the outset. To remember that we would survive the โfly apocalypse,โ catch a fish ๐ฃ , and make it home safely. He reminded me to stay focused on what matters.
And look at that, he DID catch one!
Meanwhile…
The devil whispered in my ear, “You’re not strong enough to withstand this storm.” I whispered in the devil’s ear, “I love your eggs.” ๐คฆ๐ผโโ๏ธ
๐ Woodland Wellness: Discovering Peace Among Trees ๐ฒ
Elder Hales reminded us that even the senior leaders of our church arenโt spared from affliction:
Rather, they are blessed and strengthened to press forward valiantly while suffering in and with affliction.
That idea gives me hope. If they can press forward valiantly, maybe so can I. Maybe so can we. Whatever our struggle may be.
Thatโs where forest therapy comes in for me. When my pain feels like too much, I turn to the forest.
Dendrolatry
a deep reverence for the trees, where every branch whispers ancient wisdom and every root holds the secrets of the earth– to honour a tree is to honour the quiet, sacred connection between life and nature.
The forest is where I remember how to breathe, how to soften, how to let go of shame and find a thread of joy. The forest teaches me that even in adversity, there can be beauty. Even when Iโm hurting, there can be laughter, resilience, and connection.
My adversity is chronic pain. It is woven into every corner of my life. It shapes my days and my choices, and so it will show up in my writing and conversations, too. It is part of who I am.
Some people wish Iโd talk about it less, but this is my reality. And itโs also where Iโve learned to discover meaning, humor, and even joy.
The woods invite me to notice beauty even when pain is loud. The trees ๐๐ผ donโt erase adversity, but they remind me that I am still alive, still loved, and still capable of joy. ๐
๐ Embracing Love, Bidding Farewell to Shame
So next time I find myself swarmed by biting flies (literally or figuratively in the form of invasive thoughts), or when I am caught in the grip of pain, I hope I can remember Elder Wirthlinโs (and his motherโs) invitation:
Come what may, and love it.
Not because itโs easy. But because itโs the better way forward. ๐
September was a thirty- days long goodbye to summer, to the season that left everybody both happy and weary of the warm, humid weather and the exhausting but thrilling adventures
-Lea Malot
As we bid farewell to shame we also bid farewell to summer. The following is an unorganized smattering of my summer adventures. Enjoy perusing (or skip it altogether). I encourage you to do the same. Enjoy your memories. Feel free to share stories or pictures in the comments!
Nisbet Forest hikeHidden gem forestHepburn Forest workshopLake LouiseSouth Saskatchewan RiverThe night the sky put on an electrifying showSailing ๐Standing in mountain waterWatching a sunset from a mountain peakA Berry Barn grounds meanderDiefenbaker Lake. My summer home. Cool kids on a cool motorbike rideOn my streetAlong a walkSpadina CrescentPoplar BluffsThe lake shortly after spring thawOn a roof!In the backyardHikes and waterfallsBlossomsGrounding in the best of placessurviving road tripsRunning around the trampolineOur very own beachMirror LakeCamping at Zig ZagCabin at Fishing LakeSetting upA 1st birthdayWatching Steven Page LiveA 3 yr old boyBoatingThe best of sailorsWalks along the riverA car tour east of Saskatoon when my leg would not allow for a hikeSuccessful fishing tripsTrans Canada TrailDroning by the riverThe ExhibitionA sit n chat with a friend on a rainy daySo many cute mushrooms!A beautiful weddingThe park with my little buddyBeaver Creek chickadees
Enjoy your life and the beauty that nature provides. If you’d like to schedule a forest therapy walk before the snow flies, let me know in the comments, or email me @ pam.munkholm@gmail.com I’d love to show you how healing it really is.
Sometimes my life feels like a forestโdense, shadowed, and uneven.
Everyone else seems to walk a wide, sunlit path: their maps are clear, their steps steady, their packs light.
Meanwhile, I carry heavy bundles of pain and medicine, stumbling often, wondering if Iโll ever catch up.
~Cue the tiny violins ๐ป ๐คญ~
Beyond the Familiar: Embracing a Different Forest
My therapist keeps telling me to stop comparing myself to other people โ that lifeโs not a competition. Which, to be fair, is exactly what Iโd say to someone I was trying to beat, too.
Comparison is never useful. Itโs like measuring trees by how tall they look in someone elseโs forest, forgetting that soil, roots, storms, and sunlight differ wildly.
Or like judging an oak tree by how quickly the wildflowers around it bloom. Different roots, different seasons, different reasons for being.
And yet I fall into itโmeasuring my path against someone elseโs trail, forgetting we are not even walking in the same terrain.
Comparing โฆ is a waste of time and effort; we are all different people, experiencing and feeling things differently.
San Diego Prepare Yourself: Sisterhood Adventures Await
Next month, my sisters will gather in San Diego. I am so excited for them. And to hear about their adventures. Sunshine, laughter, time to connect. It’ll be fabulous.
I would love to be there. But the cost of my monthly medicine is about the same as what that trip would take.
I live in a different economyโthe economy of pain management. So instead of boarding a plane, I stay home.
~Poor lilโ me ๐ฅฒ๐๐ ๐คฃ ~
Itโs hard not to compare. Their togetherness, my absence. Their momentum, my stillness. I remind myself that longing is not failureโbut it still stings.
Screenshots of a Life I Donโt Live: Family Call, Personal Spiral
On a recent morning: my sister called from her vacation in London. On a family video call. At 9 a.m., I was still coaxing my muscles awake.
