Out of the Forest

There's a forest preserve just a few minutes from my house. But it might as well be a lifetime away. Because when I step into it...

I step out of everything else.

That trail? That trail has held my grief. My memories. My silent screams and my whispered prayers.

It's been the place I go to lay it all down…to come undone, and somehow walk out whole. I used to sneak out when the kids were asleep or distracted --

like a fugitive

just trying to find one breath before the next explosion.

Life at home? It was a war zone.

All four of my children had PANDAS --not the cuddly kind -- the kind that hijack your babies and fill the house with rages, panic attacks, and terror.

I had to predict every need before it broke open into a storm. I was always ten steps ahead, but somehow never fast enough.

We were all struggling -- raw nerves, sensory overload, no sleep, no peace.

Therapies.

Endless appointments.

Schools, doctors, people in our lives that didn't believe me.

Questions no one could answer.

I walked those trails in a fog of despair.

But I carried a fierce bloom of hope that would not die.

I made a vow -- I will help my children. Even if it breaks me. Even if it takes everything I've got.

Then one day, I heard it -- a whisper. But a whisper so loud and right it felt like it settled a weight of peace in the seat of my soul.

"Become an EMT."

Wait... what? I was a mom. A stay-at-home, social-working, worn-down woman with no time, no plan, and no business chasing something so wild.

But something in me wouldn't let it go. So I signed up. During Covid. Online. Out-of-state.

I drove myself across state lines to finish the clinicals, slept in a hotel alone, and passed.

And I stood there thinking, Who am I? Because the woman doing this --

She was someone new.

She was someone brave.

Someone waking up.

As I worked as an EMT, I returned to the trees. There, among the roots and rustling leaves, I let myself dream a little bigger.

Could I be a paramedic? Could I really do this? Was I smart enough? Strong enough?

I pounded out those questions with every step down the dirt trail. And still -- the dream refused to die.

So I leapt. I applied to paramedic school. And somehow -- wildly, wonderfully -- I got in.

Ten months of stretching, learning, breaking, becoming. Ten months of pushing past fear, of crawling out of my comfort zone day after day.

There were sleepless nights. Tears. Anxiety. Blood and sweat -- both literal and not.

But I kept going.

And at the end of it all...

I became a paramedic.

When I was going through my divorce, I came back to that path -- that sacred space where I had been falling apart and putting myself back together for years.

I knew what I had to do.

I wasn't just "Mama."

I wasn't a machine following a map that no longer fit.

I was a woman with choices. A human with needs. I mattered.

Sometimes, I'd hike with my earbuds in and sunglasses on so no one could see the tears. I cried through entire hikes. Sometimes I still do.

But I always keep walking.

Because the forest holds my secrets and gives me back my strength.

Now... when I walk there, I think of the many versions of Me who've tread those trails:

the desperate, the wild,

the broken, the bold.

And I feel... grateful. Grateful that I still walk with questions, but now, I also walk with peace.

Grateful for the stillness that never once judged me, and always welcomed me back.

The forest?

It has been my refuge.

My reset.

My resurrection.

It keeps my secrets,

my sadness,

and my joy.

And for that... I am endlessly grateful.