Healing is a Topographic Map

When I began this personal project back in August, I naively imagined it as a victory lap, four or five months of steadfastly hiking away from my past and into the future I had always wanted, nary a glance in the rearview mirror. That which possessed me to think this way arises from a deeply held belief that somewhere in my future is a life I can only vaguely imagine, but one in which I have shaken loose the burdens of my past that have buried me for decades. Past experiences do not wholeheartedly support the existence of this new version of me, this new life, but somewhere deep inside is a knowing that keeps the candle lit, ever so dimly, to guide me back onto the path over and over again.

My Every Trail on SoMo project, despite appearances, has continued, albeit at a slower pace than I had originally anticipated. This is mostly due to a desire to complete this project in community, and the fact that I have been over-scheduled and overwhelmed for the last four months due to circumstances both outside and within my control. In an effort to step towards new sources of income, reinvigorate my life and other family commitments, I found myself in a familiar state of freeze and overwhelm. Everything that was not immediately urgent has been placed on the back burner and that includes sharing my fundraiser for The Cairn Project as well as sharing my story through writing.

Months ago, I began writing about the onset of my illness and the long and winding path that followed. I never finished it. I’d like to say it is because it no longer seemed to matter, that the version of me impacted greatly by that experience was shrinking behind me into my shadow. In all honesty, I simply never sat down and finished it.

It turns out that healing is never a straight line. Some people can point to an instant in time where their lives, their selves shifted from a before state into an after state, healing and transformation having overtaken them. For most of us, healing is a topographic map. We twist and turn, climb and descend, our eyes turned upward to the pinnacle we seek as we turn toward and away from it.

For a long time, I felt so physically ill that my only goal each day was to get through work so I could pay my bills and keep my home from descending into a hopeless state of disrepair. Tens of thousands of dollars spent searching for answers. For relief. Eventually, though, some relief did come, enough to uncover seedlings of hope for a life filled with more purpose, more joy and more aliveness. Those seedlings began to sprout as I typed out the words to my first few posts and laced up my shoes to march down the trail of my first hike for the Every Trail on SoMo project.

For the last decade, I have spent countless hours dedicated to becoming. Becoming the woman I want to be. Becoming the person who can fall in and accept love. Becoming a person who can join in on the physical activities and recreational hobbies I have mostly watched from afar. Becoming happy. Through this process, I have undoubtedly grown and changed in many important ways. On some days and in certain circumstances, the change is palpable to me. But it turns out that old saying, “wherever you go, there you are,” rings true. 

Alongside these new parts, remnants of my familiar self began to emerge, and with them, my most trustworthy and effective coping strategies. I have these coping strategies to thank for so much of what I have been able to accomplish in my life so far, but they were not born out of boundless optimism and relaxed confidence. These parts will buckle your seatbelt and take over the wheel—your chauffeur through the perceived perils of everyday life. They will probably get you where you need to go, but unless you look carefully, you’ll never notice the expanse of roads that lie untraveled beyond the fold of the map. The (as of yet) unknown.