Learning again what soft is

Healing for nerves--and life

(you can listen to an audio of this post here)

Hiking, any time and anywhere, is a gift. It resets my inner compass, reminding me of what’s important. It brings me home to myself and to the Holy, permeating all of it and all of us. It is an extraordinary gift.

In early July, I hiked to some stunning alpine lakes in Rocky Mountain National Park with friends. Shelf and Solitude Lakes are relatively remote and challenging to reach, in no small part due to the last mile of nearly vertical sketchy ‘trail.’ Despite the difficulty, I loved every minute of it. The bluebird sky and jagged peaks high above perfectly balanced the sparkling lakes and waving meadows below. Winter snowmelt waterfalls cascaded, and the columbine danced.

On our way, we were serenaded near the river by hermit thrushes and kinglets—both golden- and ruby-crowned, while the yellow-rumped warblers and dark-eyed juncos accompanied us at higher elevations. Along the return trail, we were captivated by several elk mamas and their calves cavorting in a lake. Only when we turned around did we realize another elk was now grazing immediately behind us. She was unconcerned by our presence—I can’t say the same for us! We know better than to be that close to a 600-pound wild animal!

photo credit for elk: Randy Kemp

On the descent from those high lakes, I slipped on scree and fell, landing hard on my pinky. Although it wasn’t broken, nearly two months later, it remains extremely painful. The orthopedic doctor explained that the nerve along the outer edge of my pinky had gotten tweaked, causing it to misinterpret everything as pain. The trick, it turns out, is to retrain the nerve to recognize what soft is, gradually working my way up from gentle to ever more rough textures. Over time, my nerve should relearn to distinguish the subtleties of experience, releasing the pattern of believing everything is painful. Who would have guessed?

This retraining prompted me to wonder how similar processes might apply in our lives. Our experiences can tweak us—we are bundles of nerves after all!—and these tweaks can leave lasting effects. Trauma, whether big or small, is never just about the event itself. Its power lies in how it changes us, how it influences our present interactions in powerful, often unseen, ways. I’m well aware that PTSD is real and can be debilitating.

Even when our past wounds no longer seem significant, something similar can tweak us, firing up these old, unresolved hurts and hijacking our response—often without our realization. When an unhealed wound is bumped, it can feel like being struck by lightening. We may not fully understand just how much our current reaction is entangled with the old pain.

Much of the anger, outrage and meanness in our society stems from old, unhealed wounds in our collective past—exacerbated by those who exploit our pain for their own purposes. When we become attuned to hurt, we lose the ability to distinguish anything else, leaving us both vigilant and exhausted. Living with a tweaked nerve is miserable; living as tweaked human beings—individually and collectively—is equally so.

These wounds, both personal and collective, are real and the ongoing pain they cause is real. But we are not required to continually live the past into the present. We can learn to let go of their hold on us.

We can retrain ourselves to what soft is—tenderness, compassion, respect and joy.

Through intention, commitment and an open mind, we can identify the pain patterns and release them. Making the direct connection between an older event and a current trigger is essential. Immersing ourselves in nature, creativity, journaling or learning from others can help. If the wound is deep and raw, we may need additional support through therapy, soul work or a trusted friend to help untangle the threads. Slowing down. Remembering to breathe. Noticing what is firing in us and why it feels so painful, while affirming that this moment can be new, is big work.

This kind of healing, historically, took significant time to heal. Often it didn’t happen, and the wounds were passed forward. But something has shifted in our human consciousness. We are ready to let go of these cycles and create new neural pathways, leading to new ways of walking in the world, rediscovering joy in the common good. It won’t always be easy. But it’s not as hard as we might think.

Wouldn’t it be a shame if, after hurting my pinky, I decided never to hike again due to the pain from that fall?

In truth, every breath we take in this life is a gift, even the challenging ones. Resetting our inner compass to remember what soft is frees us to reweave the wisdom of our wounds into a new future.

In Love and Light,

Elizabeth