A wrong note doesn’t ruin the music. A painful day doesn’t ruin a life.
Steven Sharp Nelson from The Piano Guys was a guest on my usual podcast. He talked about a time, when he was young, that he was asked to play at a grand, important event. And he played quite poorly.
When he asked his dad how he had done, his father didn’t criticize him. He said he felt every mistake Steve made. Every bit of despair was written across his face, and his dad was pulled into it with him.
I know that feeling.
On a high-pain day, sometimes the people around me are pulled into it too. They see my face, hear my voice catch, watch me move carefully, and somehow begin carrying a little piece of what I’m carrying. I sense what it’s costing them and feel guilt begin to weigh me down.
Other people don’t know what to do with my pain. So they carry on as though it doesn’t exist. As though it and I along with it, are invisible.
Neither reaction is necessarily wrong. But both can leave their mark.
One makes me feel like my pain is consuming everyone around me. The other can make me feel like I’m invisible.
Steve said that now, when he plays a wrong note, he smiles.
Not because the mistake doesn’t matter. Not because he’s pretending everything is fine. But because he knows what he wants to do with that moment.
I don’t think I need to smile through every painful moment of my life either. I’m not interested in pretending chronic pain isn’t real. Some days hurt.
On those days I get an “error 404 💻: human not found 🚫” message every time I try to move.
But maybe there are moments when I can smile anyway.
Not at the pain.
At what I’m accomplishing and creating in spite of it.
Steve said something else about creativity.
He talked about how music and art have helped people through depression and burnout. But creativity isn’t reserved for musicians, painters, writers, or people who happen to be good at something other people can admire.
We are all creative.
And creativity, he said, works differently when we’re doing it simply for the joy of creating. Not to sell it. Not to post it. Not to have someone judge it.
Just to make something. To play. To imagine. To wander somewhere new.
Steve suggests that when we find ourselves making up storylines and placing blame on others, that we need to add more creativity to our life.
Creativity will make its way out of us one way or another. Either by creating what brings joy or creating storylines where we are the victim. Our brains are excellent screenwriters.
Have you ever been in the act of a menial job that requires no thinking? Cleaning the bathroom? Dishes? Driving on a highway? Do you start to picture these stories playing out in your mind?
This is your brain trying to be creative. Give it a joyful outlet to do so or it will create drama in your life.
I think this is one of the reasons forest therapy has become so important to me.
When I’m walking in the forest, I’m creating. I’m noticing. I’m visualizing. I’m meditating. I’m softening.
I photograph a flower because the colour catches my eye. I make up a story about a crooked tree. I visualize warmth when the wind cuts through me. I listen to the creek and let my attention follow it instead of following the argument happening inside my head.
I’m making little moments of beauty and wonder out of whatever happens to be in front of me.
A patch of purple flowers.
The shape of a tree.
The sound of wind moving through the branches.
A silly thought that makes me laugh.
A place my mind can go when my body is screaming for my attention.
I collect these moments.
I tuck them away like little treasures in my pockets.
A purple flower. A funny moment. A beautiful view. A ridiculous thought. A quiet breath.
Murmuration
The flowing movement of birds flying together across the sky in ever changing patterns. A sight that can feel almost dreamlike, drawing the mind into the present moment as hundreds of wings move with a rhythm that seems guided by something beyond words.
I put them in my pockets. 🐿️ 🌲
Because I know there will be days when I need them. When winter comes (or when pain gets loud 📢) I will have somewhere to go.
Maybe that’s one of the things I’m learning about living with chronic pain. I don’t have to pretend the pain isn’t there. But I also don’t have to give it the entire stage.
I can create something alongside it. I can notice something beautiful. I can wander. I can imagine.
And sometimes, when the wrong note happens, I can even smile.
Not because everything is okay.
But because there is still something inside me creating joy.
And that might be one of the most healing things I can carry home with me in my pockets.
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.
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.
