Tag: stress management

Navigating Emotional Struggles Gracefully: Staying Grounded in the Woods

pammunkholm

This line 👇🏼 from a song deserves to stand alone.

The world is hard on beautiful things.

-“Beautiful Things” by Megan Moroney

When I hear this line, I think about the people I know who have been hurt by the world. It takes not only our emotions for a nosedive.

But also our peace.

Our patience.

Our nervous systems.

Our hope.

Our ability to assume the best instead of the worst.

You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.

–Jon Kabat-Zinn

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.

–Claire played by Molly Gordon in “The Bear“

As he mocked me it became clear he just wanted an audience.

He got one when a couple of other boaters joined in the jeering.

I wish I could tell you I laughed it off.

Instead, my nervous system hit the panic button.

My cortisol rose faster than I can launch my boat. (I’m a pro at both.)

My heart raced. My hands shook.

My cortisol packed a lunch and settled in for two to three business days.

Several days later, I could still feel my body replaying the scene.

I think what bothers me most, at this point, is somewhere out there is a misguided soul telling the story of the woman who “cut the line” at the dock.

How people treat you is their karma, how you react is yours.

–Wayne Dyer

Maybe you’ve had moments like that.

Perhaps someone says something. Misunderstands you. Treats you unfairly.

And your body reacts long after the event is over.

For those of us living with chronic illness or chronic stress, these moments don’t simply sting.

They cost us.

That’s why a line from a recent episode of the Untangle podcast kept coming back to me.

In “Quiet Strength and Equanimity: Finding Calm in a Chaotic World,” Margaret Cullen explores how we stay peaceful in a world that often seems determined to take our peace away.

One story she shares has stayed with me.

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.

Margaret Cullen also offers another perspective I love.

Ask yourself:

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.

Instead…

Let’s become the tenderness.

In a gentle way you can shake the world.

–Mahatma Gandhi

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

pammunkholm

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

–Carl Rogers

For most of my life, I thought willpower was the answer.

Tired? Push through.

In pain? Push through.

Overwhelmed? Push through.

Running on fumes? Push through harder (and question what my problem is. Everyone else can do it all!)

Our culture practically hands out gold stars for overriding our bodies. We admire grit, determination, hustle, and resilience. We celebrate the people who keep going no matter what.

But what if chronic willpower isn’t a strength?

What if it’s a survival strategy?

And what if the very thing you’ve relied on for decades is now contributing to your exhaustion, burnout, brain fog, chronic symptoms, and sense that your body has become the river overflowing its banks after years of holding everything in?

I am learning that hormones play a major role in mid life. Learn more about hormones and their effects in this past post. Female Hormones: Our Fickle Fairweather Friend

The Problem With “Just Try Harder”

I recently listened to an episode of the  Success Genius podcast⁠ hosted by Neill Williams, a master certified coach. Her podcast focuses on helping ambitious women work with their brains and bodies rather than constantly pushing against them. A message that feels particularly relevant to my own journey with chronic willpower.

Williams suggests willpower is often a withdrawal, not a strategy. It is what we use when we don’t have access to regulation. Instead of listening to the body, we override it. Instead of responding to its signals, we silence them. Instead of resting, we push harder.

At first, this works remarkably well.

You become productive.

Dependable.

Capable.

The person everyone can count on.

The person who somehow manages to keep all the plates spinning.

Until one day the plates start spinning you.

It’s amazing how long you can juggle flaming torches before realizing you are the one on fire.

When Willpower Becomes a Withdrawal

One of the most eye-opening ideas Williams proposes is this:

Willpower is not a strategy. It is a withdrawal.

Using willpower occasionally isn’t a problem.

Life happens. Deadlines happen. Emergencies happen.

Sometimes we need to dig deep and do hard things.

The trouble begins when overriding ourselves becomes our default operating system.

When every day looks like:

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

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

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

A withdrawal isn’t necessarily noticeable at first.

Just like spending a little extra on a credit card doesn’t feel like a crisis.

But eventually the bill arrives.

And like every credit card company, our nervous systems charge interest.

I once heard a doctor describe it this way:

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

I suspect many women reading this know exactly what that feels like.

Listen to your body when it whispers so you don’t have to hear it scream.

What Happens Physiologically?

Your nervous system is constantly gathering information about whether you’re safe.

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

They get louder.

