How Nature Saved My Life: Part One

This is probably the most vulnerable thing I’ve ever written, but those are so often the most important stories, don’t you think?

A note here, before we start, this piece contains discussions of self-harm and pregnancy loss. If you’re not in a place to read about that right now, I understand.

In 2021, I was in a very bad place.

Rewind one year, 2020, and everything was great. I was working a teaching job that was difficult, but rewarding. My husband had recently completed a master's degree and had started a job in his field. We had even made an offer on a little fixer-upper house in a town not far from family. Perfect.

Then, as you’ll remember, the pandemic hit.

We closed on the house in person, but masked. We waved at our families as they drove by to see it, unable to come inside. But overall, we were incredibly lucky. My husband set up a little work-from-home office at our kitchen table. It was summer, so I had plenty of time to clean and paint our little home before I went back to my teaching job in the fall.

We had another deadline, however, because I found out I was pregnant.

We were so, so happy. We had been married almost eight years, and we felt ready. We were a little surprised by the timing, as we had only been trying for one or two cycles.

But how lucky were we?

I was so excited, but internally, I was struggling. We had spent all of our money on the down payment and fixing up our house. Could we afford a baby, really? We were several months deep in a worldwide pandemic. What kind of world would the baby be joining? But even deeper, a darker feeling lurked. What kind of mother would I be? Would I be able to do this?

I had a rough childhood, and I knew what kind of parent I didn’t want to be, but I worried if I was capable of pulling it off.

The stress of teaching was also snowballing during this time. A job I loved but already struggled with became so, so hard to maintain.

And one day it all came tumbling down.

I don’t have a lot of memories from that day, honestly. I know I had a major, major panic attack. Something inside me broke completely, and I knew something had to go, something had to change.

My husband and I sat down a few days later, and I wrote my resignation letter.

Was it the right call? Yes. Did I feel immense shame and guilt over it? You bet I did.

But I pushed that away. My baby needed me; that was what I needed to focus on. And I did.

I painted the nursery, and I bought cute little onesies. My husband and I dreamt up names and activities we’d do together.

And then I woke up in a pool of blood, and all those dreams died in the hospital.

“You’re having a miscarriage”, a kind nurse said gently, “I’m so sorry.”

This felt like the end. I had always struggled with self-worth, a product of several elements of my childhood, and a problem I didn’t work on in my twenties in any healthy way, but this moment, I was truly at my lowest.

With the loss of my career came an identity crisis. Who was I if I was not a teacher? That kind of helper career can truly become one’s identity, as it has been mine for almost a decade.

And the loss of my pregnancy deepened that feeling. Who am I, if not a mother? Why could I not do this thing that women had been doing for thousands of years?

What was wrong with me?

I fell into a depressive episode so deep that I couldn’t see anything but my own grieving, my own pain. I mourned the life I thought I’d have, the baby that should be in my arms right now. My husband was amazing, so supportive and strong, but I knew how much he was hurting, too, and that made me feel worse. I felt like my failures didn’t only hurt me, but the person I loved most in the world as well.

I started thinking about ending it all. For months, it was all I thought about. I was miserable, in pain, and terrified. I didn’t want to leave. I felt so ungrateful for all the positive things I did have, but I almost felt as if I had no choice. Finally, I gathered the courage to talk to my husband about it. He knew, of course, that I was struggling, but he had no idea how badly until that conversation.

He listened, he cried, and we got help.

When I say that nature saved my life, I mean it. But I wouldn’t have had a life to save had it not been for the professional help I was privileged enough to receive.

Through that help, I started to heal. So very slowly, but it was happening. I learned a lot about myself and why my struggles manifested the way they did.

I talked about my upbringing in the church, which, like for so many others, was an example of a child placed in the hands of people who did not have her best interests at heart. (But that’s a story for another day, I think.)

And I got a diagnosis for ADHD. And for Anxiety. Finally, so many of the things I struggled with started to make sense. I had always heard and internalized everyone else can do this, why can’t you? Now I was starting to understand why.

I was still emotionally sore, but I was getting better.

Therapy had opened a lot of boxes for me, and now I was rifling through them, trying to figure out what exactly I needed to unpack. Religion was a big one for me. I have always been a very spiritual person, and I felt I was missing that element in my life. But I knew I didn’t want to return to the Church, so I felt stuck.

I lived in that headspace for a while, and then my husband and I decided to take a little weekend camping trip. We had been gifted an old tent from some relatives after they bought a new one, and had recently adopted a dog. He was supposed to help with my anxiety, but I think maybe we both just have it now. He is one of the best choices we have ever made, and I love him so much I feel like I could explode.

That night, we sat around our little campfire and roasted marshmallows, something I hadn’t done since childhood. I looked up at the stars, and it was as if the universe spoke directly to me.

This beautiful thing? You are a part of this.

I felt more connected to the universe than I ever had, and I wasn’t even high.

That camping trip kicked off a completely unexpected journey. Of cosmic magic, of druidry and paganism, of travel, of self-discovery, of joy and hope and laughter, and of course, a little more heartache. But every single moment, especially those darkest days, has taught me the importance of coming home to myself. Of living my life authentically, and with all I have.

I want to go back in time and hug 2021 me. I love her so much. I am so proud of her for surviving. And I am so excited for her to see what’s in store next.

It seems there was more to this story than I expected when I sat down to write it. I haven’t even told you about the best parts. I think I’ll share that next.

Thank you for reading. I hope, if you can relate to this story at all, that you are well. And I’d love to connect.

XOXO, Alys.