I’ve just — just — completed the task of moving from my little, healing, home made of grounding rock and logs, deep in the forest. I moved there — found myself there, really — more than two years ago, when I was desperate for affordable housing following declaring bankruptcy and was also unable to work due to a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder and dissociative disorder nos.
For now, I’m safely ensconced in a very comfortable house-sit in the suburbs, with a cozy cat and someone who’s hired to shovel the snow. Although I’m sorry to leave the forest, I don’t yet miss my old home, even though I’m so grateful for how it served me so well while I was there. Because despite its healing effects, there were also hardships that took their toll on me over time — like lots of repairs needing done, and little creatures in the walls; the steep, icy driveway my car struggled to climb; and all the time needed to drive here and there.
And I wonder: will I remember the lessons I learned in the forest? Lessons about frugality and minimalism and about how to listen to the animals and the trees. Lessons I learned about being myself.
I pray that I will, and I will keep you posted.
Yours in healing,