The body begins turning up the volume in an attempt to get your attention. What started as mild fatigue becomes crushing exhaustion. A little tension becomes chronic pain. Occasional anxiety becomes a constant background hum.

Symptoms are often the falling leaves, not the falling trees. They’re early signs that something needs attention.

The Physiological Cost of Chronic Willpower

It is not stress that kills us, it is our reaction to it.

–Hans Selye

We are designed for stress.

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

The stress of giving a presentation.

The stress of learning something new.

The stress of tackling a challenge.

Those are normal.

Healthy even.

The problem is chronic stress without sufficient recovery.

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

Over time that can contribute to:

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

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

Not because they’re lazy.

Not because they’re undisciplined.

Not because they suddenly lost their motivation.

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

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

Determination Is the Fuel. Regulation Is the Engine.

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

–Albert Einstein

One of the most helpful concepts Williams shared,

Determination is the fuel. Regulation is the engine.

Fuel matters.

But pouring premium gasoline onto a broken engine won’t get you very far.

Many of us have spent years trying to compensate for a dysregulated nervous system by adding more determination.

More discipline. More motivation. More supplements. More planners. More productivity hacks. More caffeine.

At some point the engine needs attention.

Regulation is what allows the nervous system to move between effort and recovery. It is the body’s ability to activate when needed and settle when the challenge has passed. Without regulation, determination eventually becomes expensive fuel burned inefficiently.

Why We Keep Doing It Anyway

Because overriding ourselves works.

At least temporarily.

When we push through exhaustion and finish the project, check off the list, save the day, or meet the deadline, we get a reward.

That reward is often dopamine.

Dopamine isn’t simply the “pleasure chemical.” It’s deeply involved in motivation, anticipation, reward, and learning what behaviors matter. Our brains remember what helped us survive and succeed.

So the pattern becomes:

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

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

The nervous system learns that overriding discomfort equals reward.

No wonder it’s hard to stop.

The Chemical We May Actually Need More Of

While dopamine drives pursuit, serotonin is associated with feelings of contentment, safety, stability, and well-being.

Dopamine is the Labrador chasing the tennis ball.

Serotonin is the golden retriever napping in a sunbeam.

Many chronic willpower users have spent decades chasing the first while starving the second.

We become experts at striving but beginners at simply being.

And that’s where nature has something remarkable to teach us.

The Forest Doesn’t Care About Your To-Do List

One of the reasons forest therapy feels so restorative is that it gently shifts us toward a state of regulation.

No notifications. No deadlines. No performance reviews.

No one asking whether you’ve earned your rest. Whether you’re keeping up. If you’re winning at life or whether your worth is keeping pace with your to-do list. No one asking whether you’ve justified your existence through accomplishment.

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

And somehow that’s exactly what makes them healing.

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

A quiet sense that everything is okay.

Not perfect. Just okay. Perfectly imperfect.

The more often we experience that state, the more familiar it becomes. Eventually regulation starts feeling less like a vacation and more like home.

A Forest Therapy Practice for Chronic Willpower

If you recognize yourself in this article, try this simple practice.

Step 1: Walk Slowly

Spend 10 to 15 minutes walking without a destination.

Not hiking. Not exercising. Not trying to get your steps.

Simply walk.

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

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

Step 2: Sit

Find a place to sit for 10 to 20 minutes.

Allow yourself to do absolutely nothing.

No journaling. No podcasts. No meditation app.

Simply sit.

Notice what emerges. At first you may feel restless.

That’s normal.

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

Step 3: Listen

Ask yourself:

“What is my body trying to tell me?”

Then resist the urge to answer immediately.

Wait.

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

Step 4: Walk Again

Take a slow walk again.

Notice whether anything feels different.

You are not trying to force an answer.

You are creating conditions where answers can arise.

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

–Pat Ogden

Going Upstream

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

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

Then another child appears.

And another.

And another.

Everyone becomes frantically occupied rescuing children.

Finally someone leaves.

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

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

Chronic willpower is often what happens downstream.

Parts of your self are drowning in the river upstream.

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

But you can go upstream.

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

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

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

–Anaïs Nin

My body budget got so far in the red it was basically applying for bankruptcy protection.

Looking back, I wonder how many so-called midlife crises are actually the moment the bill for decades of nervous system debt comes due. The strategies that helped us survive and succeed for years suddenly stop working.

What feels like falling apart may actually be the beginning of a profound transformation. I explored that idea more deeply in Midlife Crisis to Chrysalis.

