Deb and I first began discussing a possible pilgrimage walk two years ago. I was about to undergo a major back surgery called a spinal fusion at the time, so the prospect of walking a large distance was still a bit unreachable in my mind, but everything in my soul knew I needed to do a pilgrimage of some kind, eventually.
Like many people, I have had a life that when I tell others even pieces of my story, they seem incredulous. It doesn't feel all that unbelievable to me, I guess because I have lived it. I have figured out coping skills to get me through each challenge and have become stronger through each experience. There was, however, a time where I felt done. Done feeling, done accepting, just done. I knew and even voiced at the time that I was completely unable to process the pain and loss of August of 2012, the day my dad died suddenly of a heart attack. I knew that I didn't have a choice. I had to show up. I had to plan the funeral, comfort my young children and be composed for his widow.
At the time my job carried a lot of responsibility. I was leading a small public elementary/middle school. It was days before school started, and there was so much to be done.
In short, I was overwhelmed and completely incapable of weathering the storm that my life had become. There was nothing that could make it better. There was
no one who could make it better. My heart was broken and there was nothing I could do to fix it. I had no choice but to just keep going. This was certainly not the first major loss I had encountered, so by now, I knew the robotic moves needed to get through the day. My condition is described in the psychiatric world as "cumulative grief."
What was most concerning to me is that I stopped feeling. Anything. I still loved my kids. I had a deep longing for my entire family who I had lost, but I couldn't cry. I just kept going. Not shockingly, a few years later, my marriage ended. I could not deal with the pressure of administration in a public school, and the endless political climate of that type of work, so I walked away. Thankfully, my supervisors were kind enough to afford me a much less demanding job, and I catatonically worked my way through the days.
I knew I was not healthy. I knew this would need some concentrated attention. Life had leveled my ability to feel. So, when the Camino came on my radar, I knew this was the kind of thing I needed to do. Six weeks removed from people in my daily life, social media and everything I do everyday, except walking. Visits to cathedrals in beautiful locations? Physical challenge? Simplicity? No connection to anything I use like a drug to avoid all things that cause me to feel anything? Yes, sign me up.
We leave July 1. We return August 15. Buen Camino!
