Several weeks ago, I injured my neck and shoulder. Instead of respecting that pain, I pushed through it—and made it worse with a thirteen-hour day editing the last Fireside Tail. I crossed a line into pain I couldn’t ignore. It became a breaking point—not just physical pain, but an emotional reckoning. And the questions were loud: Why did I push so hard? Why was I treating writing, editing, and posting here like a chore, not the joy it started out being?
I started This Brambled Life back in January, and everything felt like it was finally flowing—my creativity, my energy, my joy! But that excitement slowly, unknowingly, began to morph into overwhelm. I could feel burnout coming, but I didn’t honor it. So, as usual, Mother Nature had to intervene. She seemed to say, “If you won’t slow down, then you have to stop.” Like a wounded animal pausing its foraging to heal, I had to stop making, writing, and pushing myself—without true direction, I might add. At first, it felt like losing all my hopes and dreams. But something incredible happened. When I finally stopped everything, that’s when my life began to transform. It was challenging—and deeply healing.
The stillness brought with it incredible clarity. In the painful quiet, five long-term struggles I’d been silently suffering with began to surface. Doing nothing meant sitting not only with my physical pain, but with the internal aches I’d so often bypassed through distraction. And over just four weeks, I stepped through a portal into my own truth. I witnessed these struggles in a way I never had before—and that clarity began to heal the pain I’d carried for so long.
The first struggle was something that had quietly worn down over time. I kept holding on, trying to make it work—but it wasn’t. And instead of letting it go, I restructured it. This struggle involved another person, and together, we changed the framework, choosing a rhythm that gave me more space to feel calm and clear. It’s not just that the struggle is gone—it’s better now than it’s been in a long while. Sometimes, like a bird realizing it’s built its nest on an unsteady branch, the answer isn’t to abandon the tree—but to rebuild the nest in a stronger spot. This wasn’t about walking away from something built over five years; it was about quietly reshaping the landscape until it supported me again. Sitting in stillness gave me the clarity. Communicating it gave me the support and understanding I needed.
The second struggle dissolved the moment I realized it wasn’t the issue itself—but the fear behind it. Of all five, this felt like the biggest battle, yet it vanished in mere seconds of clarity. I was growing increasingly fearful and resisting a shift in my personal landscape. It felt like a similar scenario from a not-so-long-ago incident was starting to repeat, but when I finally asked myself, What am I actually scared of? I realized I was afraid the past would repeat itself. Then I saw clearly that these two things truly are not the same. Through stillness, I understood: fear had been running the show—old, unfounded fears from another time. It was like a chipmunk darting back into its burrow at the slightest rustle, wasting energy on shadows instead of reality. Once I named those fears, the struggle lost its grip. I accepted what I’d been fearing, and just like that, the resistance melted away. Stillness taught me: there is no struggle in the present moment. The only struggle is the one we conjure in our minds.
The third struggle was never mine to begin with. It had been projected onto me, and I’d been living inside someone else’s narrative. It hurt deeply. I wasn’t being seen fairly or treated kindly. It felt like the projection shaped how I was seen, no matter how carefully I tried to show up. For a long time, I’d hoped the other person would help me close this chapter. Then I realized: when someone can’t—or won’t—bring closure, you have to do it yourself. Courageously, I ignored the projection and spoke as if it weren’t there. I reminded myself: What other people think of me is none of my business. Mentally and emotionally, I handed back the projection and walked away. It was like when old trees fall in the forest—their canopy breaks, and suddenly a young sapling sees the light and can finally grow. These kinds of closures leave scars, but at least it’s closed for me. I left that chapter in the past, where it belongs—trusting that my healing doesn’t require agreement, only self-trust.
