I didn’t realize just how disconnected I had become from myself.

Years of survival had distracted me from the things that once gave me joy. As a single mother with no degree to speak of, there was rarely time for anything except work. I fell into the trap of work, sleep, repeat. At one point, I was working three or four jobs at once because what choice did I have? I needed to keep a roof over my children’s heads and food on the table.

Even then, there was still the quiet shame of needing state assistance despite working constantly. I was exhausted all the time, running on survival and convincing myself it was normal. Looking back now, I can see I was on a collision course with burnout.

I had become so occupied by adulthood that I no longer made time for the small adventures that once made me feel connected to myself. Truthfully, I often didn’t have the money for them either.

I grew up before social media and cell phones followed us everywhere. Back then, kids disappeared outside for entire days and somehow always found things to do. My friends and I spent most of our time riding bikes, exploring the woods, and creating entire imaginary worlds out of whatever nature gave us.

My best friend and I were convinced there were hidden fairy worlds deep in the woods behind our neighborhood. We spent hours there, wandering trails and building stories out of trees, moss, and silence. Looking back now, I think what I remember most is the feeling itself. Freedom. Wonder. The sense that the world was still soft and full of possibility.

Those memories became even more meaningful after she passed away in 2017. When I think of her now, I don’t picture grief. I picture the woods. I picture two girls disappearing into imaginary forests for entire afternoons, completely untethered from the noise of the world around them.

During the summer months, I was rarely home. I spent most of my childhood camping throughout Michigan with my family. Every summer began with two weeks at Girl Scout camp, and one year we spent those weeks backpacking along the coast of Lake Michigan. We climbed massive sand dunes overlooking shipwrecks and sat around campfires at night, telling ghost stories beside the water.

After camp, my family would head north near Mio, where entire camping loops would fill with relatives for weeks at a time. That was where I learned to fish with my grandfather and strengthened my love for swimming and the outdoors. Later in the summer, a smaller group of us would continue even farther north into the Upper Peninsula, settling near quiet little lakes outside of Newberry for a few more weeks before returning home.

Somewhere along the way, I lost touch with that version of myself.

The older I became, the louder life seemed to get. Responsibilities replaced curiosity. Survival replaced wonder. I stopped spending time outside unless I had a reason to, and without realizing it, I stopped feeling grounded too.

Now, when I find myself overwhelmed, burned out, or disconnected from who I am, I always seem to return to the same things that once made me feel whole in the first place. Quiet trails. Rainy mornings. Woods. Lakeshores. Wildflowers. Fresh air.

Maybe nature was never really just a place to escape to.

Maybe it was always the place where I felt most like myself.

-Mae Rowan

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