It feels like we’re all moving through life with our shoulders somewhere around our ears. Chronic illness, fear of aging, financial stress, uncertainty, bad news on an endless loop. Some people are simply trying to get through Tuesday with enough energy to make supper 🙋♀️ .
It doesn’t take much to tip us over.🐄
A few days ago, mine came in the form of a boat launch.
Anyone who’s spent time around a busy boat launch knows it’s a fascinating social experiment.
An overabundance of strong opinions and egos exists.
There are no rules. Written or unwritten.
Just enough ambiguity transpires, that everyone believes they’re right.
I’ve been launching boats for about fifteen years. I know the rhythm. I stay out of people’s way, wait until my truck is actually in the water before moving, and do my best to keep things safe and efficient.
Apparently one gentleman decided I’d “cut the line.”
Boat launches really do produce fascinating specimens of humanity.
I’ve learned that confidence can be surprisingly unsettling to some people. Especially when it arrives in the form of a woman who knows how to load the boat on the trailer without making a production of it.
It’s funny how a little perceived competition can bring out our inner third-grader.
The equipment may have six-figure price tags, but occasionally the conflict resolution skills still come from recess days gone by.
When I calmly explained why I was waiting where I was. And how the process normally works. He didn’t want an explanation.
He began clapping sarcastically.
The world doesn’t just wear us down through tragedy. Sometimes it does it one sarcastic clap at a time.
A man is rowing through thick fog when he notices another boat heading directly toward him.
The other boat is bigger. He should have the right of way.
He shouts. No response.
He waves. Nothing.
The other boat keeps coming.
His frustration turns to anger.
“Move!”
Just before the collision, he swerves.
As the fog clears, he realizes…
The boat is empty. No one was steering.
Instantly, his anger disappears.
Who was he angry with?
No one.
Since first hearing that story, I’ve asked myself this question.
Is the boat empty?
Not literally.
But is this personal?
Or am I assigning intention where there may be none?
Maybe they’re exhausted. Grieving. Terrified.
Maybe they simply don’t know any better.
Or maybe they’re carrying hurts I can’t see.
None of those possibilities excuse poor behaviour.
But they completely change where I direct my emotional energy.
Sometimes, seeing clearly dissolves the anger.
Pronoia
The opposite of paranoia. it is the belief that people or the world are secretly working in your favour. That events, people and circumstaces are somehow conspiring to help you.
That’s different from stuffing feelings down or pretending they don’t exist.
You can’t bypass emotions.
You can’t slap a positive quote over a nervous system that’s sounding the alarm.
But sometimes the alarm quiets on its own because you suddenly realize…
There isn’t actually an enemy here.
Just another imperfect human.
When the boat is empty, compassion often becomes easier than combat.
How will this feel next week?Next month? Next year?
It’s amazing how many mountains quietly shrink into molehills when viewed from a little distance.
Then she takes it even further.
She talks about astronauts experiencing the Overview Effect. Seeing Earth from space and returning with an entirely different understanding of what matters.
Imagine grandmother’s wisdom. Now multiply it by the view from orbit.
Our arguments. Our bruised egos. Our need to be right.
They suddenly become very small compared with this astonishing little blue planet we’re all sharing.
That doesn’t make our feelings unimportant.
It simply gives them context.
Another surprisingly effective tool?
Humour. Humour interrupts the story we’re telling ourselves.
We’ve all done it.
We become convinced we’ve been wronged in the most spectacular fashion imaginable.
Our spouse is over there admiring a duck while we have mentally drafted the closing argument for a trial that nobody else even knows is happening.
Sometimes all it takes is one ridiculous observation from them to break the spell.
I wish I could say I found “the funny” at the boat launch.
I wasn’t there yet.
Maybe next time.
One tool that has helped me far more consistently is asking:
Am I living this moment according to my values?
Not theirs. Mine.
I can’t control sarcasm.
I can’t control mockery.
