The Body Keeps Walking

Somewhere along the trail, the ground shifted beneath me.
Not physically -
the rocks still crunched under my boots -
the trees still swayed above –
but internally, something had started to stir.

I realized I wasn't just walking forward.
I was carrying.

The body doesn't forget. Mine remembers everything I tried to silence.
It remembers the clenching jaw when I said I was fine.
The shallow breath before walking into a room full of noise.
The years of performing competence when I was barely holding on.

It remembers,
not to punish me, but to keep me safe.
And out here, it finally speaks.

The wind doesn't judge the tension in my shoulders.
The trail doesn't ask me to be better, faster, stronger.
It just receives me.
I move through space, and space moves through me.

I used to think healing meant erasing the past.
Now I know it means making peace with it.
Not by force.
By walking.
One honest step at a time.

Even if I forget the story, the trail remembers.
And it always walks beside me.

→ Previous: 2.1 - Showing Up: The Courage to Begin Again
→ Next: 2.3 - I Wasn't Just Tired

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