What the Forest Showed Me

This past year has been a tough one. Yes, these past years have been hard to navigate for so many of us. But, last year I shattered and fell into a million pieces. I broke.

Although never officially diagnosed, I had a severe nervous breakdown. The sun was shining in the warmth of July and all could feel was numbness and darkness. The sun beamed down rays of heat, yet not a beam of light could reach where I was mentally at.

I had been chasing happiness for so long. Moving and shaking, traveling and writing. But now all I was, was frozen. The rollercoaster I had been riding so gleefully up, up, and away had taken a vicious plunge. I had never expected the rollercoaster to fall so violently to the depths of a place I couldn’t navigate.

A few times in my life I had been diagnosed with situational depression, but this, this was much different.

I was up visiting my sister in the vastness of the north woods. I was gathering up the dogs for a walk when I had a panic attack. A feeling of fear left me feeling uprooted from my body. I swear I was looking down at the ground as I floated further and further away from myself. It was flight or fight and somewhere in the grief I chose to detach from myself.

It was the strangest thing, I could see myself holding the leashes of the two dogs, but I was not in that body. I was floating further and further away from it.

This was just the start of a long road ahead. I couldn’t eat or sleep. When I was awake there was nothing in my stomach except for a pit of fear and sadness. The emotions I had always suppressed. 

Getting out of bed was the real struggle. This simple task seemed to be impossible. I was afraid to leave my bed so much that I couldn’t take Donaji for walks. I was exhausted mentally and physically from not eating.

I had been planning on returning to Mexico with my dog Donaji and had arranged a ride to move down south. This ride would depart at the end of July. By mid-July I knew that it was unrealistic to return to Mexico in my current state and was forced to cancel. This made me feel stuck with a new friend I never asked for, the darkness.

One day I managed to get out of bed and try to eat lunch with my dad. He expressed his concern and I knew it was more than valid. I picked at my half-eaten gyro and said I think I must go walk the Camino de Santiago, now.

I feel so detached from my body and while I had often used psychedelics during tough times, deep down I knew the only way back to myself was to walk through. To put one foot in front of the next was the only solution that made any sense to me.

I knew Donaji couldn’t come. I had to walk this journey alone so that I could be present with her for the next step of our journey together. I asked my dad if he and my mom could watch her so that I could go, and he supported and encouraged me. There was a twinge of guilt, as I had always planned to walk the Camino with my mom. I know deep down that she will just want what’s best for me. She wants me back, too.

I pushed the guilt aside and walked out of the restaurant with a small glimmer of something, hope, and purpose.

My dad went to grab the car and I walked the downtown street alone. As I walked I happen to look into a boutique clothing store. There in the window was a mannequin dressed in a gray sweatshirt with a simple shell. The shell is the universal symbol of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage. I had merely muttered the words out loud and here in front of me was a giant sign from the universe.

It was screaming, Go! You must go and walk back to your body and your spirit. I booked my ticket to Spain as soon as I got home.

***

So I walked.

I started from Saint Jean Pied de Port in France and started on an unpredictable journey of almost 500 miles. 

The Camino Frances was mentally heavy. I cried the first few days and kept to myself. But something began to shift. I could feel the heaviness of my backpack. I started to become hungry and I started to speak to fellow pilgrims. I began to order a cafe con leche and savor each sip in the quietness of the morning. I was beginning to smile and laugh. I started to share stories and moments with new people.

I confided in a new friend, things that I was ashamed about. I told him of the heaviness of the World I offered to carry and how I could feel it on my shoulders. Things became easier to say.

At the begging of the walk, I walked for others. People I had never met or knew. I walked for peace and closure. In the middle of the walk, I walked for grace and forgiveness. By the end of the walk, I felt selfish, but I asked for healing for myself. It’s so hard to think to ask for this, especially when we tell ourselves we aren’t worthy of it.