I can’t control who decides to clap sarcastically at a stranger.
But I can decide whether I respond with kindness.
Integrity. Respect. Compassion.
Those are mine to keep.
The more our daily lives align with our values, the steadier we become.
Peace stops being something we chase and starts becoming somewhere we live.
The idea of felt safety is something we’ll explore more in the next post.
Felt safety isn’t the absence of fear.
It isn’t the absence of challenge.
It’s your nervous system recognizing that you have enough capacity to face what’s in front of you.
That you are enough.
That you can survive this moment.
Forest therapy has become one of the places where I practice exactly that.
The forest rarely requires me to react in the moment.
It stretches time. It expands perspective.
It reminds me that not everything deserves my nervous system’s full emergency response.
When someone steals my peace…
I take it to the woods.
There, I remember that I’m part of something much older than a rude exchange at a boat launch.
Much bigger than today’s frustration.
And much more beautiful than the story my anxious brain was writing five minutes earlier.
Eventually I remember that peace is a terrible thing to hand over to someone you’ve never met.
A Forest Therapy Invitation
If you’re new here and want to learn more about forest therapy and how it works, check out this page. The Gist
The next time something rattles you, resist the urge to replay it over and over.
Instead, head outside.
Find one tree that catches your attention.
Stand with it for five slow breaths.
Now ask yourself:
Is the boat empty?
Will this matter next year?
What would this look like from space?
What response best reflects my values?
How can I become the tenderness this moment needs?
Don’t force an answer.
Just notice what changes.
Sometimes the forest doesn’t solve the problem.
It simply reminds us that we are far bigger than it.
Forest therapy doesn’t help me escape the world. It helps me return to it without becoming like it.
Margaret Cullen ends her book Quiet Strength with words I borrow:
May each of us find a way to bring balance and tenderness to this floating world, moment by moment, drop by drop.
I can’t think of a better response to a world that is hard on beautiful things.
Let’s become one of the beautiful things that refuses to grow hard.
The world may be hard on beautiful things. That doesn’t mean beautiful things have to become hard.
My physiotherapist, “J,” has been with me through it all.
She has seen me on some of my best days over the past 15 years of working with her.
The day I told her I was finally pregnant with the baby I had tried nearly a decade to conceive.
The day I said, “I’m running again.” After years of pain making even the thought of it feel impossible. My body has approached physical activity like a suspicious cat approaches a cucumber in the past.
She heard me process the long, exhausting teenage years of push and pull with my oldest child. And then my second. Followed by my third. The painful years that felt like emotional whiplash and then she celebrated with me when they all graduated.She understood firmly the mentality of, We did it! On each occasion.
She walked alongside me through buying and selling homes.
When Kenzie got engaged. Jamie transitioned. Riley moved in with his girlfriend.
When all three times I found out I was going to be a grandma, she was one of the first people to know.
When I started a forest therapy business and dared to believe healing could become something I offered others.
She has witnessed joy. Growth. Milestones.
Baby #4Grandbaby #1I’m running outside!Grandbaby #2Riley and GreyGraduation #1Graduation #2Engagement #1Home sale #2
We have laughed together as I walked around in a body that behaved like it’s been assembled from spare parts with vague instructions and one missing screw.
Proof that life can still bloom in hard soil.
And she has also sat with me on some of my worst days.
The day I fell off a boat and we both knew recovery would not be quick.
The years I fought to be taken seriously by medical professionals before finally getting the MRI that revealed my bone spur. Disappointing specialist appointments. Medical gaslighting.
Family job losses.
Kids in car crashes.
The miscarriage of the baby I had fought so hard to conceive. She cried with me that day. And the day I told her I was going ahead with the hysterectomy that closed that door entirely. We were so hopeful that would help my overall health.
Surgeries that did not go well.
The passing of dear friends.
The painful decision to close my business and then Brent’s and eventually to stop working.
Leaving the farm and grieving all that move represented. She understood, she’s a farm girl.