When you can access a place of peace, something surprising often happens. The answers you’ve been chasing become easier to see. The next step becomes clearer.

Not because you forced it.

Because you finally became quiet enough to hear it.

Sometimes healing isn’t found in pushing harder.

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

It was actually trying to draw your attention upstream, where the real answers were waiting. Guiding you away from the noise. To a place of stillness. Back to who you were before the push. Your natural self.

Female Hormones: Our Fickle Fairweather Friend

pammunkholm

My hormones and I are in a “situationship.”

Years ago, I became convinced I was getting less intelligent.

I would walk into a room and forget why. Lose all my trains of thought mid-sentence. Derailed. No coming back.

I’d constantly search for words that had wandered off unsupervised. They would come back hours later, long after it was needed and with no apology whatsoever.

I blamed stress.

I blamed being busy.

I blamed getting older.

In reality, it was probably all of those things, mixed with hormonal changes I didn’t fully understand yet.

Female hormones are funny. They’re a bit like a Saskatchewan summer storm. One minute the sky is clear, the sun is shining, and life feels manageable. The next, the wind picks up, the clouds roll in, and you’re wondering if you should have brought a jacket, umbrella and storm cellar.

The weather didn’t become bad.

It changed.

Our hormones do too.

Female hormones are a bit like Saskatchewan weather. If you don’t like what’s happening right now, wait ten minutes.

Most of us think of hormones as reproductive messengers, but they influence far more than our cycles. They affect sleep, memory, focus, mood, energy, and even how connected we feel to the people around us.

One of the most interesting ideas I encountered from a recent podcast interview with Dr. Anna Cabeca. While estrogen, progesterone, and testosterone get most of the attention, hormones like cortisol and oxytocin may have an even bigger impact on how we experience daily life.

Oxytocin is often called the love hormone. It’s associated with connection, belonging, trust, laughter, affection, friendship, pets, nature, and community.

Likewise, oxytocin and cortisol tend to pull in opposite directions.

But the story doesn’t end there. The plot thickens.

As any prairie girl knows, sunshine and thunderstorms often share the same forecast.

When stress becomes chronic, such as in a body dealing with chronic pain, connection often suffers.

Many of us don’t just feel tired. We feel disconnected.

From ourselves.

From others.

From the things that once brought us joy.

Progesterone plays a role too. It supports sleep, cognition, brain health, and nervous system regulation.

Testosterone contributes to motivation, confidence, energy, and focus. Both naturally decline as we age, and both can be influenced by chronic stress.

Side note: I would like to point out that aging naturally isn’t nearly as freaky as whatever is happening with the people trying desperately to avoid it. Also, at what age do we start meeting for Bingo? Because I’m ready.

Progesterone naturally declines in women, typically beginning in the mid-thirties as ovarian function gradually changes.

My body got the memo that the warranty has expired. All systems started responding the way you’d expect at the end of a warranty. (despite the fact that I was built in the 70s and should have been made to last)

Looking back at my own health journey, I spent years trying to solve individual symptoms.

If I could just stop the migraines.

If I could just overcome the fatigue.

If I could just break the insomnia.

What I eventually learned is that the body doesn’t divide itself into neat little boxes the way we often do.

Sleep affects stress.

Stress affects hormones.

Hormones affect mood.

Mood affects relationships.

Relationships affect wellbeing.

Pull one thread and the whole thing unravels.

That’s why healing often requires support from multiple directions.

👏 Good food.

👏 Movement.

👏 Sleep.

👏 Stress management.

👏 Connection.

👏 Time outdoors.

The podcast also reinforced something I’ve known for years: nature has a remarkable way of helping us regulate.

Not because it magically solves our problems, but because it reminds our nervous systems what calm feels like.

Like sitting quietly in warm sunshine after a long winter.

Like hearing nothing but leaves rustle in the breeze.

The Practice

One simple forest therapy practice is this:

  • Stop
  • Notice 5 things moving around you (leaves, clouds, grass, insects, birds)
  • Listen for 3 sounds
  • Notice 2 scents
  • Take one slow breath

It’s amazing how quickly the nervous system responds when we give it the chance.

The body benefits from movement, and the mind benefits from stillness.

–Sakyong Mipham

Ways To Support Oxytocin Naturally

The good news is that many of the things that support oxytocin are surprisingly simple.

