Walking Towards Hope
How Small Steps Can Bring Hope to Dark Days
“Esther, I really think you need to get out of bed now and get outdoors”
“I really want to, but I’m so tired, I can’t face it, 'I’m so tired”
“I know. I understand. But you’ve been telling me how blue the sky is, and how much you wish you were there. And you’ve been in bed for 3 hours since Marcus went to school. What if you just try to go around the block, or better still, go where there are trees. You can get to some trees in about 10 minutes, and you know you always feel better when you do”
After putting up a bit more of a fight, I stopped. Why am I fighting him on this? He’s my brother, he’s not saying this randomly, or to make me feel bad. He’s saying this because of all the times I’ve told him how much being outside makes me feel better. And I know he wants me to get better.
With an almost painful effort, I got up and out of bed, while he encourages me on the other side of our WhatsApp call. I promise him I’ll text him to let him know how I feel after the walk, and thank him for his love and support, while secretly wondering if I’ll make it to the end of my street before needing to sit down.
Depression is such a strange and terrifying thing. It can take away everything you love even as they’re right in front of you. I’d lost my love of music, I’d lost my joy in spending time with friends, I’d lost the boundless energy that seemed to define how I showed up in the world, and I’d lost my enthusiasm for walking and being outdoors.
Which, if you know anything about me at all, means that I pretty much lost most of what makes me ME. I was starting to think I’d never get any of it back, I couldn’t remember a time I’d felt this lost to myself, for so long, and it was scary. I knew I needed to get back to myself, but I often wondered if I ever could. Was this me now? If you’ve ever felt like this, then I’m sure you’ll know how much this thought horrified me. A life that felt this bleak, this hopeless, this empty wasn’t any life I wanted to live. There had to be a better life ahead of me to hope for.
Within a few minutes of getting outside, I was glad I’d done it. I was walking at a pace that I’d normally find unbearably slow, but I was walking. I listened to the blackbirds singing, and smiled at their tuneful conversation. Maybe I could borrow some of their joy for a few minutes. Paul McCartney sang that the blackbird was ‘only waiting for this moment to be free’. I have these words tattooed on my arm as a reminder of a time when I felt hope, and as a promise to myself to find it again, no matter how lost I feel.
I walked through the trees, and as I walked, I could feel my mood lift. Joe was right. I knew he was. I still felt exhausted and broken, but being in my local green spaces was nourishing me in ways that my bed, however cosy and comforting, couldn’t do. I decided to walk to my ‘meditation tree’, a beautiful willow with damaged branches I can sit on, and abundant life despite its brokenness. I’ve always been attracted to the way that trees can withstand so much damage from the elements, and instead of breaking, they simply adapt and grow into the reality they find themselves in. These trees remind me that even when life seems to batter and break us, we can adapt and grow. We don’t have to fight the storm; we just need to keep standing. We need to keep that hope alive, even when it’s hard to do so.
By the time I got to my tree, I felt alive again. I’d had a lovely chat with a local lady who, like me, is a keen walker. We talked about the trees we both love, and I felt the warmth of the connection thaw the cold parts of me. Getting to my tree, I felt like I was meeting an old friend, and I sat gratefully in its branches for about 15 minutes. Before I left, I sent a message to my brother to thank him for his support, love and encouragement, and went home feeling like maybe I wouldn’t always feel so lost after all, maybe there was hope for recovery.
Looking back, I realize what my brother gave me that day was a reminder of hope, that there was a way forward for me. He reminded me that hope isn’t just an emotion, it’s a way of thinking. Brené Brown explains this beautifully
“In very simple terms, hope happens when We have the ability to set realistic goals (I know where I want to go). We are able to figure out how to achieve those goals, including the ability to stay flexible and develop alternative routes (I know how to get there, I’m persistent, and I can tolerate disappointment and try again). We believe in ourselves (I can do this!).”
(Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are)
In those moments of deep depression, and when I was deep in addiction and unable to control whether or how much I drank, I lacked that ability. I might have wanted to set the goals to move my life forward, but I had no idea how to do it. A lot of the time I knew what to do, I am a coach and a yoga teacher after all, I have a large selection of tools, but I lacked the ability to maintain consistency and tolerate disappointment. And every single day I felt lost, I lacked the belief in myself that I needed to take even the smallest steps.
Have you ever felt like that? It’s so easy to fall into hopelessness when every step forward feels like it requires more effort than you have to give, isn’t it? If so, I want to tell you what I’ve learned: even the smallest steps can carry you toward hope.
When my brother encouraged me to go for a walk that day, he did more than simply encourage me to take a walk. He reminded me that there was hope. I had a small goal. I only needed to walk for a short time. Even if I’d only managed 5 minutes, it would have been enough. He gave me the flexibility I needed in the plan, and helped me to remember that I was capable of doing that. And he encouraged me to stay open to walking more if I felt like it. He would later tell me that he was reasonably sure that once I got out, I would end up walking more and enjoying it far more than I thought I would when I was talking to him from under my duvet.
This was in February, and neither of us knew that I still had a long road of recovery ahead of me, that depression had its claws deeply in me, and that eventually I’d come to accept that this is simply part of my life. Like the trees, I needed to root myself in the present and adapt to life’s storms, finding strength in acceptance rather than resistance.
But it reminded me that even when hope feels far away, it’s still there. That each day, I could choose to do something to move myself forward, and support my recovery, rather than simply surrendering to the darkness and staying under the duvet all day. There was room for duvet time to be sure, rest is a vital part of recovery, and I certainly needed lots of it. But each day, I reminded myself how taking that short, slow walk had helped me feel better, and how any action I could take, no matter how small, to feel alive, was a step in the right direction.
If you’re struggling, I want you to know that you’re not alone. And you can find that hope in the darkness. Is there one small goal you can set yourself today, something you can achieve that will help you feel even 1% better? It doesn’t have to be a big thing. Sometimes, even washing your face, drinking some water, or brushing your hair can make a world of difference.
Hope might feel far away, but it’s closer than you think. What small step will you take today to move toward the life you deserve?
The PEACEful Path of Recovery can help you find the small steps you can take to find home. Starting on January 1, I’ll be sharing a series of essays to share what this model of recovery looks like, and how you can use it to create your life of peace, recovery and wellbeing. The essays will be available to all, but paid subscribers will be able to access the comments, as well as exercises, practices and writing prompts to deepen your journey along this PEACEful Path. I’m really excited to share this with you, and can’t wait to see you on January 1!
A lovely read, and welcome back to the world. We've missed you x