Back From the Brink: Heartbreak and Healing

 

 

"You can't make homes out of human beings

Someone should have already told you that."

~Warsan Shire

I had originally written this story for a contest. The rules of the contest were that the story had to be written by a female, had to be a real life experience, and had to do with nature. Of course, being as attentive as I was, I missed the deadline by a month. I kept this story private, as it is so emotionally raw, and so important to me. Today I took inventory and saw how far I really had come, and wanted to share this with other people. This is not only to show that it is possible to heal, but that sometimes we hurt more than other people think we should, and that sometimes we take longer to heal than they think we should. Everyone's feelings are valid, no matter what others think they should be, and the healing process takes as long as it takes. Sending much love and light to anyone on such a journey at this time <3

 

 

 

I woke up extra early to pack and prepare for the day I had planned. I got out my gym bag and stuck some granola bars and a couple of peanut butter and jam sandwiches in it, along with my wallet and a water bottle. As I headed toward the front door I stopped to grab my camelback off of a hook in the hallway. The camelback being a bladder of water that could be carried like a small backpack, had extra compartments for food and keys as well. I wanted to be totally equipped because I planned on being out hiking for a few hours. A recent article said that not only exercise, but also being outdoors in nature, had the power to elevate one's mood. Armed with this new information, I thought a hike at Scout Valley might be exactly what I needed. Scout Valley is a 230 acre piece of land on the outskirts of the city I live in, vastly forested and containing many hiking trails. I had been there often in the past, but had not visited it in recent months. Then again, I hadn’t visited much of any place in recent months. I had been feeling disillusioned and bitter lately, but I guess a broken heart will do that to you. It had been six months since I had initially felt that heartbreak, and was finding it agonizingly difficult to move on from it. A good friend suggested that I write emails to myself and put them away in a file, so that when I went back to them I could see how much I had healed, and how far I had come since the day I wrote them. In six months I hadn’t seen much improvement in myself. I still laid in bed for longer than necessary, finally forcing myself to get up for the day by the time most people had already accomplished most of their to-do list. It felt as though I no longer had any worth. Sometimes at night I wondered if I would have to go to the hospital due to my sorrow, because when I thought of him I cried with such force and grief, and the physical pain in my chest was so great, that I felt like I couldn’t breathe. At those lonely, quiet times in the night, I literally didn’t know how I was going to live. It wasn’t because I wanted to die, but because I did not comprehend how the sadness in my body could be bearable. I simply didn’t know how to go on. It was then I knew I had to make myself get up. Feeling that way wasn’t an option anymore, but making the change was a challenge.

It took a true effort to make sure the kids got ready for the day. I dropped them off at school a bit early, and then drove directly over to the hiking trail. As I pulled in to the small dirt parking lot, which was surrounded on three sides by forested areas, I instantly felt a calming sensation in the atmosphere. As I exited my vehicle and began walking toward the opening of my very favourite trail, I felt a slight chill in the morning air. It wasn't the harsh chill you feel when you can see your breath, but it was just cool enough that you wondered if you should have brought a sweater. The coolness that enveloped me made me more aware of the air on every inch of my skin, and made me feel more alive than I had in months. The ascent of the trail was densely treed, and if it had rained right then their branches would ensure I'd hardly get a drop on me. It was shady and fresh walking through there, and I felt safe and hidden amongst their branches.

My breath became ragged as I hiked to the top of the trail and continued on to where it led out of the grove of trees and into a large clearing. Once I was out in the open, I stopped and turned my face up toward the sunlight. It felt good and warm on my skin, and banished any earlier regrets there had been about not wearing extra layers of clothing for the hike. With my eyes closed I could see the light illuminating red behind my eyelids. I didn't move for a long time. I just stood there feeling the sun's amazing warmth radiate over my entire body, completely aware of how incredibly uninhibited I felt at that moment. It felt as if I were floating even though my feet were firmly planted on the ground. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, and when my eyes finally opened several minutes had passed.

I continued with a brisk walk along my chosen path, and soon after broke into a run. I ran as fast possible on the alternating rocky and sandy areas of the trail, twisting my ankle slightly or becoming off balance at times, but I felt wild and free. No other people were there, and the solitude was both overwhelming and therapeutic. I looked to my right as I came to a fork in the trail, and set far back saw a stream with a bridge that I had never noticed before. I suddenly felt compelled to take it. Whenever hiking in this area in the past, I would stay on my usual two kilometer loop. I might hike that loop anywhere from four to ten times before I've had enough, but today I felt like exploring - literally as well as figuratively. The further I went into the woods the more I discovered, not only about the terrain but about myself. As I explored, I had notably more curiosity about the narrower, less travelled paths than the trails that could be seen down clearly. I favoured those narrow pathways over the well travelled ones each time there came a point in my journey where a decision needed to be made to take one over the other. Often the narrow footpaths dead ended and I had to backtrack to take the passage that had originally been disregarded. Despite this, I never regretted my initial instinct to duck down and delve into the trees.

There were several times I got lost in the forest that day, my saving grace being the GPS on my phone. I’m sure I'd still be there if I hadn’t had that with me. Even being lost and wandering I wasn't afraid, and knew I was on an adventure of self discovery and healing. The dirt under my feet was forever solid and never moving. It was rough and uneven at times but it was always there, and it was the most stable thing in my life in that moment. I felt a distinct connection with the wilderness around me and I became so overwhelmed with emotion that I laid down on the earth and let my tears flow down my cheek and into her. At that time, it felt as though we were one. I stayed that way for a long time, letting all of the hurt drain out of me. When I got back up I felt different. The grief of my heartbreak was still there, but there was also a heavy longing for the strong connection to the earth that my ancestors had. How did it change so that we now had to drive to the forest instead of being forever surrounded by it? How had we become so detached from the wildness of our earth that we were intrinsically attached to? How had we become dissociated from something that had the capacity to heal us emotionally? I was meditating on my own questions as I ran down the final stretch of the path to my van. As I looked back to where I had come from I saw the years of trees, older than myself, standing proud and firmly rooted. I saw the moss on the trees, the ferns amongst the grasses, and the pine needles that blanketed the trail. I heard the songs of the birds and the scurrying of small animals in the underbrush, too quick for me to spy. The dank and secret smell of the soil surrounded me, enveloping me like the earth’s child, and it was then that I knew I would be okay.