  • Hug someone you love.
  • Spend time with a pet.
  • Get outside.
  • Sit around a table with friends.
  • Laugh.
  • Touch grass. Literally.
  • Watch a sunrise.
  • Watch a sunset.
  • Practice gratitude.
  • Connect with people who make you feel safe and seen.

None of these things are revolutionary.

But maybe that’s the point.

Sometimes healing isn’t found in adding another supplement.

Sometimes it’s found in adding another conversation.

Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.

Anne Lamont

Your Most Important Appointment

One idea I loved from another podcast was the concept of holding regular wellness meetings with yourself.

Not a performance review. Not a guilt session.

A wellness meeting.

Three times a week, ask yourself this:

What do I need today?

Maybe it’s a walk.

Maybe it’s strength training.

Maybe it’s sitting outside with your morning tea and watching the sunrise.

The goal isn’t perfection.

The goal is paying attention before your body starts communicating through burnout, brain fog, anxiety, or exhaustion.

My ultimate goal isn’t to control every hormone. It’s to stop being blindsided by them.

Because hormones may be fickle.

But they’re also messengers.

And sometimes they’re simply asking us to listen.

The greatest wealth is health.

–Virgil

This is the first post in a hormone series. Next week we’ll look at hormone disruptors: where the biggest offenders are hiding, and what to use instead.

Healing from Burnout: Lessons from Forest Therapy

pammunkholm

A forest therapy reflection on burnout, surrender, and learning to live gently inside your own life.

There was a period of time where my nervous system was running entirely on stress and outrage. I was carrying so much tension I could feel it humming beneath my skin. I wore it like an armour.

I was teaching piano almost full time.
Helping my children survive school systems that did not know how to support kids with ADHD.
Trying to advocate for a child who had endured years of bullying only to be treated like he was the problem once he finally reacted.

There were meetings. Emails. Phone calls. Policies. Assessments. Endless explanations.

And somewhere in there, I was also managing a farm, a household, meal planning, grocery shopping, appointments, chronic pain, surgeries, inflammation, and a body that kept submitting maintenance requests I could no longer ignore. Sound familiar?

Outer chaos eventually becomes inner weather.

Then there was the car.

Oh, the car.

Marketed as “off-road capable,” apparently as long as your idea of off-roading was driving over a decorative gravel patch at a golf resort once annually.

When our Saskatchewan roads started dismantling it piece by piece, we were informed it wasn’t actually built for daily gravel roads. Then every winter the same part broke because it apparently also wasn’t designed for… winter?

I remember thinking, Well neither am I, but you don’t see me breaking down.

(foreshadowing 😳)

This felt a little too intentional of a design flaw for something sold in Saskatchewan.

At the time, I was angry at everything.

The educational system.
The medical system.
The government.
Corporations.
World events.
Every injustice.
Every failure.
Every person who made life harder than it needed to be.

And underneath all of it was one desperate belief:

If I fight hard enough, maybe I can force the world to become safe.

So I fought.

And every phone call tightened my muscles more.
Every conflict wound my nervous system tighter.
Every injustice became another brick in the emotional dam I was trying to hold together.

Even now, writing about it, I can feel traces of that tension in my body.

My nerves were tight.
My jaw was tight.
My shoulders were tight.
My thoughts were tight.

My energy felt dark and electric and sharp. Warnings were everywhere:

Do Not Touch: Load Bearing Delusions Ahead.

Eventually, the dam broke.

Not in some poetic, graceful collapse.
More like a nervous system mutiny. Everything in my body was operating like an emergency broadcast system.

Everything I had stuffed down flooded upward at once:
bad information, bad coping, bad core beliefs, fear, grief, anger, exhaustion.

It was physically excruciating. I’d been on my last straw for like 300 straws, and finally I ran out of straws.

After the initial effects subsided, I remember lying in bed unable to function. A puddle of a human being. All the fight inside me still existed but now it lived in a body that couldn’t move and a brain that couldn’t think.

I didn’t know it at the time but this would become my new beginning.

You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.

-C S Lewis

Echoes of Stillness in the Forest

Nature welcomes us before we are healed.

–John Burroughs

One of the greatest gifts forest therapy gave me was this:

Nature does not spend its energy resisting its own seasons.

The forest does not panic because decay exists beside growth.

Yet so many women live as though rest is failure.

We push through pain.
Push through exhaustion.
Push through grief.
Push through our intuition.
Push through limits our bodies are desperately trying to communicate.

We fight every battle. Carry every burden. Solve every crisis.

