Moving with the Wind

There was a day on the ridge when the wind hit so hard
I had to stop walking.

Not because I couldn't push through.
I could've. I've done it before.
Head down, shoulders braced,
forcing every step like a declaration of war.

But that day, something shifted.

I stopped fighting.
Let the wind push me sideways a few feet.
Adjusted my stance. Found my balance in the sway.
Kept moving, just not in a straight line.

That's when I noticed the trees.

They weren't fighting either.
Bent, sure. Swaying hard.
But not breaking. Not rigid.
Just moving with what they couldn't control.

I used to think strength meant resistance.
Standing firm no matter what hit me.
Powering through wind, pain, exhaustion,
like yielding was the same as giving up.

But the trees don't see it that way.
They bend because rigid things snap.
They sway because survival isn't about dominance.
It's about adaptation.

Healing asks the same of us.

Not to fight every change that comes.
Not to brace against every shift.
But to find our footing in the movement itself.

Some days that looks like changing the plan mid-hike.
Turning around when the body says stop.
Resting when I thought I'd push through.

Some days it looks like letting grief move through me
instead of trying to outrun it.
Letting uncertainty exist without demanding answers.

I'm not good at this yet.
My first instinct is still to brace.
To control. To force.

But I'm learning.

The wind doesn't ask permission.
It just moves.
And I can either exhaust myself fighting it,
or I can learn to move with it.

To sway.
To adjust.
To stay rooted while bending.

That's not weakness.
That's how things survive storms.

* * *

→ Related: When Rest Isn't a Reward
→ Also: Notes from the Edge

If this landed:

Start with Layer One when building from ground zero
Try a micro-ritual for a 2-5 minute reset
Explore Field Notes for trail reflections

Peer reflection, not therapy advice. Your healing journey is uniquely yours.