What the Nervous System Never Forgot

Some days I walk into the woods and feel peace.
Other days, I flinch at a crack in the branches
or feel my chest tighten at a shift in the wind.

There is no threat.
But my body thinks there might be.

That's the nervous system.
It doesn't speak in language.
It speaks in breath patterns,
muscle tone, startles, and stillness.
It remembers what my mind tried to bury.

I used to be angry at that.
Why can't I just calm down?
Why do I overreact?

But now I know:
this is protection. Not dysfunction.
My body learned to scan for danger because it had to.
And even now, when I'm safe, it still listens for echoes.

The woods are helping me unlearn that. Slowly.

Out here, I practice noticing without spiraling.
I let the wind brush past my skin without bracing.
I feel the rise and fall of my breath.
I let the crows cry without assuming doom.

Healing doesn't mean forgetting.
It means re-training.
Teaching my body:
you don't have to run.
You can be here now.

What I couldn't say out loud, the wind carried.
And the forest never needed me to explain.

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