I listened to the bagpipes she was sharing and checked out the sights in the background. I marvelled at what she has been able to accomplish and see in her life. I joy in her success.
Inevitably another emotion starts to rise. As on the screen, this is what I see:
One sister in her home office, thriving in a job that suits her perfectly.
Another in her kitchen, caring for her family and home.
A sister-in-law outdoors, likely at the park or on a walk with her two littles.
My parents smiling in their living room, enjoying retirement and seeing their family.
And then there was meโtired, clearly still in bed, clearly accomplishing nothing.
Thatโs how I saw it. In truth, no one said that. But comparison painted me useless in bold letters across the screen.
~Woe is meee ๐๐ค ๐ ~
A Sermon I Couldnโt Speak
At church, I tried to answer a question on a bad pain day after a sleepless night. My words came tangled, incomplete.
I saw my husbandโs face and thought, Iโm taking too long. I gave up. Without tying my random thoughts together. And I gave him the microphone. He expertly gave a clear, concise answer that was perfectly on point. My effort looked weak next to his polish.
โMy brain and I, we are not friends. My brain and I, we are classmates doing a group assignment called Life. And itโs not going great.โ
But hereโs the truth: trying counts. Even stumbling words are a kind of courage.
The Math of Measuring Up Never Works: The Broken Ruler I Keep Using
Comparison is a thief. It always leaves you with less than you started.
Itโs like weighing a feather against a stone and expecting the scale to balance it out. It demands a sameness life never promised. It blinds us to the worth in our own story.
As a people, we tend to magnify the strengths and blessings another person receives. But minimize our own gifts, talents and opportunities. Social media is as helpful as a screen on a submarine when it comes to perpetuating this problem.
Thereโs no hierarchy of pain. Suffering shouldnโt be ranked, because pain is not a contest.
Living with chronic pain means my days will never look like someone elseโs. But that doesnโt mean theyโre lesserโit just means theyโre different.
Fear and scarcity trigger comparison and we start to rank our own suffering.
Brown calls this comparative suffering. She goes on to say,
The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough.
Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices. When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. Thereโs more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world
This toxic pattern of comparison blocks emotional processing and prevents genuine empathy, creating isolation rather than connection.
My worth is not judged by what I do in comparison to others, but by what I do with what I haveโwhat love, what compassion, what presence I can offer. Even just in showing up.
Measuring By Love, Not Ladders
Iโve decided to measure my life by something else: in every conversation, I want the other person to leave feeling better about themselves than when we started.
If they do, then Iโve accomplished something real. It may not be a promotion, a trip abroad, or a picture-perfect moment. But itโs love, and itโs within my reach.
In such a headspace there should be no time for shame and comparing. Only felicitations and adulation.
Broken But Still Moving
Mandy Harvey is a singer/ songwriter. I saw her on an Americaโs Got Talent clip. Mandy lost her hearing when she was 18. Interestingly enough she has EDS which is similar to my connective tissue disorder.
On the show, she spoke about initially going to dark places. And when she decided she wanted more for her life, she wrote this song. And performed it in front of a live audience and judges and cameras.
She beautifully sings,
โI donโt feel the way I used to / The sky is grey much more than it is blue / But I know one day Iโll get through/ And Iโll take my place againโฆ So I will tryโฆ
There is no one for me to blame/ Cause I know the only thing in my way/ Is meโฆ
I donโt live the way I want to/ That whole picture never came into view/ But Iโm tired of getting used to/ The day
So I will try..
Those words hold me when comparison tries to unravel me.
Forest Therapy: A Way Forward
If comparison is a thorn, forest therapy can be a balm.
The forest floor is messy. Layers of leaf litter, moss, dead wood. It doesnโt pretend to be clean and perfect. It is rich because of its imperfections.
Your struggles, limitations, pain give richness and texture to your life storyโnot flaws to hide.
Walking a path in woods, you may have to step over roots, navigate mud and stray branches. But each step gives you awareness, grounding, breathing space.
Comparison often makes us spin like leaves in the wind; forest therapy anchors us.
When comparison grabs tight, I go to the woods.
The forest does not compare:
Trees donโt measure their height against one another.
Moss doesnโt resent the ferns.
Streams donโt ask why the river runs faster.
Each element grows where it is, as it is. That is enough.
Roots, Rituals and Small Resets
Here are ways the forest has supported me:
Leaning against a tree and letting its rootedness remind me that I, too, belong.
Listening to the birds until my thoughts soften.
Sitting by water and imagining my comparisons floating downstream.
From Forest Floor to Open Sky
Yes, I still compare. Yes, it still hurts. But when I remember that comparison steals joy, I find space to choose something else.
I may not be in San Diego, or London, or even fully awake at 9 a.m. (to those who are, Have as good a time as possible, given that Iโm not there. Heehee ๐)
~Life said nope ๐๐~
I can still offer kindness, presence, and love.
And maybe that is enough.
I want to feel good about my life. Not in the sense of โas good as anyone else,โ but as my life, full of the shape I have.
Chronic pain is part of the soil I grow in. Itโs changed what I can do, yesโbut also deepened what I can feel, what I can appreciate.
If everyone else seems to be walking on sunlit paths, I may be walking in dappled shade, or in a different time of day. But my path is still mine, and still worthy. Because even in the shaded parts of the forest, light still filters through.
If I stand on my tip toes I can see autumn from here.
