Even on the worst days, especially on the darkest ones, I know I have to get out into deep green spaces and find gratitude for what my body is capable of.
I’VE SPENT A LOT OF MY LIFE trying to keep up with my mom. As a kid I was often perplexed as to how my mom had so much energy. We were always hiking, biking, skiing, camping, and playing outside. To this day my fiercest competition on the ski course is my sixty-three-year-old mother.
I look up to my mom as an example of how to live a full life, regardless of what it throws at you. I was often in awe of the strength and perseverance it took for her to keep going when life knocked her down. My mom was in a car accident and in a coma for weeks, leaving her with a traumatic brain injury. She fought through multiple miscarriages and a divorce. She has suffered broken collarbones and hips and had a mastectomy. Her emotional and physical pain has in no way defined who she is, but has made her stronger.
My “injuries” are a little less obvious. They lurk in my gut and in the shadows and are easily covered up with a big smile or a perfectly timed laugh. They are the demons of irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) and depression. They come creeping in on the best days and stomp all over me on the worst ones. They whisper lies and shout false truths, and I believe them most of the time.
On a recent kayak camping trip to the Adirondacks with my mother, we discovered that we both come to the outdoors to seek that extra light, sparkle, and love that comes from accepting ourselves as we are. And then, when we return to our structural homes with new scabs healing our scrapes and our hearts, we’re a bit stronger. The faint scent of campfire that lingers on our jackets reminds us of the place where we feel whole.
I think that while nature can be a thick salve, the real healing comes with the rest and reflection after the adventure—the moments spent sipping a hot cup of coffee, savoring a hard-earned chocolate chip cookie, or soaking in a hot tub. Even on the worst days, especially on the darkest ones, I know I have to get out into deep green spaces and find gratitude for what my body is capable of. I have to continue to make beautiful memories to replace the bleak thoughts my illnesses make.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my mother’s tenacity, it’s that taking a chance on the outdoors is always worth it.
GRETCHEN POWERS