And the appointment Christmas Eve where she examined me and realized something was deeply wrong. I had almost no muscle mass. I was so weak and felt so broken, useless, a waste of skin.
Car crash #1Fell off the boat An MRI changed everything Following surgeryCar crash #3Car crash #2Farm life
I could write pages about what J and I have discussed over the years. At some point, she became more than someone treating my body. She became someone quietly witnessing my life story unfold.
The size of my kids when I started seeing J
The size of my kids today.
And then one ordinary appointment changed how I saw myself.
It started like any other. I explained where the pain was. What had shifted in my workouts. What stress was doing to my body. What daily life had looked like since we last met.
She examined me, worked through familiar areas of tension, and after a moment of silence she said something I think applies to all my chronic comrades:
“You’re a success story. Do you know that?”
My first instinct is always to deflect a compliment.
I think you have me confused with someone whose joints aren’t held together by determination and prayer alone.
But it felt true. It felt like the most true diagnosis I’d ever been given.
She continued, (and I want you to see yourself in this,)
When you look at where you’ve been on your lowest days and where you are now. This is a success story.
You could have closed the doors on life. Stayed in bed. Turned inward. Leaned into fear of the future. You could choose to live frustrated and depressed. White-knuckling your way through existence.
But instead, you keep rebuilding. You keep getting stronger. No matter what knocks you down, you come back.
Like one of those punching balloons from childhood. The ones you smack into the floor and somehow they pop right back up, mildly annoying and aggressively optimistic.
I have a core memory of my cousin’s party. They had one of those balloons in the backyard. As I played with it I wondered what was inside that made it keep popping up.
If resilience had a mascot, I might nominate a half-inflated punching balloon and a woman with heating pads.
J was right though. That’s me. That’s you.
What is it that’s inside us that keeps us popping up, time after time?
Not graceful. Not elegant. Occasionally leaking air. But still coming back up.
Again. And again. And again.
J encouraged me to start writing it down. My story. To let others read it. And that is where this blog began.
A success story, heavily disguised as a challenging life story.
Chronic Pain Does Not Stay in One Box
If you live with chronic pain, you understand this. Pain does not politely stay in your shoulder. Or your spine. Or your hips. Or your joints.
It leaks. It spreads.
It enters your sleep, your patience, your relationships, your finances, your confidence, your work, your parenting, and your identity.
It is never just physical.
The dis-ease spreads just like disease. Not because we are weak. But because pain is invasive.
Scars are not signs of weakness, they are signs of survival.
Yet many people living with chronic pain quietly continue. They raise children. Show up to work. Try to exercise. Cook supper. Pay bills. Care for aging parents. Smile through appointments (and cry after.) Fold laundry while wondering why their body feels like it was assembled by a distracted Ikea employee.
And still… they continue.
That is not failure. That is resilience. That is success.
Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.
One of the hardest parts of chronic pain is not always the pain itself. Sometimes it is the disbelief. Unfortunately, this can include close family members. Friends. Employers.
And yes, medical professionals.
When symptoms are invisible, people often assume they are exaggerated. If scans are unclear, they question your tolerance. If you “look fine,” they assume you must be fine.
And so many of us become defenders. Explainers. Evidence gatherers.
Trying desperately to prove that our pain is real. Trying to earn validation. Trying to convince others that suffering exists even when they cannot see it.
When attacked by error, truth is better served by silence than by a bad argument.
That quote hit me.
We do not need to defend ourselves from every misunderstanding. Not every person deserves access to our explanations. Not every accusation needs a rebuttal. Not every skeptical glance deserves our emotional energy.
There is a time to inform. And there is a time to walk away.
Never wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.
Silence is not surrender. Sometimes silence is strength. Sometimes it is peace. Sometimes it is refusing to spend precious energy proving your pain to people committed to misunderstanding it.
Do not explain. Your friends do not need it, and your enemies will not believe you.