-Unknown
There are nights when pain feels like a forest fire. It consumes everything, licking at nerves, muscles, and bones, until even the smallest ember becomes unbearable. For me, forest therapy has always been a refugeโtrees that donโt ask me to explain, the wind that listens without judgment. But no walk in the woods can erase the reality of the deep harm that comes when the medications I rely on are suddenly out of reach.
Biophilia
the ancient memory that li ves in our bones- a quiet longing to belong to the earth, a deep and sacred bond that awakens our senses and nurtures our souls.
Tales from My Trek
Recently, I went to fill my prescription. Itโs a narcotic, tightly controlled with a note that says it can only be filled every 30 days. The problem? It was day 29, and I was out. ๐ณ
For some prescriptions, waiting until the next day is an inconvenience. But when youโre on a heavy narcotic at the highest dose, one missed pill isnโt just painfulโitโs catastrophic.
That night without medication meant I wasnโt just โin pain.โ It meant shaking, twitching, and detoxing against my will. For a medication Iโd have to take in the morning!
Iโve missed this pill before. My body, already fragile, spiraled: my nervous system hijacked by fight-or-flight, my hormones in chaos, my temperature regulation broken. I’d overheat, then sweat, then shiver, round and round. All while my pain screamed louder and louder. It is my definition of Hell.
And the damage doesnโt end when the sun rises. One night like this unravels daysโsometimes weeksโof careful work to bring my nervous system into alignment. Forest therapy sessions that usually soothe my bodyโs alarms are erased by the fresh trauma of unmanaged withdrawal.
One pillโjust oneโbecomes the difference between fragile balance and collapse.
The Pharmacy Door ๐ช
This wasnโt the first time.
Years ago, when I was short on medication, it was actually the pharmacyโs mistake. A tech who knew meโa kind soul who remembered my nameโlooked closer. While others repeated, โSorry, you canโt have more. Come back tomorrow,โ he dug into the records and discovered their count was off by the exact number I was missing. He trusted me. He believed my story. He saw me.
This time was different. My tech friend wasnโt there.
When this new tech told me I couldnโt have more until tomorrow, he must have seen the terror in my eyes. Or noticed me standing in shock for 5 minutes. Just standing by the pharmacy. Holding back tears, while physically and mentally spinning in circles. But instead of offering solutions, he shrugged and said, โCome back in the morning.โ
Being someone who hates to cause a stir, I went home. But home is where the panic broke through. I sobbed uncontrollably. My body already gearing up for withdrawal.
Then I realized: silence wonโt help me survive this.
I called back. I asked about options. The tech said I could talk to the pharmacist. Why wasnโt that offered before? ๐คจ
When I spoke with the pharmacist, his tone was dismissive, almost mocking: โSo what do you want me to do about it?โ
I explained again, told him what would happen if I went without. He finally asked if Iโd even come pick it up that night IF he were to fill it.
Sir, I thought, I just told you what a night without it would do. Do you think Iโd let that happen if I had any choice?
Eventually, he relented and filled it twelve hours early. I picked it up feeling like I should bow at his feet in gratitude. As if heโd granted me a favor rather than spared me a night of needless suffering. I felt the need to thank him repeatedly.
The petty side of me still wants to send him a Get Better Soon card. Not because he’s sick. But because I think he could do better. As a human being. I’d have to send it anonymously because this is not a person I want to be on their bad side.
The Bigger Picture
I know narcotics require tight monitoring. I know the system has to guard against abuse. But what about patients like meโthe ones who never asked for this, who were put on these medications by doctors, and who donโt have the option of just going off of them. When there is something physiologically happening that is not right.
If only I could put into understandable words. This is what is happening everywhere in my body. โ๐ผ
Why does losing one pill make me look like a drug seeker? Why is my lived record of years not enough to earn trust? Why is the assumption always suspicion?
Do they want me to be all natural? Do they realize it is people like me who keep them in business? I literally pay their bills!
I wouldn’t have to if I could live every day in the forestโif I could soak in the mossy quiet, breathe in the pine air, let the gentle rhythm of birdsong reset my nervous systemโperhaps I wouldnโt need the pills.
But my reality is different.
My reality is managing chronic pain in a system that too often treats me like the problem instead of the patient.
๐ Whispers of the Woods
As I write this, I think of a line from poet Wendell Berry:
โThe care of the Earth is our most ancient and most worthy, and after all our most pleasing responsibility. To cherish what remains of it and to foster its renewal is our only hope.โ
What if the same was said of patients? To cherish them. To foster their renewal. To see them not as potential criminals but as human beings navigating unbearable pain.
Another lesser-known verse comes to mind from Antonio Machado:
โBetween living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.โ
For me, that โthird thingโ is surviving. Itโs clawing through nights without medication. Itโs cobbling together therapiesโlike time in the forestโthat offer some relief, though never enough.
Compassion: The Heartbeat of Humanity
I donโt have the solution. But I do know this: when we treat patients like addicts instead of people, we add more pain to lives already saturated with it. I believe we can find a way to monitor responsibly while also practicing compassion, dignity, and trust.
So Iโm asking you: have you experienced something like this? Have you been caught in the impossible bind between regulations and your own survival? Do you have ideas for how this system could better serve those who truly need it?
Share your thoughts in the comments. Letโs start a conversation. Because one pill shouldnโt have the power to undo everything.
It was a lovely afternoon-such an afternoon as only September can produce when summer has stolen back for one day of dream and glamour.
