I don’t know much about trees, but I do know that I love them. Their quiet strength and rootedness always seem to draw me in, inviting me to notice more deeply.
Whenever I see a cluster of trees, I can’t help but snap a picture, run my fingers over the bark, and watch the leaves shimmer in the breeze, as if they’re speaking some quiet, secret language. And then I’ll do what I always do—a quick google search, curious to discover what wisdom the trees might hold.
When my family and I visited Colorado last month for a long weekend, we weren't sure we'd even leave our rental after getting hit hard with altitude sickness hours after our arrival (note to self: NEVER go from sea level to Breckenridge in eight hours again). After a rough 24 hours, we felt well enough to get out, spend some time at an oxygen bar, and explore the area.
We ended up going on a mild hike that led us to a small lake surrounded by wildflowers, trees, and other people who had the same idea we did. The girls and my husband started throwing rocks, with my youngest on a wild hunt for the flat ones. She's dying to learn to skip them.
I shuffled away toward a small clearing outlined by aspen trees. As I stood there, silent, steadying myself against a wave of nausea, a breeze brushed against my skin, cooling the sweat on my forehead. The air felt lighter, and with it came the sound of a soft rustling all around me. As I glanced up toward the sky, I watched the leaves shuffle in the wind. Their back-and-forth motion made them look as though they were performing a glittering dance. The steady murmur of the leaves sounded like they were whispering secrets, carried through the air by the wind.
Nature holds reminders for us—of resilience, connection, and the quiet ways we support one another. As I stood among the aspens, I couldn’t help but feel that they had something to teach me about strength and survival.
Later that evening, I pulled out my phone and started reading more about these trees. On the surface, aspens seem like individual beings, but beneath the ground, they are all connected by a single, massive root system. This system not only makes them one of the world's largest living organisms but also holds them up through the strongest storms and wildfires.
As I read about the aspens’ vast root system, I couldn’t help but think about the invisible ways we are all connected—especially those of us healing from betrayal trauma. And how like aspens, we’re deeply connected in ways we don’t always recognize or see.
Though betrayal trauma often feels isolating, we are never truly alone. When we lean into connection with one another, we tap into a deeper current of understanding, compassion, and fierce support—one that, like the aspen grove, allows us to stand stronger together.
We are resilient when we are in each other’s corner, rooted in support, love, and connection.
Together, we heal.
Love upon love,
Rachel
I’d love to hear from you! Where do you see nature mirroring your experience of connection, resilience, and support?
If you're on your own healing journey and looking for extra support, you don't have to go through it alone. At For Her Healing, I offer resources and guidance for women navigating betrayal trauma. Whether you're seeking community, practical tools, or a compassionate companion on the path to healing, you're welcome here.
Visit www.forherhealing.com to learn more and find support as you continue your journey.
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