A Forest Therapy Practice: Seeing Yourself in the Landscape
One of the most grounding practices I return to comes from forest therapy.
Take a small mirror with you into nature.
Stand among trees.
Or beneath open sky.
Hold the mirror so your reflection appears framed by branches, clouds, leaves, or light.
Look at yourself. Really look. See your face inside the larger landscape. Notice how you are not separate from nature. You belong here too.
Then ask yourself:
Where was I a year ago?
What have I survived?
How far have I come?
What strength still exists in me?
Appreciate where you are now. Not because healing is complete. But because progress deserves to be witnessed. And because you still have what it takes to continue.
Rivers don’t apologize for moving slowly at some points on their path.
Seasons do not shame themselves for resting.
Maybe we shouldn’t either.
My Success Story Is Still Being Written
I used to think success had to look polished. Strong. Linear. Easy to explain. Now I know better.
Sometimes success looks like rebuilding muscle. Sometimes it looks like surviving grief. Sometimes it looks like asking for help. Sometimes it looks like walking instead of running. Sometimes it looks like closing one chapter when life forces your hand. Sometimes it looks like bouncing back up like an emotionally exhausted inflatable clown with stubborn determination.
I have bounced back like a plastic bag caught in a prairie wind.
Messy. Crooked. Still rising. Still trying.
And maybe that is enough.
Actually
Maybe that is extraordinary.
You are a success story.
If pain has tried to rewrite your life and you still continue…
Blooms break forth from the startled earth. The sky laughs. The trees, abashed, dress themselves in verdant green.
-Rick Yancey
Embracing Your Inner Warrior and Cuddle Bug
Have you heard of fierce self compassion? I have been reading Dr. Kristin Neff’s books. I have learned enough that I think I can convey some of what she teaches. In her research on self compassion, Dr. Neff has become the expert in her field. She has an innate ability to speak to the individual. In a way that is both calming and empowering. I highly recommend her as an author. Her work can be found at self-compassion.org. Stick around to learn about self compassion. And to answer these questions: Why is self compassion significant in healing chronic pain? And how is forest therapy a good support for this type of practice?
Do you know anyone that would gain from a lesson in self compassion? Share this post with them. Hook them up with my social media. And then plan to attend a forest therapy walk together with them in the next week or two. We are so close 😄! Click below to see what forest therapy walks are available so you are ready to book.
Nurturing Self-Compassion Through Sensory Awareness
Self compassion comes in many forms. Tactile- running your fingers along the back on your arms, getting the right temperature, pressure from a weighted blanket. Something fuzzy or squishy. Visual- lower the lights in the evening and in a bath, candle light. playing with colors. Auditory- listen to the music or nature sounds that lift your soul. Olfactory- what EO scent helps you feel balanced. Gustatory- a multitude of options from water to ice cream to tea, find what fills this sense for you. In filling these needs for myself, I have noticed a growing sense of self compassion. And it has been a support to me in healing all things chronic.
Note: to me, healing and cure are not the same. healing gets me to a place of functioning. i do not expect a cure in this life. but i would take one if offered. healing takes time. and doing the right stuff. that’s what i’m talking about here.
Another sense that I didn’t realize existed until recently. And I really didn’t pay any attention to it at all. Is interoception. That is my ability to understand the signals my body is giving me internally. For example, hunger, thirst, feeling full, relaxing tense muscles and calming a racing heart. I ignored my interoception signals as a mom of young boys. I prided myself on being able to hold a full bladder all day. Getting to the end of a day and realizing I hadn’t eaten anything. Or had anything to drink. I had to train this sense to be felt again. I had tucked it away but it is important to the overall health and function of my body.
Bursting at the Seams: The Threat of Overcapacity
Another internal neighborhood watch, if you will, is paying attention to my capacity. Knowing it is less at this stage of my life. At home. I only need to take care of myself, I still have a capacity to take on more. I add my family and my home. I am getting up there but all is still well. I add service and church responsibilities. Almost at capacity. Once I hit capacity, I experience emotions like overwhelm. Irritability. Exhaustion. Anxiety.