A dear friend once said something to me that I canโt get out of my head: chronic pain has its own economy. She suggested I write a post on it. So here we are. (@soulfullifebyamanda)
For anyone under the impression that disability payments and medications cover everything in chronic pain, this quote is for you.
Illusion is the dust the devil throws in the eyes of the foolish.
-Mina Antrim
For anyone suffering financially and energetically, let this post be your validation. And don’t worry. “Whatever doesn’t kill us only makes us weirder and harder to relate to.”
Does anyone else feel like their body’s ‘check engine’ light has been on for months and you’re still driving like, “it’ll be fiiiiine,” because you can’t afford to do anything about it anyway?
When I think of the economy of chronic pain. I picture myself stepping into the forest with only a small shopping basket. Every choice I makeโfinancial or physicalโhas to fit inside that basket. Thereโs no room for waste, no luxury of tossing in extra. Just like in the forest, every twig, every step, every breath matters.
For those of us living with chronic pain, our baskets are small. They hold both our financial and our energy reservesโand both run out faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.
In Canada, disability payments exist, but they are like shafts of sunlight that barely break through a dense canopy. They arenโt enough to warm the forest floor.
And so, we ration. We stretch. We weigh every step carefully. And in the process provoke our fussy nerves into an outraged uproar over and over again.
Surviving the Price Tag
Hereโs one example from my own life: every month, I spend about $600 on medication for pain relief. Thereโs no coverage for it. Itโs outrageously expensive, but itโs what allows me to keep moving through the forest at all.
Others I know make different choices. Some decide not to medicate, and instead spend their limited resources on healthier food, therapy sessions, or simply keeping a roof overhead.
There is no right way. Each of us is navigating our own overgrown path, deciding what can fit in the basket we carry.
Even those of us diagnosed with chronic pain conditions may not see the myriad of options. Of what could go in the basket. Given the resources. More frustrating is the knowledge that some therapies, while proven extremely effective, will not be financially viable. In some cases, not even offered in my area.
counseling sessions; the cost coming out of pocket (no job=no benefits) is high, yet the benefits of CBT and ACT psychotherapy for pain have been shown to be impressive, marriage support is also much needed in the case of ongoing pain and illness
therapies; acupuncture, Reiki and other energy healing work, physiotherapy, massage, chiropractor, aqua therapy, hypnotherapy, the list can seem limited for your specific needs, but there are always new options coming available
medications; these are also ever evolving, I believe in a combination of medicine and natural therapies, this is a personal decision
lifestyle changes; Saskatchewan winters call for a gym pass to stay active, these are not free
dieticians; can support with ongoing needs
stress reduction therapies; FOREST THERAPY!!, meditation courses and classes, yoga, tai chi, music, art or pet therapy,
Spinkie- Den: Scottish; a woodland clearing filled with flowers.
The Grove of Dilemmas
When you live in this economy, everything has a cost. The pressure keeps me marvelously productive. I entered the kitchen to do the dishes, but saw the pile of laundry on the floor, so I watered a plant, while looking for my phone to make the doctor’s appointment. To sum up, I couldn’t find it in time and now my leg is swelling and I have to put it up again. I accomplished nothing. ๐ค
Given the choice, where are you willing to “pay” extra?
Do you get help with your home to attend to the piling dishes, laundry and dog hair, or put on blinders to the mess because there are no funds for such frivolity as clean dishes, clothes and floors?
“Any dog can be a guide dog if you don’t care where you’re going.”
Do you take the shorter trail to an appointment (closer parking) or save money by forcing your body down the longer route?
Do you use precious energy to cook a nourishing meal, or save your strength and spend more money on convenience?
Do you go out to meet a friend, knowing it will mean a day of recovery afterward, or do you stay home and bear the weight of loneliness?
The forest is full of paths, and each one demands a toll.
Costs That Lurk Beneath the Canopy
The cost of connection. Friendship and belonging are like wildflowers in the undergrowth. But they donโt bloom without effort. They often require money for transportation, or the strength to leave the house, or both. Yet the cost of isolation can feel heavier than any of it.
The cost of time. Chronic pain asks us to wait. Waiting for appointments. Waiting for medications to maybe work. Waiting for healing that never seems to come. Time here drips slowly, like water from moss after rain, and once itโs gone, it cannot be gathered again.
โThe hardest thing about illness is that it teaches patience by stealing time.
-Unknown
Both remind me that even in this strange economy, even in this forest of loss and trade-offs, there is still gentleness. There is still strength in being here, still roots growing quietly beneath the soil.
Forest Therapy: A Rich Investment in Well-Being
And this is where forest therapy becomes not just a metaphor, but a lifeline.
When my basket is empty, when my reserves are gone, the forest offers a kind of wealth that doesnโt demand dollars or energy I donโt have. Sitting under the trees, breathing in the scent of pine, listening to the rustle of leavesโthese are exchanges that give more than they take.
Forest therapy reminds me that not everything of value is bought or measured. The forest doesnโt charge for its healing. It simply offers. It allows us to rest, to breathe, to remember that even when our budgetsโfinancial and energeticโare painfully small, there is still abundance to be found.
The economy of chronic pain is harsh and unrelenting. But the forestโs economy is different. It trades in stillness, in breath, in presence. It offers shade when the sun is too much, and quiet when the noise of survival is too loud.
This is why I keep returning to the trees. Because while the world asks me to spend what I donโt have, the forest reminds me: here, you are enough, just as you are.