By the time I reached Santiago, it felt as if my purpose had unfolded. My whispers to the universe had been answered in ways I will quite never understand. But I walked with the word surrender, and somewhere between the tears, the ups and downs, the beauty and the pain, I had found something. I had released my judgments and suffering of myself, and come back to my body. I found myself in the core of my heart.

I continued to the end of the Earth and walked the Camino Finisterre along the Death Coast. I found peace watching the sunrise in Muxia, where my friend was waiting for me. The ending of my journey would take time to process.

I flew back to Wisconsin where I watched my sister get married to her person in a small ceremony. I knew there was one thing left to do, I had to be present at home for a bit and integrate. There had been things I had been running from for so long, I had to embrace the uncomfortableness of staying.

So I did. I stayed in Wisconsin and hibernated through the coldness of the bleak winter months. But, in the snow and quietness, I found something so more.

I was walking Donaji through the forest near my parent’s home. I made it a point to get outside every single day, to breathe, to integrate. Movement has always been a huge part of my life and will always continue to offer me guidance and comfort. Donaji is a new but welcomed part of this practice in my life.

She makes the most amazing walking partner and I am reminded through her of the beauty of the Earth every time we step outside. She is happiest in the simple moments on our walks together

She always runs ahead of me only to pause and stick her snout high into the air. I watch her breathe in slowly the moment. Her little ears flop in the wind and her tail never stops wagging. She is pure happiness wrapped up in a white ball of fur. She wears her emotions in her eyes, which are constantly staring at the world in pure amazement. I inspire to be more like her every day.

I think back to when I pulled her out from under the bench in Mexico. I never thought she would be there in the morning alive. One thing is for certain, she understands that each day is truly a gift.

One day we walk deep into the forest. Few people wander back this far and it was just the two of us. Even Mother Nature seemed to be frozen into stillness.

Donaji and I approach a huge tree that had been uprooted from the ground. It was taller and more grand than any of the surrounding trees. Its mighty size seemed to be out of place here. Yet, here she lay sprawled across the Earth, the roots twisted and tangled like a mangled tumbleweed.

The wind picks up a bit and it’s as if the trees are trying to speak to me.

Their whispers move with care through the bare branches. I pause in the middle of the forest, the message coming in loud and clear. 

“Don’t you see?”

I look at the tall tree that has fallen over and collapsed. Yes, I do.

“She was tall and mighty, but she was not rooted deep enough into the ground. Her roots were surface level and she could not weather the storms that would come her way. The strong winds were too much. The river floods too high.

You spend years running, instead of planting and tending to the seeds you planted

Even if you aspire and dream to grow tall and big, you will only get as far as the roots you plant.”

A tear trickles down my face and in the void of the cold winter, I can almost hear the tiny droplet from my eye hit the ice-covered trail. 

Message received. I must stay in the uncomfortable and allow my roots spread deep into the Earth.

And so, I stay.

I stay with my family and work through years of things I avoided. I am not seeking happiness and finding a feeling of peace in surrender. I find a small smile, surrender had been my word when walking the Camino, and here I am at home integrating it all.

Christmas comes and I dig my feet deeper into the ground. I don’t have much, but I want to somehow thank my family. They have given me space mentally and physically for my roots to grow, they have offered and given me so much support and love. I own very little, but somehow I want to say thank you.

So, I take them to dinner so that we can share a moment. Memories and experiences are always the greatest gifts, so I act as if one dinner will repay them for all their pure gifts.

We go out to dinner and I try to say thank you for all they have given me. A safe space to heal, ears to listen, a shoulder to lean on, food to fuel my body, and so many more things that I can’t seem to say. The words are coming out sloppy and now how I want.

How is it that I can’t seem to find the right words when they matter the most? Speaking words has never really been my expertise.

Somehow I mumble out the words, but they seem sloppy.

It is my sister’s husband who finds the right words. I am apologizing for my breakdown and he says “But Meg, of course, everything was going to be alright always. You have this family.”

I don’t think there is a dry eye at our table.

