I had these plans to drop off my luggage at my friend’s mom’s house and dash off to the South of Spain.
But, plans can easily be changed.
I arrived to the Madrid airport with a large lump in my throat and unbearable back pain. The older I’ve gotten, the more I truly believe that disease within the body is just that dis-ease. I could feel some lasting sorrow from leaving my mother in the US for 3 months. I held back tears in Charleston when the thought entered my head that when I return she could be worse along the progression of her illness, or, even worse, she could be gone. I knew that what was manifesting as a pain in my low back was my grief in leaving and fear of what could happen while I’m gone.
I also could feel some part of me feeling like I hadn’t completely voiced myself in this breakup to certain characters I’d blocked. I had words to say to the mom who didn’t believe me, to the sister who had no idea what went down, and I wondered about the girl that came before me and if she had a similar story to mine. I had kept telling myself that I wasn’t allowed to talk to these people. I knew that what was manifesting as a sore throat was my denial of voicing what I wanted to say.
So I arrived to Madrid feeling sick and not the energized self that I imagined would dash off to the next adventure. I had the choice to persist on and fight the pain, or to absorb the pain and confront it. I decided to listen to my body and my internal struggle, so I unpacked my bags for a few days and settled in.
There came a moment when we were out for lunch. Somewhere between the paella and the fruit creme dessert where I felt some relief about being away from my mom. I was here, at a table with a mother of my best friend, someone I had always wanted to meet. I was here. And I realized to be here I needed to let go of being there. I breathed in some relief, and by days end, surrounded with a family I would have never gotten to meet if I hadn’t left the US, I let go of the grief.
I woke up the next day with a relieved back, but a persistent sore throat. I had the whole day and place to myself as the rest of the family was off at a funeral. It had rained heavy all night and into the morning, matching this cleanse I felt so dire to my soul. I woke up clear with what I needed to write and who I needed to write to. So, I said all the things I’d been wanting to say but swallowed deep down. I carried on the rest of the day a little lighter, and felt my throat opening up a bit. I’d expressed what I wanted to say and I wasn’t going to hold on to the need of a response. So I cuddled with the dogs and made friends with the horses. I went on a barefoot walk up the mountain and felt like nature was hugging me with all its beauty. The wild lavender scent and the fresh air rolling through.
It all felt like exactly where I was supposed to be, and having this day to myself really sunk in the beauty of what my time in Spain was to be. I decided I’d take a trek the following day as a trial walk for the 500 mile Camino de Santiago I’d be starting on in 2 weeks time.
A home-cooked meal rounded out this beautiful day. A day that felt like I was really coming home to myself, to me. And the more my throat loosened and the less pain I felt swallowing.
I woke up the next day ready for my 20km walk through the mountain range of Miraflores. And I got a message I wasn’t expecting. I got a gift from this girl I never thought I’d talk to, a girl who went through the same exact thing as I did with the same exact man just before me. I let the hurt rise to tears, I let the inner critic question, “why hadn’t you reached out sooner?”, I let all the emotions ebb and flow. And with this new formed connection, talking to someone who’d been through the storm and survived, blossomed even, I was overcome with relief. It wasn’t just me. I knew I hadn’t lied about our story but having someone else confirm it just made me feel more at peace about it all. Yeah, it sucked, I could have reached out years earlier and he would have been exposed. But here I was, talking with the girl I wasn’t ever supposed to talk to, and feeling at peace that I was not alone. And that we were here for each other.
I went on that trial walk with thoughts swirling in my head. I cried. I laughed. I screamed. I let my mind flutter to the past. I got lost and then found the trail again. I got caught in a storm and persisted on through the thunder and the downpour. And by the end, I’d turned the to-be 20km walk into something more like 30.
As I finally found a way back to my Spanish mom’s house, not ‘the way’ I’d left, but ‘a way’ all the same, I was overwhelmed with lightness. Yes, I was sore. Yes, I was sure my stubborn self shouldn’t have stretched that hike so far. Yes, the rain and the miles had done their work in washing me over with feelings and ultimately, calm.