The forest hides more than it reveals, yet what it reveals, sustains us.
-Unknown
The True Currency: Compassion
To those supporting people with chronic pain, we love you and we thank you. Please remember to lead with compassion. Your person is not lazy or careless, but living within an economy most cannot imagine. Lead with compassion and the way forward can be made clear.
We do not see nature with our eyes, but with our understandings and our hearts.
-William Hazlitt
To recap, I caution against developing chronic pain and illness. It is terribly expensive and inconvenient for others. ๐
September you are promising. The beginning of a gorgeous and necessary decay. The edge of triumph before the deep rest.
To tell me I cannot run is to hold my body in contempt.
-Friedrich Nietzsche
This past weekend I was out boating with friends. The sun was shining, laughter was everywhere, and the water was perfect. My absolute favorite kind of day. Until it wasnโt.
The beach is so amazing. We all lay around in our undies with complete strangers eating sandy sandwiches and chips. What a world!
But this trip was too eventful for me. I slipped off the back of the boat. A simple misstepโmy foot chose the slippy part before the ladder instead of the grippy part. My skin slid down the metal and scraped in a couple of places. For most people, it would be a painful annoyance. Maybe a couple of Band-Aids and an โouchโ when the rubbing alcohol stings.
But for me, with a connective tissue disorder, a โminorโ injury isnโt minor. Itโs my own prison sentence.
Day 3 post slip
The moment my leg hit and the skin tore, my body responded like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Two points, swelling to the size of small eggs appeared instantly. My vision swam, nausea hit, and I nearly fainted. I had to be rushed off the beach. Reluctantly, I might add. I just wanted to stay and play. ๐คทโโ๏ธ
And yet, as I moved it around, the swelling went down. After a few ginger steps, walking proved feasible. So, I stayed on the beach. Carefully. Pretending things were fine. Until the next day, when I accidentally touched one of the angry spots and nearly fainted again from the pain. Cue swelling, round two.
This bruise on the back of my leg also happened in the fall.
Nothing feels broken. This isnโt a cast-and-crutches type of injury. This is a – my tissue is angry and having a meltdown kind of injury. The kind that will ripple through every layer of healing, slowly, stubbornly, piece by piece.
The Cascading Consequence
Hereโs what happens with mobile joints and connective tissue disorders:
Immediate tantrum. Tissue swells, pain spikes, body goes into shock.
Muscle aftermath. Even if the muscle wasnโt directly injured, itโs recruited in the act of catching yourself, and now itโs tight, inflamed, and waiting its turn to protest.
The balancing act. I need to keep running to maintain the strength that keeps my joints in place, but I also canโt overwork whatโs injured.
Scar tissue sneak attack. When scar tissue forms, it doesnโt just โheal.โ It tugs on joints already prone to slipping, pulling them out of place.
This ๐is why what looks minor to you becomes a long-term balancing act โ๏ธ for me.
There is no test, no monitor, no scan that can tell us exactly whatโs happening.
Itโs me, listening to my body.
And my physiotherapist J, patiently piecing me back together one session at a time.
๐๐ผ Me as Humpty Dumpty right before needing to be put back together again. ๐๐ผ
What most people heal from in days, I will heal from in months. ๐
K๏ธoekentroost
Dutch. “the emotional support cookie you eat after a mildly inconvenient day. (in my case it will be pretzels dipped in nutella)
The Weight of Waiting
The hardest part isnโt the pain. Itโs the waiting.
Waiting to run.
Waiting to trust my joints again.
Waiting to see what the scar tissue will do this time to wreak havoc.
It feels like all the work Iโve put in at the gymโmonths of biking, running, strengtheningโcould slip away in the span of a single misstep.
Thatโs the prison. The confinement. The pause button โธ๏ธ on a life Iโve fought so hard to keep moving โถ๏ธ .
Forest as Healer
But hereโs where I return to what always saves me: the forest.
When I step (or hobble) into the trees, I remember that healing doesnโt always look like forward motion. Sometimes it looks like stillness. A dense canopy could be covering spectacular growth. The riverโs gentle flow might be a glimpse of the heavy current below. The trees stand, patient and unwavering, reminding me that growth and repair take the time they take.
Forest therapy gives me what no physiotherapy session can: the intuition to hear what my body is really saying.
My blessing in life is to have a physiotherapist that encourages me to spend time there. And to follow my bodyโs intuitive pace and direction. J pursues us and provides support along the way.
Itโs in the quiet green spaces ๐ฒ where I learn when to push ๐ and when to rest ๐ค . Where I can breathe out the frustration ๐ฎโ๐จ and breathe in the steadiness of the earth ๐ beneath me.
It is in the forest where I believe that healing isnโt just possibleโitโs already happening.
When you read the list of benefits, do you see the connection? Grounding will be one of my greatest therapies in each phase of mending.
Words to Carry Me
โAdopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.โ โ Ralph Waldo Emerson
โAnd let us not be weary in well doing; for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” – Galatians 6:9ย
“The trees that are slow to grow bear the best fruit.” – Moliere
“Even the strongest storms don’t last forever. The sun always returns to the forest.” – Unknown
And she will keep coming back to life, over and over again, because beneath the skin of this gentle human lives a warrior unstoppable.
-Annabelle M Ramos
Healing with mobile joints is a marathon made of tiny sprints and long pauses. Itโs the art of balancing strength with surrender. And when the world feels like itโs closing inโwhen a scraped leg feels like a prison sentenceโthe forest opens its arms and says, you are safe here. Take your time. Heal.