I think back on all the amazing support and love my family has given me. Not only that, I had dear friends and acquaintances that gave me a safe space, too. So many offered grace, kindness, and patience.

When you are lost it’s hard. It’s even harder to do it alone.

The winter marches on. It’s long and seems endless, but I continue to walk. The forest has provided me with all the beauty I need.

My pup and I spend the entire winter walking. One day, we walk next to a coyote nonchalantly. When the fresh snow falls, I love to watch her dig her pink nose deep into the powder. I wish to be as joyful as her but realize I am simply watching her find contentment in each day.

The eagles fly high in the sky above me. Sometimes they let me get so close that I can make out each feather on their wings. There is truly so much to be thankful for.

The snow melts and there is new life in the forest. Green buds form on the trees and the grass begins to stretch its sleepy arms up from the Earth. The eagles fly north but now we watch the herons and pelicans splash in the marsh. They are nesting, preparing for new life.

The Mississippi thaws and the mighty river rushes. If you listen closely you can hear the earthworms moving in the soil.

I think of my feet and the roots. I know I must move one more time on my own. To see if I am ready for the next stage, but more importantly that I have returned to myself completely.

So, I pack my bags and kiss my sweet Donaji goodbye.

I hope this is the last time we are apart.

I head to a place where I can connect deeper with nature, where I can hike in the forests, but be close to the sea. I know this trip will be in three parts, and for the first, I will head to the Azores islands of Portugal to walk consciously with its untamed beauty.

Traveling again, I feel like myself, but stronger and more connected than ever before. Things are flowing and I’m in stride for the first time in ages. I feel more like myself than I have in the past two years.

I am on a local bus and we drive through a small village. The village is preparing for a festival and the large bus meanders through the small cobblestone streets. The bus is stopped by locals who have parked in the middle of the road. The town is in uproar as people run through the street to move the cars or find the owners. 

It is pure chaos, but I see the magic of chaos in this moment. I am simply observing and everyone is smiling. There is joy in this chaos.

The bus moves a little farther down the street, but we stop due to a man walking across the street with a baby cow. He tugs at it gently to move, but the cow just stops and relieves itself in the middle of the road, so much so that the cobblestone streets have a yellow river flowing through them. The local men are laughing uncontrollably and I smile at them. Their laughter is contagious and infectious. 

They wave at me and shake their heads. Bless.

Somehow we twist out of the village and my entire being is smiling. I don’t know if it’s from the hike or the good laugh, but I am exploding with joy. 

This must what contentment feels like. Happiness forever is unrealistic and unattainable. I should have been striving to be content this whole time. It wears differently, like a cozy pair of sweatpants during the wintertime.

The bus stops at its final destination and it’s time to exit. I grab my things and look at the sky. Dark rain clouds are covering the city. As soon as I step off the bus, the storm clouds release a heavy rain. The drops are large and I can feel them creeping beneath my rainjacket. There is no avoiding this storm.

And so I think of the forest and the walks I shared with Donaji and all the wisdom she has taught me. I lift my nose to the air and the rain comes down. Instead of my ears flapping in the wind, it’s the whispies from my unkempt hair. I think of how her eyes are shut so tight, but there is always a smile on her face. This immediately causes me to beam from ear to ear.  

The rain comes harder, running down my face.

Let it come.

The rain always makes things grow, vivid and bright. It’s fresh and feels like a giant cleansing.

This is what contentment feels like, to feel at peace with the storm clouds.

This past year I have planted the seeds. They were loved and cared for by all those who encourage and supported me. They were watered with patience, but more importantly, love. Those seeds had an endless support beam, without a doubt it was my family. 

To my family who gave me space. To my family who never questioned me or made me feel small. To my family who showered Donaji with so much love and care when I was gone. Thank you.

I found peace at home in my roots and now I can feel them spread out beneath me. They are spread further than the eye can see and they are stronger than ever before. There is a new power supporting me.

I am ready to grow even taller than the tree that spoke to me.