Trail, photo by Pam Hogeweide

Amaz­ing what a week in the for­est can do for a woman’s tat­tered, tired soul.

Tak­ing a break from our stress­ful jobs and mod­ern fren­zied lives, the hus­band and I packed up our gear and headed to one of our fave camp­ing spots in my beloved Ore­gon. Our two teenagers were unable to join us this year, so with a mix­ture of  miss­ing them yet rel­ish­ing our alone time we headed out of Port­land into the emer­ald woods of the Tillam­ook forest.

On day three of our camp­ing trip, an inno­cent remark by my hus­band resulted in an avalanche of body shame erupt­ing inside and out of me. I was already feel­ing a bit vul­ner­a­ble after post­ing about my body trauma at the Korean bath­house, and Jerry had no idea that he had wan­dered into a field of land­mines with his one play­ful sen­tence.  My mood went from relaxed and peace­ful to agi­tated and fret­ful. I was in tears.

I gave him the silent treat­ment for a short while, but before our camp­fire break­fast was over, I decided to be trans­par­ent and con­fess all to him about my life­long strug­gle with my soul housed in This Body. He lis­tened. He sym­pa­thized. He apol­o­gized. He affirmed. He loved me and declared his alle­giance to me no mat­ter what.

Then he left. Jerry had already planned to drive into nearby Nehalem to get into a hot spot to get cell ser­vice. Despite get­ting away from it all, there were still some real life busi­ness affairs that had to be tended to.   I decided to take that oppor­tu­nity to take my body out on the trail for a heart felt talk. I didn’t want our time in this ancient for­est over­shad­owed by my angst with the shape and size of my frame.   I needed to con­front my body image instead of skirt­ing away from it as I have been doing for the last four decades.

As my feet moved for­ward among the vel­vety ver­dant moss car­pet­ing the trail, I began to make amends with my body self. “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you,” I whis­pered under the old growth trees as I cra­dled my rolling belly, the part of me that I detest the most. “Thank you for serv­ing me well and for help­ing me birth two beau­ti­ful chil­dren. Thank you for work­ing prop­erly and for not fail­ing me. I will be kinder to you.”

A well of peace misted  out of some­where like morn­ing dew.  I kept pace on the trail, paus­ing to drink in the lush­ness of green­ery I was sur­rounded by. The woods is where I feel most Wom­anly, the power of nature and the power of She both brim­ming with vital­ity and the cre­ative life force. I did not real­ize at the time how per­fect and prophetic it was for me to make nice with my body in the thick of the earth’s bounty.

“Thank you for nour­ish­ing my babies,” I said softly to my matronly bosom.  “You have served me and my fam­ily well and I thank you. I honor you.” Then, with a bit of joy appear­ing from under the scars, I teased my boun­ti­ful “girls” with a flirty affir­ma­tion: “You are both full of life. And I mean full!” 

As I con­tin­ued walk­ing on the forested trail, crum­bles of hard crust that had formed over my wounded body image fell to mother earth. With each step I pro­claimed a new alle­giance to myself, my body. I trudged up the path to where the firs and cedars thinned out reveal­ing the river below. The water shim­mered like a liv­ing mir­ror. I sat on the bench that kindly invited me at the view­point. And there, under a canopy of tow­er­ing woods who wit­nessed my heal­ing, I con­tin­ued rec­on­cil­ing my invis­i­ble self with the vis­i­ble parts of me.

I wrote in my jour­nal that I had brought along with me to record the moment like a peace treaty:

I hereby break my vow to sup­press my neg­a­tive feel­ings towards my body and my self. I hereby affirm that body accep­tance is a wor­thy and nec­es­sary pur­suit in my life and in my writing.

My jour­nal spoke back to me with the cap­tion of Leap Fear­lessly embold­ened from the page.  I received that as if it was a her­ald sent to the for­est to find me. It is time to take courage and begin the good work of lov­ing my body, for in lov­ing my body I will learn a greater mea­sure of self-​​love. Not  a nar­cis­sis­tic indul­gence of self-​​worship, but a holy prac­tice of sacred love of the per­son my Cre­ator has made me to be.

St Bernard wrote in his famous Four Degrees of Love ser­mon that self-​​love is the great­est expres­sion of lov­ing God, for when we truly love who we are, we are lov­ing the image of God whom we bear in our being.

I am not so naïve to think that one jaunt through the woods is going to rec­tify a life­time of self-​​loathing against my body.  I am full of hope, though, that a gen­uine break­through was reached in the Ore­gon for­est. My body and I are now at least on speak­ing terms, and all rela­tion­ship wis­dom points out how open com­mu­ni­ca­tion is key to rec­on­cil­i­a­tion and growth.  I am encour­aged that I have at least achieved this, and have begun the jour­ney towards whole­ness and inte­gra­tion between my body, soul and spirit.

This is what a week in the woods can do for a woman like me.

*****

What about you? Has nature aided you in self-​​love and body accep­tance? What insights can you give me as I affirm a new rela­tion­ship between my body, soul and spirit?  I’d love to hear your thoughts!