Feelings buried alive never die; they find a home in the body until we listen.
-Unknown
If youโve ever pulled a loose thread on a sweater only to watch the whole thing unravel. You already understand fascia. Fascia is like your bodyโs built-in spider web. A stretchy, connective tissue that wraps around muscles, organs, nerves, and just about everything else. Itโs the silent scaffolding that keeps you upright, and itโs a lot more sensitive than we give it credit for.
Now hereโs the kicker: fascia doesnโt just hold tension from that yoga pose you attempted last week. It also holds emotions.
My fascia, for instance, is on the loose side. Because it is connective tissue. And I have issues in my tissues with my hypermobility condition. Yet, when I experience a shock or embarrassment, I will tense and hold. Until I have the chance to talk it out. Move it out. And let it out.
Stress, grief, fear, anger โ if we donโt face them, fascia faithfully stores them for later. Think of it as your bodyโs junk drawer. The trouble is, the drawer isnโt bottomless. Eventually, it overflows, and the result is often chronic pain and stiffness. Or that โmy whole body feels like a knotted shoelaceโ sensation.
When you are already a chronic pain sufferer, tension aggravates everything internally. That junk drawer is already pretty full at the start of every day. Your drawer has a tendency to overflow easily. Perhaps going into panic mode at the thought of being late for a wedding.
Fascia Unveiled (not literally, that would be horrific): A Closer Look (figuratively speaking)
Fascia tension and pain can result in the following symptoms:
Fatigue that rests don’t fix
A body that feels stuck or heavy
Swelling or puffiness
Aches that migrate
Mood swings or emotional reactivity
Brain fog or sensory overload
The Tapestry of Emotion
We are not separate threads, but one woven fabric. What happens to one part, happens to the whole.
-Rumi (paraphrased)
Picture a spider web in the forest. If you tap one corner, the whole thing shivers. Fascia works the same way. Tug on one tight spot. Say, your jaw that clenches every time you swallow your frustration. And the ripple travels to your shoulders, hips, or lower back. Over time, the whole web becomes taut, rigid, and reactive.
This is why chronic pain can feel so widespread and mysterious. Itโs not โall in your head.โ Itโs all in your web.๐
This web is intricate, adaptive, and intelligent. It is a continuous communication network. It adapts and evolves with every experience. It is shaped by your posture, stress, trauma and time.
And hereโs the hard truth: loosening fascia isnโt just about stretching or foam rolling. Itโs about facing the emotions strung up in that web. Otherwise, weโre just untangling knots that will retie themselves the next time life throws us a curve ball.
Foliage, Fascia, and Feelings
The trees are patient teachers. In their stillness, we remember how to soften.
-Adapted Forest Therapy reflection
So where does healing begin? Hereโs a hint: itโs not in fluorescent-lit clinics with โsoothingโ elevator music.
Healing begins in places where the nervous system can finally exhale. Enter forest therapy. When you step into the woods, your fascia (and your frazzled nerves) start to soften. The forest isnโt asking you to perform, to prove, or to pretend. Trees donโt care if youโre angry, grieving, or stuck in freeze mode. They simply stand โ tall, patient, rooted โ and invite you to do the same.
The slow rhythm of nature helps coax tight fascia into release. Walking barefoot on moss and breathing in pine. Or even sitting quietly and noticing the way light filters through leaves sending signals of safety to your nervous system. Safety is the permission slip fascia needs to unclench and let go of the emotions itโs been storing.
Winding Paths to Wellness: Step by Step
Notice the web โ Pay attention to where your body feels tight when certain emotions rise. Jaw with anger? Chest with grief? Shoulders with anxiety? Naming the connection is powerful.
Breathe with the trees โ Try forest bathing. Experiment by simply sitting outdoors and syncing your breath with the sway of branches. Slow breathing calms nerves and softens fascia.
Move gently โ Instead of punishing workouts, try slow walking in nature. Gentle, mindful movement gives fascia the message that itโs safe to release.
Feel it to free it โ Allow emotions to surface without judgment. Cry, sigh, journal, or even growl (the forest can handle it). What your body expresses, it no longer has to store.
Tears are the silent language of grief.
-Voltaire
Other forms of therapy to release fascia include: Myofascial massage. Cupping. Deep stretching. Breathwork. Cold bath. Tread carefully. Some of these therapies will be too much for a toxic ridden body.
An Enticing Proposal
Your fascia is your lifelong spider web. When itโs tangled with old emotions, the whole structure strains. But the good news is this: just as webs can be rebuilt, so can you. Step into the forest. Breathe. Listen. Move slowly. Let your body know it is safe to soften.
Healing isnโt about forcing the web to untangle. Itโs about giving it the stillness, compassion, and space it needs to find balance again.
Healing begins when we allow the heart to speak and the body to answer.
โJust because you think something, doesnโt make it true.โ
-unknown
Today we are talking CBT. Not CBD (thatโs a whole other post) But CBT. Which sounds fancy, but itโs really just brain training.
Cognitive Behavioural Therapy is about noticing the sneaky little thoughts that creep in when life feels unlivable, and learning how to shift them just enough that you donโt get engulfed by it all. CBT is brain training for when your nervous system starts acting like a toddler in a toy aisle. Hyperactive. Impulsive. Emotional outbursts and mood swings. On high alert. Where self regulation becomes difficult.
It doesnโt erase pain (I wish). It doesnโt rebuild the life youโd planned (double wish). But it does help you find a new footing.
