Reconnecting With My Wild Woman On A Forest Retreat
A camping trip with an unexpected twist
I had to travel for work recently, so on a whim, I decided to make a weekend of it. Very last minute I booked a campsite, threw my tent and a pile of books in the car and set off.
I chose a small and tranquil site, seeking solitude for my child-free weekend and looking forward to catching up on some reading.
A few hours later I made a sharp turn off the main road, onto a gravel track leading to a small car park. It was here I proceeded on foot and was led by the owner along a pathway winding through the woodlands. Despite the beauty of the woods, the further we walked, all I could focus on was how far I’d have to carry my camping kit and wished I’d taken time to read that I couldn’t park by the tent.
Until the path led us to a clearing where I would be pitching my tent, and I stopped to breathe it in. It was stunning. A canopy hung between the trees, dripping fairy lights that sparkled once the sun disappeared. There was a fire pit, and clusters of chairs and lanterns dotted about reminding me of a hastily departed faerie ring.
Hidden further into the woods, were gypsy caravans and bell tents, but I was told they were all uninhabited this weekend. The owners also informed me they’d be heading out of town that night. I was to be totally, unexpectedly, alone.
I busied myself getting the tent up and the kettle on. Finally settling down with my tea and my notebook. I started drafting an outline for a piece I wanted to write, but I was restless. Flicking disinterestedly through my books I let out a sigh.
I am used to being alone, I enjoy it in fact, and although my heart aches when my son is away, I’ve had 9 years to get used to the to and fro to Daddy’s house. But this was a different kind of alone. Not alone with creature comforts and neighbours around me, or chores to distract me. This was way more solitude than I’d bargained for.
Seeking civilisation just a couple of hours into my retreat, I set out to explore, enjoying not knowing where I was going or what I would find. I had no agenda and no time pressure. I was free to see where the evening would take me.
I shouted ‘hello’ as I passed fields of cows and stopped to inhale the scent of wildflowers. I read the bulletins on the board outside the village church, hoping they were enjoying their line dance class. I was sad to see a badger’s corpse at the side of the road and took a moment to honour its life.
After a while, I came to the local pub and entered with my, hastily bought before the shop closes, carton of milk. Setting it down on the bar I noticed that the chatter had stopped and the locals were observing me. I was awkward in their curious gaze, but it didn’t feel hostile. Once I was seated with my book open and my food order placed, they resumed their stories and outpourings of the weekly news. I felt like I’d been accepted into the fold and the comforting bustle continued around me.
I ate alone, sharing the odd nod and smile with those passing through. Despite being solo I didn’t feel out of place or ashamed to be unaccompanied. There was no pressure to impress, or need to make small talk. I didn’t have that ‘lonely in a crowd’ sense that I often experience back home. In fact, it was liberating. I felt content to just be there in the moment, and the locals, curiosity sated, let me be.
I meandered back as the sun started to descend, bowing my head in respect to the badger’s corpse and wishing goodnight to the cows. Then back into the forest in the fading light.
I wandered to the forest’s edge and a raised decking platform in perfect placement to view the sunset’s dance across the sky. I sat for hours silently watching as the stars came out and the moon rose high. Feeling the cool air’s feathery touch against my skin, smelling the fresh fragrance of the trees and flowers surrounding me. Listening to the wildlife settling down for the night, or the rustling of those waking up.
They were hours to just be, not to do, think, feel, ponder, ruminate or anguish. I had no desire to write or read. I just sat in quiet meditation, for the first time in forever stealing a moment for myself. Contentment floated down and landed as a gentle blanket upon my shoulders.
Eventually, I retired to my tent but couldn’t sleep. I’d felt safe sitting out in the forest, but here in my tent, every sound was amplified. I was nervous and jumpy. I considered packing up and heading home. But I was determined to brave it through the night and not give in to my mind playing tricks on me.
And as I lay there in the darkness, I felt a shift occur. Something in me had awakened.
So, when the dark was fully cloaked and the moon was high, I emerged from my tent and danced naked in her light. I felt grounded in the earth and entwined with nature. Surrendering my fears and doubts to be carried away on the breeze.
I twirled beneath the starlight to the songs of my soul, embraced all it is to be a woman and felt my radiance ignite.
I found the wild woman that lives within me and set her free, releasing her into the forest that she tore through like a hurricane. She claimed her sovereignty and I was intoxicated by it.
By the light of the moon, I stepped into my power.
In the early morning, I listened to the chatter of the birds as they shared the night’s secrets, and watched the sway of the tree canopy above me. Hours drifted by with no need to be anything but present. No need to be anything but me.
And when the moon rose that night, I bathed again bare-skinned and unashamed, in the quiet of the woods with nature as my witness.
My unassuming tent pitch was the portal to a new reality, one in which I found my wild and won’t ever again be tamed.