And then we wonder why we are chronically exhausted, inflamed, anxious, disconnected, and burned out.

I see it everywhere.

Women who are always tired.
Always hurting.
Always “fine.”
Always one more obligation away from collapse.

Forest therapy taught me something radical.

Stillness is not laziness.
Stillness is regulation.

Outer stillness creates the conditions for inner calm.

Not because the world becomes peaceful.
But because you stop feeding every storm.

A Forest Therapy Practice: The Sit Spot

One of the simplest and most powerful forest therapy practices is called a sit spot.

You choose one place outdoors and return to it regularly.

That’s it.

No performance.
No hiking goals.
No fitness tracker congratulating you for elevated heart rates.
No optimizing your experience into a competitive sport.

Your only job is to sit and notice.

(The chickadees remain unimpressed by productivity culture)

How To Practice

Find a place outdoors where you feel safe and comfortable.

A forest trail.
A park bench.
A tree in your yard.

Then:

  • Sit quietly for 10–20 minutes.
  • Notice what moves and what remains still.
  • Listen farther away than you normally do.
  • Feel where your body touches the earth or chair.
  • Allow your nervous system to settle before asking anything of yourself.

You do not need to “achieve” calm.

The forest does not demand that from you.

It simply offers regulation through rhythm, repetition, sensory softness, and presence.

Over time, your body begins remembering something it forgot. It does not have to remain in survival mode forever.

From Fighting Everything To Tending Something

It has taken me years to pare down my list of fights to zero.

Not because I stopped caring.

But because I realized anger was consuming the very life I was trying to protect.

Now, instead of fighting constantly, I create spaces of calm.

I meditate.
I practice energy work.
I use affirmations.
I spend time in the forest like it is medicine because for me, it is.

Despite the chaos that can still exist around me, I guard my energy carefully.

From this space, I choose where I can genuinely be of service.

I try to listen when my body whispers instead of waiting until it screams through symptoms.
I create rituals that bring me back to myself when I wander too far into fear or overwhelm.
I practice gratitude daily because gratitude softens the nervous system’s constant scanning for danger.

And when concerns arise, I do my best to voice them clearly and compassionately.

Then I let them go.

Not because they do not matter.
But because I matter too.

There Is Possibility Everywhere

Norman Vincent Peale once said:

Become a possibilitarian. No matter how dark things seem to be or actually are, raise your sights and see possibilities. Always see them, for they’re always there.

Forest therapy helped me understand this deeply.

Possibility exists everywhere in nature.

A burned forest regenerates.
A fallen tree becomes nourishment.
A cracked open pinecone releases seeds.
Life keeps finding ways forward.

And humans can too.

Not always by forcing harder.
Sometimes by softening enough to notice another path entirely.

What Makes A Good Life

There’s a quote from Donald Miller that has stayed with me for years. In it, he imagines sitting with God under a tree outside heaven, remembering the story of his life together.

And what moves me most is this idea:

That God would have favourite parts of our story.

Not just the successful moments.
But the moments we grew.
The moments we softened.
The moments we overcame.
The moments we kept loving despite pain.

The moments we learned how to become fully human.

To me, this is what a good life looks like.

Not a perfectly optimized one.
Not one where we won every fight.
Not one where we proved ourselves endlessly useful.

But one we could sit down and talk about with tenderness.

A life where our soul is no longer thirsty.

A meaningful life is not built through perfection but presence.

–John O’Donohue

Turning Pain Toward Purpose

People tell me it’s wonderful that I’ve turned my pain into something useful or helpful. And I appreciate the kindness in that.

But honestly, sometimes purpose looks less glamorous than people imagine.

Sometimes it’s simply this:

If you do it wrong, you know how to tell somebody else what to avoid. If I walk into an invisible wall, I’m going to let others know about it. This wall is invisible and solid!

If I can help someone avoid walking into walls or burning themselves to the ground trying to hold up the entire world, then my pain served a purpose.

If I can help another woman understand that rest is not weakness…
that stillness is healing…
that her nervous system deserves gentleness…
that she is allowed to stop fighting every battle…

Then maybe this story matters.

An Invitation To The Forest

So if you are exhausted…

If your body hurts all the time…
If your mind never stops spinning…
If your nervous system is tight as a fence wire in January…

Come to the forest.

Not to fix yourself.
Not to become more productive.

Just come back to being human.

The forest remembers how.

And slowly, patiently, you may remember too.