Kind of like wandering a forest trailโwhere you keep tripping on roots you didnโt see, but then you realizeโฆ if you slow down, if you watch your step, if you breatheโitโs possible to keep walking.
As Viktor Frankl once wrote:
โWhen we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.โ
Thatโs CBT. Not fixing the forest. Just learning how to move through it differently.
Kind of like the friend who kindly takes away your โend of the worldโ glasses and swaps them out for โyeah, it still sucks, but youโve got thisโ glasses.
โธป
Hereโs the deal: chronic pain is not just pain. Itโs also the grief of losing the version of life I had sketched out in neon colours.
A Preposterous Odyssey: Tales from My Crooked Journey
When pain became my daily companion, I felt like someone had dropped me in a wilderness without a map.
I wanted my old trailโthe one Iโd carefully planned and marked. Instead, I found myself in dense undergrowth. Nothing looked familiar. Every step hurt.
Iโve missed family trips. Suddenly ended a business my mom built up and passed on to me. Letting go of what it has taken my whole life to build has been heartbreaking.
I have grieved hard. The life I wanted felt like a house Iโd just finished building, suddenly bulldozed overnight.
But in CBT, I started to learn that maybe I didnโt need to rebuild that house right away. Maybe I could step outside, find a patch of ground, and plant something small.
The forest became my classroom.
A tree doesnโt โshouldโ itself taller. It just grows where it can. A broken branch still belongs to the tree. Roots tangled around rocks still dig deep.
And I thoughtโmaybe I can live like that too.
โธป
What CBT Looks Like in the Wild
Hereโs how CBT shows up when I walk among the trees with pain and grief:
โข Catch the catastrophes. In my head: โThis pain will swallow me whole.โ In the forest it is as the African proverb says, โthe wind howls, the trees bend, and yet they do not break.โ I remind myselfโI can bend too.
โข Challenge the โshoulds.โ I see seedlings pushing up through moss. They donโt say, โI should be a tall cedar by now.โ They just keep growing. Maybe I can let myself do the same.
โข Make room for both grief and joy. The forest holds both fallen logs and wildflowers. My life can hold both too.
CBT is not about denying the ache. Itโs about learning to see yourself in a bigger landscapeโwhere pain isnโt the only thing growing.
CBT is not about putting a smiley face sticker on a grenade. Instead, it teaches you to make room for the hard stuffโthe grief, the frustration, the โI want to throw my heating pad across the roomโ rageโwithout letting it bulldoze your entire sense of self.
โธป
Walking With Grief
Grief still ambushes me. It stings when I see friends excelling in their careers and I canโt work. But the forest has taught me: standing still while others are moving is part of my journey.
When I sit against a tree trunk, I feel its strength. I remember that even a tree scarred by disease provides shade. I donโt have to be who I was before. I just have to keep breathing through the life I have now.
As poet John OโDonohue said:
โMay you recognize in your life the presence, power, and light of your soul. May you realize that you are never alone, that your soul in its brightness and belonging connects you intimately with the rhythm of the universe. โ
In the forest, I remember I still belong. Pain or not. Loss or not.
The Buddha (who knew a thing or two about suffering) said:
โPain is certain. Suffering is optional.โ
โธป
The Grief Side of It
CBT also helps when youโre sitting in the grief of the โlife you planned.โ
When you feel small and useless. When you scroll past everyoneโs travel selfies and feel like the human equivalent of a potato.
Instead of spiraling, CBT teaches:
โข Notice the thought: โIโm worthless now.โ
โข Question it: โWould I say that to my best friend in this situation?โ
โข Replace it with something compassionate: โIโm in pain, but Iโm still me. And I still matter.โ
CBT doesnโt take away grief. But it helps you walk with it instead of being dragged behind it.
As Mary Oliver wrote:
โSomeone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.โ
I donโt know if chronic pain is a โgiftโ (feels more like a re-gifted fruitcake). But CBT helps me carry the box without dropping it on my toes. And exacerbating the pain.
โธป
The Bittersweet Nature of Truth
Managing pain you canโt control is brutal. Thereโs no sugarcoating it. But CBT gives us a fighting chance to stop our thoughts from adding gasoline to the fire.
Itโs like teaching your brain to stop shouting โTHE HOUSE IS BURNINGโ when really, the toaster just sparked again.
So hereโs to adjusting sails. To finding laughter in the ridiculous moments. To grieving the life we planned, while still living the one we haveโbeautiful, messy, painful, ridiculous.
Because if we canโt cure it, we can at least outwit it.
โLife is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it.โ
-Charles R. Swindoll
From Suffering to Sturdy: A Journey Forward
Chronic pain that cannot be treated or controlled is brutal. Thereโs no pretending otherwise. But CBT helps me stop setting up camp in despair. It gives me tools to step back onto the trailโeven if Iโm limping, even if I only make it a few steps.
And the forest gives me a place to practice.
It whispers: adjust your sails, bend with the wind, let the light through where you can.
So I keep walking. Slowly. Laughing when I have to contort my body to get some joints back in place. Crying sometimes too.
But still walking.
โBetween every two pines is a doorway to a new world.โ
Chronic pain has been one of my greatest teachers. Not because I wanted the lessons. But because it refused to allow me to skip class.
I grew up hearing the terms fight or flight. It was always in the context of trauma. I learned about freeze and fawn in more recent years.
IF you are unfamiliar with these states. Blow this up โ๐ผ and take a glance, get a feel for how these patterns operate for the general public.
