The Forest Knows the Way Back

Olympic National Park, August 2025

Last weekend, The Engineer and I hiked through Olympic National Park. The trees were ancient, wiser than us by centuries.

Many stretched skyward. Others had splintered, their trunks hollowed by time and storm.
But even in their falling, they gave shelter.
Shade. Soft ground for something new to begin.

In the quiet, an old ache surfaced, a question we carried in our own marriage, especially during that season when we weren’t sure we’d find our way back:

How do you rebuild something solid from what’s been shaken?
How do you hold disconnection in one hand… and hope in the other?

I’ve watched so many couples stand at that edge.
And we’ve stood there too.
We learned that love doesn’t always come back with clarity or force.
Sometimes it returns like moss - slow, quiet, and persistent.

The forest whispered what I’ve come to know in my bones: Let what no longer serves fall away.
Let it rot. Not in bitterness, but in surrender.

Then stay.
Tend the ground.
Tell the truth.
Trust the roots.

Because new life doesn’t grow from performance or pretending.
It grows from compost: honest, messy, nutrient-rich pain.

When a couple stops clinging to the old storyline and lets it return to the earth,
Something new and true can take root in its place. It was right before us - young saplings rising from the backs of fallen giants.

And I knew.

This is how love comes back to life.
Not in spite of what’s broken, but because we stayed long enough to heal in its shadow.

The longer we stood in that ancient stillness, the quieter I became.
In the soft quiet, a deeper truth rose up:

The ones who make it aren’t the ones who never break.
They’re the ones who stay.
The ones who begin again.
The ones who trust that something real can rise from what’s been leveled.

The forest reminded me that healing doesn’t rush.
It doesn’t perform.
It doesn’t wait for you to feel ready.

It asks for presence.
For tending.
For the smallest gestures that say, "I’m still here," even when everything in you wants to pull away.

Sometimes that return begins with something so quiet, it almost feels like nothing at all.

A pause. A softened tone. Five minutes of reaching when you’d rather retreat.

That’s where we began again.
Not with fireworks, but with moments small enough to feel safe, and steady enough to matter.

If you’re lost in your own woods and if the path back feels unclear or far away, I made something to help.

5-Minute Habits for a Closer Relationship is a gentle, self-paced guide to help you reconnect
without pressure or performance.

Because the most meaningful growth doesn’t always come from a grand gesture.
It often begins quietly.
Softly.
Together.

NEW COURSE: 5-Minute Habits

And a gentle but important note:
If you’re in a relationship where there is physical harm, emotional abuse, coercion, or persistent fear, please know that this kind of work is not about staying at all costs. Love can’t grow where safety is absent. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is to name what’s not working and seek wise, professional support. There is no shame in protecting your heart, your story, or your future. You deserve safety, always.