Guest post: Caught in the Arms of Nature, Kelly Hargie
A little over fifteen years ago I gave birth to my first child; a son, who arrived three days overdue following an arduous, hyperemesis-laden pregnancy. Nothing could have prepared me for the love that rushed through every facet of my being the moment I first laid eyes on him – dark curls clinging to his tiny head, chubby little fingers grasping mine, that new-born smell that is like nothing else I have ever experienced. I was in a state of astonishment and awe – that this perfectly-formed little human had been created within me, that he was now mine to care for and that my body had pushed him out into the world; his pink legs flailing wildly and his little lungs screaming for oxygen a few short minutes after his arrival.
The weeks that followed our return home from hospital were a bittersweet tale.
I was in that new-born baby bliss phase – breastfeeding, cuddles, getting to know my son, nappy changes, first giggles, baths and stories; even the smelly tasks were a novelty! In many ways it was so all-consuming, the demands on my time as well as the urge to be continually present, that the rest of the world seemed to go on hold while I revelled in the messy and marvellous mayhem that accompanies new motherhood.
I felt a shadow lurking though, despite the many joys I was finding in my new role, and I also felt a sense of detachment at times, an unworthiness to be the world to this precious new life. I was anxious and panic-stricken, lonely and fearful, suffocating silently beneath a façade of doing well. In reality I was barely coping, not so much with the physical routine, although that was challenging, but more with my emotional wellbeing. I felt like a continual failure and that in turn left me in a downward spiralling state of sadness where guilt also gnawed at me persistently.
Far away from my family, having moved home shortly after our son was born, I was experiencing isolation too. My post-birth body was exhausted due to the demands of breastfeeding on demand day and night and having become so malnourished during my pregnancy, I was finding it hard to recuperate well and get strong again. It was no real wonder I was feeling deficient in so many aspects of my life – my body was completely drained from sustained life-giving. Mastitis then set-in and I couldn’t feed my son without ending up in such agonising discomfort that felt worse than childbirth. A pattern of guilt, crying, pacing the floors, guilt, cry, pace, guilt, cry, pace ensued… on and off for months on end.
Eventually, with the support of my husband and the healing that comes with time and patience, my body gradually increased in strength and my confidence as a new Mum grew a little with each day. I began slowly to venture out for daily walks while my husband was at work. Baby and I bundled up, I would push him along in the pram for hours on end, chatting and singing to him as I pounded the streets, his little giggles, the fresh air and motion of rhythmic movement a tonic for the shadows that still lurked threateningly within my mind.
I couldn’t drive back then, so I walked everywhere, getting to know the layout the town we had recently relocated to and unbeknown to me at the time, bonding with my son and nursing my fragile self back to some semblance of health. We wandered daily through the local parks and the luscious Roe Valley Country Park on our doorstep became a haven I would retreat to often for comfort. I found myself being drawn to green spaces and would seek out pockets of wild within the urban setting for daily nourishment. I felt myself continually drawn to the enveloping warmth of forests, the restful sounds of a rushing river, the chirp of birds and the hum of insects a perfect soothing symphony for a mind that was struggling and surviving for the most part on auto-pilot – incredibly my instincts knew what I needed even if I didn’t fully understand why I sought out comfort in these wild settings.
I loved being a Mum so wholeheartedly but the experience for me in those early days was accompanied by much guilt and shame for finding it such difficult terrain to navigate.
My head felt so fuzzy at times, like it was filled with dense cotton wool, which had the effect of distancing me from the outer world – the result of a chemical imbalance of course, but when in the midst of that dark space I blamed myself for being incompetent, compared myself with others and felt so alone.
I continued on my quest for wild and natural spaces as often as possible, recognising gradually the healing balm that they had become for my fraught thoughts. I was experiencing the benefits of time spent among trees or close to water in a very tangible way and that propelled me in my desire to seek out green spaces as often as I could. Even when it was difficult to muster-up the energy to get dressed and brush my teeth, I knew deep down in my gut that if I could only get myself across the doorstep each day that I would feel better for it – even five minutes around the block was better than nothing I convinced myself – and it really and truly was!
As one of five children myself, many of my childhood memories are synonymous with the outdoors. We were outside at every opportunity – climbing trees, getting muddy, building dens and no doubt being sent off to play in order that our harassed Mother could have a little peace and quiet! Being in nature has for as long as I can remember been both a great joy and a source of comfort to me so I really shouldn’t have been all that surprised when it became a lifeline to me when I found myself in the throes of postnatal depression and the daily trials that come with being a parent.
In that first year following the birth of my first son, when I was at times bewildered and so lonely, Mother-Nature caught me and kept me in her warm embrace; nurturing me back to wellness in body, spirit and mind. Only when I was in nature was I able to feel fully present, safe and calm. The rhythms, sounds and patterns of nature were not only mesmerising for my senses, feeling often like a lullaby, but they reminded me that we too, as part of nature, go through our own seasons and changes and that everything happens in its own time. I found that knowledge deeply grounding in one respect, feeling connected to the earth’s rhythms making my own experiences feel valid somehow, the ebb and flow of it all a comfort to me, and I equally found it uplifting, I drew energy from it.