To decrease the overflowing emotions I can stop taking on anything else until things normalize. I can take a close look at what I have taken on and get rid of non-essentials. I can find the people that have a capacity to support me. Hand them some of what is making me overflow. I can look at specific issues that are in the overflow and problem solve how to manage them. What is in my control and what should I do to have a positive influence on those things? Through it all I speak kindly to myself which also keeps the capacity from boiling over.
Achieving Balance: Three Wins for Success
Dr. Neff’s research has proven that to thrive and find a sense of wholeness in our lives. We need to find a balance between tender and fierce self compassion. In our tender compassion. We recognize that in accepting ourselves, we alleviate our own suffering. This type of compassion leads to inner healing. Our fierce self compassion alternatively, provides a springboard for taking action. We draw boundaries by learning when to say no. We recognize our needs and learn where to say yes. We are motivated in our growth to reach out and have an impact on our world and those around us. This type of change leads to outer healing. It all starts with that balance between tender and fierce self compassion.
Self compassion includes finding ways to meet our own individual needs. To provide for our needs we should set up our day to experience at least three wins. A physical, a mental and a spiritual win.
A physical win can look like a forest therapy walk! Drinking enough water. Eating nourishing meals and getting enough sleep. Deep breathing.
Mental wins can look like reading a book that inspires or educates you. Writing in your journal. Organize an uplifting playlist and enjoy. Or catch up on a podcast or TED talk that can get you to your next level. And here again we can list forest therapy as a mental win. Declutter a space or meditate to clear up some head space.
Spiritual wins are my favorite. Praying or setting intentions for the day. Hey, wouldn’t ya know, a forest therapy walk and spending time enjoying and appreciating nature also hits a spiritual win! Reflect at the end of your days.
The Power of Self-Compassion in the Chronic Illness World: A Gentle Uprising
Not Okay
I am not okay today. So, in the absence of okay, what can I be? I can be gentle. I can be unashamed. I can turn my pain into connection. I can be a student of stillness. I can be awake to nature. I can sharpen my empathy against the stone of my discomfort.
I am not okay. but I am many worthy things.
-Jarod K Anderson (the CryptoNaturalist)
Some nights, the soul weeps louder than the eyes ever could.
-Edgar Allan Poe
There is a weird phenomenon in the world of the chronically ill. It is the place of the in between. A place between too sick to function and not sick enough to get support. You almost puke but you don’t. Your muscles cramp so bad you almost can’t stand. But you can. You always have pain but it’s not always awful. There is no surgery that will fix it. There is no research being done on it. Because there is a lack of belief that this exists. You forget EVERYTHING, but everyone is forgetful. Your BP is low but not low enough to treat it. Your anxiety is high but they say just manage it. You want answers but doctors don’t think there is one. Have you ever wished you were more sick so you at least have the benefit of a desire for understanding?
Self compassion here says I am just the right amount. For today. I am sick and I can rest even if others don’t understand. I won’t puke but my nausea is enough to be gentle with myself. When my muscles cramp I will take care of them. When there is pain, no matter the level, I will not be upset. I can be tender and inquisitive.
☝🏼 A close look at how symptoms can come out of nowhere and knock you off the couch. ☝🏼
I DON'T LOOK SICK
I DON'T LOOK SICK, but my legs will often feel like wet spaghetti and will go numb and give out on me without warning.
I DON'T LOOK SICK, but I live with an intense deep exhaustion that makes every movement feel like I'm trying to move at the bottom of the ocean.
I DON'T LOOK SICK, but I suffer from an extremely sensitive heat intolerance that makes me feel light headed, ill and faint even in what feels like a normal room temperature to you.