I didn’t just say to myself that I was an independent badass, I truly began to feel it. I felt it in my bones, like everything was unfolding for me. My throat loosened up even more and as I walked through the gate, eyeing the white stallions, I swallowed my peace with no pain or attachment. I felt washed over with ultimate freedom.
Free.
But, plans can easily be changed.
I arrived to the Madrid airport with a large lump in my throat and unbearable back pain. The older I’ve gotten, the more I truly believe that disease within the body is just that dis-ease. I could feel some lasting sorrow from leaving my mother in the US for 3 months. I held back tears in Charleston when the thought entered my head that when I return she could be worse along the progression of her illness, or, even worse, she could be gone. I knew that what was manifesting as a pain in my low back was my grief in leaving and fear of what could happen while I’m gone.
I also could feel some part of me feeling like I hadn’t completely voiced myself in this breakup to certain characters I’d blocked. I had words to say to the mom who didn’t believe me, to the sister who had no idea what went down, and I wondered about the girl that came before me and if she had a similar story to mine. I had kept telling myself that I wasn’t allowed to talk to these people. I knew that what was manifesting as a sore throat was my denial of voicing what I wanted to say.
So I arrived to Madrid feeling sick and not the energized self that I imagined would dash off to the next adventure. I had the choice to persist on and fight the pain, or to absorb the pain and confront it. I decided to listen to my body and my internal struggle, so I unpacked my bags for a few days and settled in.
There came a moment when we were out for lunch. Somewhere between the paella and the fruit creme dessert where I felt some relief about being away from my mom. I was here, at a table with a mother of my best friend, someone I had always wanted to meet. I was here. And I realized to be here I needed to let go of being there. I breathed in some relief, and by days end, surrounded with a family I would have never gotten to meet if I hadn’t left the US, I let go of the grief.
I woke up the next day with a relieved back, but a persistent sore throat. I had the whole day and place to myself as the rest of the family was off at a funeral. It had rained heavy all night and into the morning, matching this cleanse I felt so dire to my soul. I woke up clear with what I needed to write and who I needed to write to. So, I said all the things I’d been wanting to say but swallowed deep down. I carried on the rest of the day a little lighter, and felt my throat opening up a bit. I’d expressed what I wanted to say and I wasn’t going to hold on to the need of a response. So I cuddled with the dogs and made friends with the horses. I went on a barefoot walk up the mountain and felt like nature was hugging me with all its beauty. The wild lavender scent and the fresh air rolling through.
A home-cooked meal rounded out this beautiful day. A day that felt like I was really coming home to myself, to me. And the more my throat loosened and the less pain I felt swallowing.
I woke up the next day ready for my 20km walk through the mountain range of Miraflores. And I got a message I wasn’t expecting. I got a gift from this girl I never thought I’d talk to, a girl who went through the same exact thing as I did with the same exact man just before me. I let the hurt rise to tears, I let the inner critic question, “why hadn’t you reached out sooner?”, I let all the emotions ebb and flow. And with this new formed connection, talking to someone who’d been through the storm and survived, blossomed even, I was overcome with relief. It wasn’t just me. I knew I hadn’t lied about our story but having someone else confirm it just made me feel more at peace about it all. Yeah, it sucked, I could have reached out years earlier and he would have been exposed. But here I was, talking with the girl I wasn’t ever supposed to talk to, and feeling at peace that I was not alone. And that we were here for each other.
I went on that trial walk with thoughts swirling in my head. I cried. I laughed. I screamed. I let my mind flutter to the past. I got lost and then found the trail again. I got caught in a storm and persisted on through the thunder and the downpour. And by the end, I’d turned the to-be 20km walk into something more like 30.
As I finally found a way back to my Spanish mom’s house, not ‘the way’ I’d left, but ‘a way’ all the same, I was overwhelmed with lightness. Yes, I was sore. Yes, I was sure my stubborn self shouldn’t have stretched that hike so far. Yes, the rain and the miles had done their work in washing me over with feelings and ultimately, calm.
I didn’t just say to myself that I was an independent badass, I truly began to feel it. I felt it in my bones, like everything was unfolding for me. My throat loosened up even more and as I walked through the gate, eyeing the white stallions, I swallowed my peace with no pain or attachment. I felt washed over with ultimate freedom.
Free.
I was finally Free again.
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