We were fortunate in those days to be living on the stunning north coast of Northern Ireland and had beaches, forests, lakes, hills and parks galore to explore. Despite the struggles I was enduring within my mind, my memories from that time are filled with images of my son’s tiny bare feet on sand, playing pooh sticks on a bridge across the River Roe, spotting wildlife, dosing on blankets spread out on stretches of green space and lolling in the sun following a picnic lunch and generally being together in nature with my little family. Although those days at times felt like an emotional rollercoaster that jolted me around with every twist and turn in the track, I understand now, with the distance and wisdom that come with the years, that my deepened relationship with nature and my desire to be in wild spaces whenever possible is undoubtedly rooted in that period of my life. When I gave birth, became a mother for the first time, my friendship with nature too was reborn and took on a whole new importance. I developed an enthusiasm to raise my family with a love for being in nature and now, fifteen years down the line, with two more sons, two more bouts of postnatal depression and several more house moves under our belt, are lives are so interwoven with nature and the outdoors that to go more than a few days without a forest walk, mountain hike, ramble along a sandy shore or alfresco meal is highly unusual for us. My own personal relationship with nature is one of deep respect. At some of the lowest times in my life, she has repeatedly lifted me up, held me near, helped me dust myself off and taught me so much. As I have walked through the seasons, I have been shown that things change, that there are patterns and rhythms that we can synchronise our lives with. The trees have displayed to me how they share their resources and do not compete for one another’s light – each one flourishes because they are part of the whole. I have experienced the healing power of nature in my own life so profoundly that I now endeavour to share that with others through my own small business, Wild Women Events. I create gatherings for women to come together in nature in a very simple and inclusive way. Together we wander in the mountains, we pause in nature to journal, hold and savour sacred space for one another around a campfire – it is my hope that women arrive at my events and feel accepted wherever they are in their own lives, that they can be themselves fully, have fun, chat and laugh and also know and feel the benefits of time spent in nature and take it with them into their daily routines. It is all about connection, with themselves, with one another and with nature – it is a beautiful thing and a true honour to facilitate these precious times.
The more time I spend in natural, wild environments, the more I feel like myself. Mental health and wellbeing are an ongoing journey for me, just as much as it is for everyone else on the planet. We all have our trials and seasons of toil to deal with. Whether I meander leisurely alongside a flowing river, or through a beautiful forest, my nostrils filled with the scent from the trees, or if I aim for the peak of a mountain; it is in those spaces that I feel fully accepted, connected and understood, where I feel both valued and yet humbled. It is also when roaming in the wild, pausing to notice the intricate details of creation as I go, that I am certain my own gift of intuition is honed – a powerful resource in a noisy world full of conflicting ideas and opinions. I am most alive and living in my power as a woman when I am nourished by the experiences of wild adventure and nature connection. As a result, the gratitude I feel towards nature is boundless, for it has helped me to write the story of my life in the most beautiful and generous way, even in times of despair and pain, nature was always there, a shoulder to lean on, a safe refuge when the raging worlds both in my mind and beyond were too much to bear. I know I talk of nature as though it is a faithful friend, but that is genuinely how I see her; a friend that doesn’t judge, that gives so abundantly and wisely, that knows what I need even when I don’t, that never ceases to amaze me with her beauty. Her list of qualities is endless but she is for sure a friend worth knowing and taking the time to know intimately.
Never in my wildest dreams or flights of fancy could I have foretold how my life journey would unfold since I gave birth to my eldest son fifteen years ago. He is himself now a very capable mountaineer and along with his two brothers, me and his Dad, loves nothing more than getting outdoors whenever possible. For me, this is immensely satisfying and I hope that they understand that time in nature is a vital act of self-care; especially in this modern world when there is so much noise to contend with and unearthing your own true identity amid the barrage a challenge. It is my hope that they recognise that connection with natural environments is a powerful tool in their armoury against a continuous message to consume, from getting caught up in the hustle, a refuge for those times when life becomes overwhelming, a steady voice of guidance and a loyal companion.
I could never have envisaged when in the depths of postnatal depression, the freedom I would ultimately find through following the smallest flickers of light in those toughest of days. A multitude of generosities and lessons were bestowed upon my life so freely and I am so glad I forced myself to get outside even when all I wanted to do was burrow down into my duvet and disappear. I am proud that I found some courage to hold on when I felt my fingers were losing their grip on the precipice from which I dangled precariously. There was a way through it and as with so many things in life, it was a tale of paradoxes. Only when I was feeling estranged from myself and allowed myself to become lost in nature did I find a pathway back to myself, grew slowly to understand better my place in the world and the way to fuller living and loving in a way that feels meaningful, purposeful and precious to me.
Kelly is married to Trevor and together they have 3 brilliant sons – they love sharing wild experiences and especially hiking in the Mourne Mountains in Northern Ireland. Kelly writes about hers and her family’s adventures as well as her general musings on life at everytreasure.blog. She also organises Wild Women Events which you can find out more about on Facebook at Every Treasure or on Instagram at every_treasure_blog.