I DON'T LOOK SICK, but my nerves often give me "phantom itches" that make me scratch myself raw at an itch that doesn't actually exist.
I DON'T LOOK SICK, but inside, my bones often feel like someone is using a jackhammer on them, especially during a change in weather.
I DON'T LOOK SICK, but if anything, even something little, stresses or worries me, my body rebels and symptoms flare up just for the fun of it.
I DON'T LOOK SICK, but it's extremely difficult for me to concentrate on anything, and as a result my memory suffers drastically.
I DON'T LOOK SICK, but the simplest tasks can take me 5 times longer and takes 5 times as much energy to finish that a "normal" person.
I DON'T LOOK SICK, but you'll never know the struggle beneath the surface.
I have been dealing with chronic pain for a while now. There have been weeks where all I could do was lay down. That leaves a lot of time for thinking. I know my thoughts can create my reality. So I want to be careful with them. Since learning this painful lesson I have seen my life blossom as a result.
Over the last few years I have seen my tears turn to blossoms of understanding. Self compassion and holding a space for myself at all of the stages of healing has been critical. At times I can look back and see tender self compassion. When the tears would flow. And I would be okay with it. I would not hold back. Other times I can see evident in my behavior the fierce self compassion that Dr. Neff talks about. Where I learned to set boundaries and how to recognize my own needs. To act for my own best outcome.
In motu, veritas: blooms after the storm. When have you experienced this type of growth?
When all I can see ahead are endless days of pain, I need to take a step back. I know in those times I am getting lost in the weeds of my thoughts. I find a better look out spot and get a sense of what is important. What is true. What is helpful. And the rest is weeded out. This is most likely to happen when I have not set myself as the priority and I need to recalibrate. Self compassion is the key to start the process.
I hope you find time to be happy. Not just strong.
-Louise Kaufman
Life with chronic pain is demanding. But with a combination of fierce and tender self compassion, balance is restored and hope is renewed.
So many days can feel like a struggle. Remember to find something to laugh about and someone to laugh with.
Maybe you could give me a hug and slowly loosen your hold and then you could tell me what my blood pressure is.
I just had a discussion with a friend the other day. We both excelled in school. Yet we struggle in life. Due to chronic illness. We had such high hopes being that we read significantly higher than our grade level. Surely that’s the number one marker for success in later life. This is regrettably not the case. Well that’s a fine how do you do!
The Wonder of Forest Therapy: A New Edge on Chronic Illness Relief
I love the idea of collecting sunsets. In a jar! What can you collect in your forest therapy this season? Campfire collection. Rainbow collection. Starlight collection. Wildlife collection. You can take a mental picture. Sketch it in a journal. Take an actual photograph or video. It does not need to be posted on social media to make it valid. This is your collection. Find what works for you.
When we go for a forest walk together I can offer invitations such as the following.
Forest bathe at sunrise or sunset. Find a good perch and invite the sun into the day. Or tuck it into bed at night.
Bring your journal and sketch any signs of spring that you see.
Dedicate a part of your walk to gratitude, what do you see on your walk that gives you a sense of gratitude
SUSURROUS (adj)- full of whispering sounds
Can you find a susurrous space that enhances your forest experience?
Personal Benefits of Forest Therapy and Self Compassion
I can not put into words the how or the why of forest therapy for pain relief and chronic illness. I can direct you to the work of Kristin Neff for the how and why of self compassion. And I can speak by experience that I am getting my life back as I practice both. As I learn and practice forest therapy. Is it worth the effort for you to try it? Perhaps you will get your life back too.
As we practice compassion for ourselves remember to be kind to one another. We never know what the other is going through. As women, our bodies and our brains go through a lot. Chronic illness, pain and fatigue are a lot. And we all have that one chin hair that we are locked in a lifelong skirmish with. Give each other grace. Enjoy the tale of this Grace 👇🏼 and her way to self compassion. And remember to laugh! Have a great week my chronic comrades!
SUNBEAM ACRES 