I was surprised to learn that these patterns are all operating in my life. Likely due to my chronic pain.
The body that keeps moving isn’t driven- it’s bracing. A survival pattern disguised as productivity. A nervous system trying to stay one step ahead of collapse.
I didn’t realize that chronic pain could push my nervous system into these same states. And keep me there for long stretches of time.
Our bodies are wired to protect us from danger. But what happens when the danger isn’t the tiger in the bushes… but a pain flare that never truly ends?
Pain is supposed to be the warning that something is wrong. Literally life threatening. But with chronic pain every movement. Every situation. Every experience. Gets imprinted incorrectly. And experienced in the mind as life threatening. We’re not supposed to be exposed to this type of danger all the time. When the alarm bells keep ringing. How does one keep from going berserk?
Your Body’s Ancient Alarm System
The body has 7 trillion nerves and some people manage to get on every last one of them.
When the nervous system senses threat- whether physical, emotional, or imagined- it flips into protection mode.
Fight- “I have to push through this pain, no matter what.” “I feel irritated by everything.”
Flight- “I have to escape this situation (or this body).” “Nobody understands, I should just leave.”
Freeze- “I can’t do anything, so I’ll shut down.” “I can’t handle anymore right now.”
Fawn- “If I just keep everyone happy, I’ll be safe.” “I wish I could go home to rest, but I need to stay so they don’t feel bad.”
With chronic pain, these responses aren’t always dramatic. They can be quiet, creeping patterns that take root in daily life.
Once triggered, we find any input is too much. Noise. Lights. Crowds. Smells. Chaos. Multiple things competing for our attention. This sensory overload can start to make us feel panicky, confused, and overwhelmed.
I suggest this is because we live at the height of what we can handle. Just with our pain. Adding anything easily takes us to a breaking point.
How Fight Shows Up in Chronic Pain
She thought strength was measured in miles run, lists checked, burdens carried alone. Then she learned that strength can also be in saying "enough."
For me, “fight” often looks like overdoing it. I grit my teeth, force my way through the task, and pretend the pain isn’t there. I know I’m past my limit when I start getting on my own nerves.
She was fierce, but her body was tired. She was determined, but her cells were weary. And yet, she still rose.
-Unknown
Flight: The Urge to Escape
She packed her bags for the hundredth time, not always with clothes- sometimes just with dreams. But the horizon was only another room she carried inside.
Sometimes the pain feels unbearable, and all I want is to run- from conversations, commitments, or even my own thoughts. With chronic pain, “flight” doesn’t always mean sprinting down the road. It can mean numbing with endless scrolling, binge-watching, or mentally checking out.
Some journeys take us far from home. Some adventures lead us to our soul.
-C.S. Lewis
Freeze: Stuck in Place
When pain is constant, your nervous system never gets the memo that the war is over.
Freeze is tricky. It feels like exhaustion, procrastination, or brain fog. It is not laziness- it’s biology. The nervous system has decided the safest thing to do is… nothing.
Chronic pain can hold the body hostage, and freeze mode locks the mind in the same room.
Fawn: People Pleasing for Safety
If you avoid conflict to keep the peace, you start a war inside yourself.
This one surprised me the most. And yet, it makes so much sense. Fawn shows up when I ignore my own limits to keep others happy. Agreeing to help when I’m in pain, smiling through a flare so no one feels uncomfortable. It can keep us “safe” socially, but it costs us our healing.
Why This Matters for Chronic Pain
When our bodies stay in constant fight- flight- freeze- fawn cycles, our pain often increases. Muscles stay tense. Sleep gets disrupted. Digestion slows. The immune system struggles.
She said "yes so no one else would have to feel her "no." But the body keeps its own calendar, and it circled today for the breaking point.
-Misty Bernall
Recognizing the pattern is the first step toward calming it.
Seatherny
(noun) the serenity one feels when listening to the chirping of birds
Calming the Nervous System
Here’s some ways I’ve found helpful to calm an overactive nervous system.
Slow breathing- inhale for 4, hold for 4, exhale for 6
Gentle self talk- “My body is doing its best to keep me safe.”
Micro- rests- lying down for 5 minutes before I truly need to
Safe connection- calling someone who understands without judgment
Crying- releases pent up emotions
Chug water- a natural way to detox physically
Run hands under cold water- to trick the brain into distraction
Nature time, a brisk walk- or take some time for forest therapy
May the tide wash away your fear May the salt air clear your thoughts May you feel the pull of the moon reminding you to rise and rest in turn May your heart find its steady beat, and your body remember- you are safe to float now -Lucille Clifton
Mending While the Alarm Still Rings
The nervous system can be rewired, but it’s a slow mending- like stitching a beloved quilt by hand. Each breath, each choice to rest, each moment of kindness toward ourselves is a new thread.
May the trees stand guard over your rest May the wind carry away your pain May the earth hold you steady and the roots remind you- you belong here May the path ahead be soft underfoot and the light always find your face
I am learning not to be mad at my nervous system. It’s trying to protect me the best way it knows. I can thank it for its service… and then gently let it know I am safe now.
A Blessing for Your Journey
May your heart rate slow May your shoulders drop May your jaw unclench May the river of your breath remind you of the ocean's rhythm May you remember- you are safe, you are whole, you are here
Chronic pain is impressive, but so are you. In the best way. Solid. Grounded. A force to be reckoned with.
SUNBEAM ACRES 