“It sounds like you’re taking care of yourself,” she says when I pause for breath.
I almost stop in my tracks.
She says this thoughtfully, like fact.
Then I remember we are leading a group of about 50 women on a walk.
I glance behind us—a herd of chickens at our heels.
If I do stop, we’d disrupt everyone.
The dramatic in me imagines stopping, holding this new friend by the shoulders with both hands, looking her in the eyes with utmost seriousness. I like to play in my fantasy world.
But I don’t stop walking, though I slow my stride for a moment. Instead, I turn my head to look at her, incredulous at her ability listen.
Truly listen.
The Power of Being Heard
Listening is hard work. For her to say such a thing to me she must be paying attention to more than just my words. Now, that’s not something you find in a person every day. So many of us are too caught up thinking about what we might say next or wondering if we sound dumb because of what we already said.
Or is that just me?
We keep walking, continue talking. And all the while, her words sink in. Massaging their way into the pores of my skin, washing over my brain like a cool, gentle slather.
“You know,” I said to her later, referring to her original statement, “I think you’re right.”
The next morning I hit the pavement again, this time taking my 3rd grader to school.
And then, like a wave crashing over my body, it hits me.
I’ve been advocating for everyone around me to use their voices, except for me.
This time I do stop walking.
Just for a moment.
I want to feel this moment.
Receive it as a gift to heal.
And this is one of those healing moments.
Emotion comes up in waves, massaging my chest, creating wells behind my eyes. I allow my own words to sink in now. Faces run through my mind, all at once yet one at a time. So fast only a few seconds pass but long enough for me to see, feel, and recognize.
Survival Isn’t Self-Care
My moment to recognize truth about me others can already see.
Things I did to take care of myself were means of survival. More about taking care of someone else than me.
The choices I am making now are different from any I’ve made before. For instance, I don’t force myself to go on walks because my body feels riddled with stress and anxiety. Instead, I look forward to them. They are sacred. My own personal church service.
Then I joined this community: The Long Beach Walking Club. And to be honest, I’m proud of myself for getting past my insecurities and showing up to walk after walk after walk. The first time I attended felt so scary I almost talked myself into turning around.
But I didn’t. I kept going, one step at a time.
Walking for Mental Health Changed Everything
Standing under the morning sun, I take a deep breath, dab at my eyes, and walk forward.
Move forward.
Forward movement.
You see, I used walking to cope with trauma, and now it’s become a pivotal part of my healing journey.
In the beginning, I set my time for just 10 minutes. Long enough to traipse though the ice and snow on my half mile driveway. Even deep in the darkness of trauma, I knew there was something important about getting off my couch, getting outside, and moving my body.
My favorite podcast instructed me often how small changes lead to big results. So, I trusted that. Eventually, 10 minutes turned into 30, then I started walking for as long as I could stand it based on weather (keep in mind I lived in the PNW at the time).
Now, these walks didn’t change my life. Not right away, at least. But they did teach me how to move through life.
You see, every time life felt too hard, I practiced my new habit of walking to figure out next steps or to let go of stress through movement. And crying. And yelling. And talking. Lots and lots of talking.
Walks That Saved Us
When things were at their worst, Mr. S and I went on a minimum of two or three walks every day. It got to a point of being a family joke. But you know what? Every time we went on those walks something good came from it.
It wasn’t always the biggest and best idea, though big and best ideas often happen on our walks.
But sometimes, it was just about being together.
Holding hands.
Holding each other.
Sharing our tears.
Or sometimes it was just about movement. If we kept moving physically when what we wanted to do was break, then perhaps we could survive another day.
And we did.
These days we walk for our own enjoyment and embrace all the health benefits (including higher libido).
We love the town we live in.
We love holding hands at night.
And we love moving through it.
Together.
While before I used walks to manage intense stress, now I go on my walks to experience healing.
Hi, I’m Jessica Biles—writer, truth-teller, and author of Freedom Between the Sheets, a book about healing from sex shame and reclaiming your voice.
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