The Thing I Forgot to Say

You know my happy place, I wrote to you about yesterday? The thing I forgot to say—the non-formulaic, emotional, messy human bits.

Fog-fingered remnants filtered through the trees. (Image Copyright: J M Yeoman.)

Standing in the kitchen, looking out at the dripping lichen, like shaggy wet old men’s beards fresh from a shower. The sparkle as the sun hits the droplets—the wintriness of it all—the warmth and security of being inside looking out.

I forgot those things. They’re the non-formulaic emotional bits I left out when I talked to you about finding your happy place.

Hiking up the hill, clearing the fog layer, and standing in awe as the shafts of sunlight filtered through the trees and fog-fingered remnants. The utter beauty of it stopped me in my tracks.

I wanted to share those moments with you—those happy places where my heart sings, joy rises, and I feel safe, one with nature.

Finding somewhere that makes you feel this is what I wanted to say about my happy place, and it can be a moment in time where you stop, awed by some little thing.

It’s not ritualistic. It’s not some designated space.

After re-reading Happy Place, I realized I’d fallen into the trap of formulaic preaching, and that’s not why I started writing these letters to you.

Finding my version of a healthy, joyful, balanced life has meant stopping and enjoying moments of awe. It’s meant digging through the trauma of my past, intergenerational trauma, feeling it, and releasing it. It’s releasing old beliefs and habits, and figuring out what truly nourishes me in body, mind, and spirit.

To do this, you have to feel safe. And I rarely felt safe anywhere. Even now, when the world pushes in and I forget to return to my happy place, my sensitivity screams STOP.

Happy places aren’t happy if you’re not innately content and feel safe. So, places like my kitchen and watching old movies, I know the endings to, snuggled up under a thick blanket, and places out in nature, away from everyone, are where I feel most myself, content and safe.

Having the trait of high sensitivity means the world is too loud. Other people’s emotions and words cling to me like a thick, heavy mud that’s hard to shake off. I remember the off-hand comments that cut me to the bone. I feel the agony of others’ heartaches, stress, and trauma as if they were my own.

Creating a safe space and connecting with nature, its energy, beauty, and constancy, helps me find my balance.

Spending time in those places, whether highly sensitive or not, gives you permission to unwind and release the stresses of life. If you don’t have those happy places, you don’t feel safe to delve deeper.

Creating a healthier, balanced, vibrant life involves slowly achieving a feeling of safety in your own body. To do this, you’ve got to get quiet, still, and listen, and that’s impossible if you don’t have somewhere safe that makes you feel held.

And that’s my happy place. That’s what I forgot to tell you.