Road to Recovery

Walking it out

I rallied my strep-infected body and convinced it to take an early spring walk with my ride-or-die, The Jean. Miss Jean is my feisty caramel Chiweenie’s Christian name, yet her personality demands a title. When she’s on patrol, she is “The Jean,” a force to be reckoned with should you approach her mama or have the audacity to be a squirrel, fowl, anything on wheels, or the wind blowing in the wrong direction.

I’d been sick for a week and longed to break the chains of confinement to air out my sick room of a body. Mama Earth greeted me with a sunny kiss on the crown and whispered, “Whatever you need, I’m here,” on a refreshing, wild onion-scented breeze. In March, outdoor southern Arkansas feels like someone set the thermostat just right, the gap between the wintry weather I crave and summer’s blood-boiling heat. This was my first bout of Strep despite having been exposed to it many times over the years. I sighed. It was going around the tiny rural high school where I taught. I was weak but trusted Mama Earth to work her magic.

Ever on high alert, the Jean announced our arrival to the outside world with a series of sharp, ear-defying barks. She tugged at her leash, eager to inspect her kingdom. We crunched down the gritty gravel drive to our walking trail, a dirt road that disappeared into a distant treed archway, like a secret garden’s threshold.

I lived in Rural Nowhere. Three narrow, snaky, crumbly backroads led to the “main” road, a two-lane county blacktop whose margins were peppered with dense forest patches, rolling pastureland, and wild, tangled, uninhabited bramble. Driving them was a moving meditation.

Without realizing it, I had come to depend on nature to soothe, even when she was moody or raging. Especially when she was moody or raging. I read somewhere that negative ions (floating molecules charged with electricity) calm some people's nervous systems. These occur during storms. Whatever the cause, despite my South Florida roots, ironically dubbed “The Sunshine State,” I’m a stormy, wintry soul. Yet, I am not immune to Early Spring’s charms. Still a hint of winter with barebone branches, gusty rains, and distant ominous clouds, I think of Early Spring as a drowsy woman sipping her coffee. Don’t disturb her, or she’ll rumble. Mama Earth’s moodiness didn’t hurt me like my mother’s had. With nature, it isn’t personal—it just is.

The Jean growled under her breath. I watched her black patent nose wriggle as she snuffled in the ditch's musty dirt and dank deteriorated fall leaves, pausing to fuss at a gaggle of Canadian geese. Hadn’t she told them to leave and never come back? Rude.

The Jean amongst the daffodils.

I’ve ventured into Mama Earth’s heart countless times and shed many things along the way. Mama Earth grounds and holds space for me to dream and process the complexities of life. She’s generous with spiritual wisdom, emotional strength, and physical power. Her bountiful, vibrant art fills my vases as she endlessly gives. Her peaceful nature invites me to rage against feelings brought up by my latest therapy session or comfort my depression. I work it out on her wild canvas, enveloped by a world vaster than me.

As I stretched my limbs, my body loosened my thoughts, and each inhale expanded my physical and mental spaces. Nature’s abundant blues, greens, and gentle sounds lulled me to release emotional weight. I’ve tossed toxic friends and lovers into the weedy ditch lining my route. I used this path to figure out how to divorce my ex-husband with respect and dignity and painfully cut ties with a former friend. Ideologies that no longer serve slid off and slithered into the wild daffodils; their sunny yellow faces reminded me that color and beauty would fade my inner winter. Anxiety and depression were placed on hold by Bunny Hollow, a thatch of brambles marking the entrance to a brown rabbit homestead. Baby bunnies gaily hopped over the aged rotting log under the bowed vine of wildflowers that mark the entrance to their subdivision, hoping The Jean wouldn’t notice them.

There is room out there to bust wide open. I’ve enjoyed literal and figurative spiritual downloads, listening to books and podcasts, or having healing conversations with close friends on my walks. I listened to every podcast that featured new-age author Eckhart Tolle, available on Spotify. I was painfully deconstructing from the poisonous fundamental evangelicalism I’d been steeped in since age five. Through reading and social media, I sampled a smidge of everything from the buffet of world religions and belief systems. At first, as a seeker, I thought that I had to replace my faulty religion with another one. The “right” one. Eventually, I realized I didn’t have to replace it, which led to me throwing out predetermined ideas of right and wrong. I get to decide right or wrong for myself and attract opportunities and people meant for me. I finally had faith in me.

Mama Earth models self-care through her seasonal boundaries. Her moods change, and so can mine. Mostly, I’ve learned that no season of my life, whether joyful or pain-filled, lasts forever. “This too shall pass, so sit in it a while, learn its lesson, and bid it adieu when it leaves.” She gently counsels.

Mama’s seasons benefit all. She boldly shines in spring and summer, flouting her diverse botanical skills during seasons of creativity and movement. Her varied culinary delights pop up globally, abundantly nourishing and hydrating its inhabitants. She carefully prepares for and welcomes new life in all her nooks and crannies.

Conversely, Mama rests in autumn and winter. She sets down her paintbrush and gardening gloves and turns down the lights. “Snuggle up in the cozy places you’ve built with the resources I provide and power down.” The trees strip off her handiwork and sleep, and she invites us to do the same.

She’s my greatest muse – inspiring poetry, book chapters, and essays. Every writer knows the physical act of writing is the fruition of hours of experiences, mental gymnastics, and intangible work wrought in the soul.

This well-worn road led me to be—an interesting, complex woman hidden under a lifetime of everyone else. Mama Earth reintroduced me to my inner child, and I reparent her with all the love we never had.