Showing Up (For Everyone but Me)

 Today I went for my first nature walk in well over two months. While I’m grateful to have a job that sends me outdoors on a regular basis, it’s usually very structured—and I’m in an animator role rather than simply being able to… just be.

One of the strangest lingering symptoms of my burnout came to the forefront during a conversation with one of my closest friends in the group. It’s a contradictory behavior that shows up often, and I haven’t figured out how to untangle it.

On the one hand, if it hadn’t been for another friend using my daughter to gently pressure me into going this weekend, I probably would have stayed home for a lazy Saturday morning. But she’d told Lily that she was expecting me to be there—and so I went. I needed someone to tell me that my presence mattered, that they’d be disappointed if I didn’t show up.

This irritates me, because I don’t go on these walks for other people! I go for me. I know how fulfilling and refreshing it is to be out in the forest, geeking out about bugs with a bunch of friendly people. And every time I go, I lightly scold myself for all the walks I’ve missed this year. And yet—I can’t seem to go for myself. Even though I’ve come to the conclusion, fully supported by my family, that I need to prioritize self-care, I still struggle to choose a nature walk when I could be spending time with my family. Unless... someone is expecting me.

And at the same time—I keep flaking on people! Some friends made it clear they really wanted me to help them prepare their TFE walk, and yet I only managed to join them once. I arrived about twenty minutes late, nearly in tears from the shame of having let them down, but I made it.

François told me about a secondary school teacher who needed a Guide Nature to animate a day in the woods near her school. I agreed in theory, but when the woman called me directly, I felt panic rising in my chest. Here was someone I didn’t know, expecting me to show up, provide a high-quality activity for her students, for free, on a day I normally work, in a forest I barely know, with a public I’ve never felt fully comfortable with—high school students. I wiggled out of the situation as quickly as I could.

Hmm. Maybe this behavior isn’t as contradictory as I first thought. When I care deeply about someone, and they tell me they’re counting on me, I’ll move heaven and earth to show up—so long as I have the energy and willpower to do so. But when the person is a stranger, with vague expectations that don’t make me feel respected or fairly treated, my anxiety kicks in to protect me from what feels like a very real risk of burnout or failure.

I think the solution is relatively simple to describe, even if it will be hard to implement:
When I’m invited to go into nature—for any reason—I need to hold off before saying yes. I need to give myself time to sit with the invitation and ask:
Would I be going for myself, or for someone else?
And if I choose not to go, is that decision truly for me—or am I avoiding something for someone else’s comfort?

I’ve spent most of my life as a people pleaser. It’s going to take time, effort, and patience to retrain myself to prioritize my own well-being.

But I think I’m ready to try.