When Retreating From the World Feels Right

Going into hibernation for a while can be a relief – or even neccessary to heal

After quitting my job I was in a very bad place. Mentally, physically. I had no idea you could feel that level of exhaustion. All the time. For months.

I wasn’t able to sleep because my mind spun in endless circles. My heart was racing.

I wasn’t able to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. My brain would kind of shut down if I tried anything “normal.”

I was stressed out of my mind, it felt like a slight out-of-body experience at worst times (if that makes sense).

I was in a permanent state of total tension.

I had been for years.

When I left work for the last time, I wasn’t relieved and I definitely wasn’t happy.

I felt totally stressed out, I couldn’t relax at all. I was still afraid that I had to return, that it wasn’t over. I didn’t feel safe. At all.

Turned out, I was in survival mode.

It was creepy. It came as a shock. After all, it was only a job, wasn’t it?

Not quite. To me it was a vocation. Also, the job itself never was the problem. The people I was working with were. Me being highly sensitive, respectively. A toxic work place is a toxic work place. Enough said.

I hit rock bottom. Total breakdown.

I got that. But wasn’t sure what to do next. I was so exhausted. I just wanted peace.

So, I listened to the person who knows me best (Hint: my husband, not me) and I went into hibernation. Conveniently enough it was November anyway.

I needed time. Time to retreat from the world, from my former life and from expectations and pressure of any kind. I needed time to feel safe again. And to sort myself out.

That meant withdrawing from everything and everyone for the time being. Taking the pressure off. Any kind of pressure.

I retreated to our home, met no one, stayed off the internet, deleted contacts, told people I wouldn’t be available for the unforeseeable future because I had to focus on getting well again.

Our four walls became my den.

Warmth, food, safety - the three basic needs. That's what it was all about for a long time. And sleep, obviously. I tried to sleep as much as I could, nights or days, whenever I could, to recover.

I spent a lot of time in bed even when I wasn’t sleeping. Reading, watching documentaries, looking into the garden, thinking. I began to feel safe in my bed, in my room, then in our house.

It took a really long time to get better.

I learned not to plan far in advance. Or not at all.

I went all basic. Sleep when tired, eat when hungry, rest when exhausted … That was something I had to learn again. Not going against my needs. Not listening to the voice in my head that kept nagging at me. I listened to my husband instead. And then, when I could be trusted, to myself again.

Living slowly and simply was literally what I did, what I had to do. There was no other option. I didn’t have the energy for anything else. I went back to zero with (almost) everything and then started again very slowly.

Very, very slowly.

I focused on myself. I learned that I first had to be able to perceive and hear myself again - against all the input, the volume, the opinions and expectations from outside. I tried to find out who I really was, without the tugging of other people's expectations, demands, roles, job, colleagues, bosses, family, friends, acquaintances and anyone else. Without comparisons. Definitely without social media. And without self-help books I had so heavily relied on in 20 to 25 years before that. (But that’s a topic for another post.)

I read a lot during that time (you may have guessed). Some topics came up particularly often: Canada, Alaska, Greenland, Norway, Scotland, log cabin, tiny house, alternative life, nature, long hikes. Well, you get the idea.

The books were a kind of escape into a world that was less characterised by performance and pressure, that seemed less complicated and was closer to nature (and far away from people). I longed for simplicity, silence, nature.

I focused on our house and garden next, doing little things here and there and noticed how good that felt, how real. I was so greatful to have this quiet safe spot in the world.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t do anything fancy, I didn’t renovate a room, I didn’t build a shed, I didn’t redecorate or anything. I wouldn’t have had the energy. Just the small things like doing the laundry, tidying up, decluttering a book shelf, feeding the birds in the garden, plucking some weeds.

One task done and I was heavily exhausted. And desparate because I thought it would never get better. Ever!

I still worried a lot. I had no idea if I would ever be back to some kind of “normal” energy level. Let alone be able to work again. In a normal job.

I found peace and delight in very small things. The singing of a blackbird, the rays of sunlight on my bed, the warmth of my favourite tea mug in my hand, drinking my first fennel tea in the morning. Listening to the clacking of the computer keyboard of my husband working in the next room. I felt safe. The gentle noise of the radiator. The view of the garden from my window. The small tits at the roof overhang, fluttering like hummingbirds looking for spiders. The changing of our maple during the course of the seasons. Silence. A friendly face. A smile.

I could finally breathe again. Sometimes.

It got better. Slowly, but all the same.

My hibernation lasted nine months. At the end of July, I was able to think about something else outside of our house (and my books) again for the first time, to look ahead just slightly, to think about creative projects even after seven years. I wrote my first lines. Those were the first moments when I felt that life might be worth living again after all.

There were setbacks and only after 14 months I was able to say that I was healthy again.

I firmly prioritise my mental health and well-being now. I look after my energy. I focus on just basics a lot. I feel most at peace when living simply and slowly. Without as little pressure as possible. And with as little input, diversion and STUFF as possible. Which gives me a feeling of freedom. And a lot of room for creativitiy and writing. I feel light because nothing unnecessary surrounds me anymore.

The retreat has led to this. I've become very selective when it comes to what and who I let back into my life (or my den).

When I emerged from my hibernation again I had long since decided that I wouldn’t go for another “normal” job. I’d focus on writing again instead.

I have so many ideas, I’m more creative as ever before, I work on so many very different projects.

I’m sure that this boost in creativity has to do with the fact that I feel reconnected with myself. I'm finally able to be who I truly am (well, most of the times, but what is life without setbacks, right?) and I’m deeply trusting my intuition.

I owe it all to the retreat. I’m incredibly grateful for that. It means the world to me.

It felt like a new start in life.

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