My fourth struggle was one I hadn’t fully recognized until the quiet spoke to me—the time between dinner and bedtime—a decades-long emotional unrest. Interestingly, working through the other struggles taught me something unexpected: how to sit with my feelings during this part of the day—not fix, numb or ignore them. Instead of resisting that stretch of evening, I signal safety. After dinner, I move, dance, or walk—then make soothing tea of cacao and reishi mushroom. As I drink, I allow that inner discomfort to dissipate. I remind myself—on the other side of this suffering is freedom. Watching wildlife, I see how they don’t seem to carry inner conflict. They weren’t raised to suppress instincts. They don’t constantly relive fear or walk into danger unaware. They simply know themselves and act accordingly. But we push things down—and that’s when we get stuck. That’s when life stops flowing.
As I write this, it dawns on me—the very first of my five struggles was letting go of the need to prove something deeply personal. A truth I had unearthed about myself, my whole life. It was a wonderful truth that I wanted to share because it made my whole life make sense for the first time. Sadly, I wasn’t supported, encouraged, and perhaps most painfully, not celebrated. I felt more alone in this than at any other time in my life. But I released the struggle by realizing: I didn’t need validation. The energy I’d spent trying to be understood returned to me, filling me with something stronger—a quiet, steady knowing. When we stop trying to prove something, it becomes fully ours. I’m beginning to see that trying to prove a truth is often just questioning it. And now, when I see someone in that struggle, I don’t see defensiveness. I see someone asking: Is this true? Can you see it too? Letting go of that struggle gifted me a stronger self-belief. A deeper clarity. And perhaps most importantly, compassion for myself and others on their path.
Documenting my life in the woodlands is really about knowing myself. And I’ve decided to share that journey here. The struggle over how often to post, or who’s listening—I let go of that this month, too.
Sitting in stillness and feeling what’s going on inside gives me clarity. Like a turtle in cold rain, I stay tucked inside the shell of my body and self, and just feel and sense what is happening. It’s not easy—but it’s not as scary as it once seemed. And that’s what I want: to live in alignment with who I am, not just when things are easy, but especially during the hard parts of the day. Because those are the moments where real life, real transformation, happens. This is why I’m finding such freedom now—like a butterfly breaking free from its cocoon, finally able to move freely and fully in my own skin.
This path gives me meaning that nourishes me. I’m deeply grateful—not necessarily for the injury, but for my own courage to explore my inner struggles and mysteries. It may sound silly to say, but truly, I feel like yelling this from the mountaintop! That’s how profound this has been. This past May looked like doing nothing, but in truth, it was about monumental transformation. I’m sharing these five struggles in case something in them speaks to you, because this isn’t small. It’s life-changing to do nothing and to be brave in the stillness. In a nutshell, my five struggles found release in reshaping, facing, releasing, uncovering, and embracing.
Through all of it, nature is teaching me how to be a natural human…and, of course, still learning. For me, that’s where the joy lives: in the quiet tending: sunshine, moonlight, a little water—and then witnessing the sprouting—a metamorphosis before your eyes. I hope from the depths of my heart that you are finding your own freedom and exploring your own inner mysteries—because it feels so good.
With love from the Woodlands,
Wu
Photo: just a bit of woodland sprite humor—> their message: ‘don’t take yourself too seriously’
🐭🦊🦝🌿🍃🍂🍀✨😊💖
Thank you for wandering through the woodlands with me!
If you'd like to buy me a woodland tea🍵 you can leave a little love in my tip jar: woodland tea 🍵 ←link here ✨😊
Your kindness helps me continue creating and sharing all my stories, woodland creatures, and little bits of magic with you!
I thought that was a fox that scrambled through the brush but it was too small, “must’ve been a chipmunk.” A still acceptance surrounds me as I commit to let it be, thank you!
The timing of this post could not have been more . . . uh, timely. I'm experiencing similar challenges - struggles and have been letting go and having a tough time accepting that I need to accept some stillness in order to hear not only what I need to hear from the universe - but from within my own spirit. It's been gently "screaming" for me to listen. Amazing what happens when we stop fighting, or squelching the voice out of fear. Peace, my friend!