How a 3-day 'wilderness fast' reset my soul
An ER doctor and author shares her story of reconnecting to her spiritual side after COVID left her searching for more
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Hello friends, today’s newsletter is guest authored by
, an ER physician, “passionate about plants, dabbling in prayer, and playing with poems.” Her essay is part of my Your Stories series, chronicling how people overcome midlife trauma and find meaning in their experience.In late 2021, a few days after a patient threatened to kill my family and me, I broke down crying. I was so, so angry. I had been for months. Many people would say I was traumatized, a word I’m still hesitant to use to describe my experience as an ER doctor during COVID. I tend to rationalize and diminish my experience by comparing it to the suffering of others, and the word itself has become watered down.
But trauma expert Peter Levine describes it as “trauma is fear in the face of helplessness. Fear plus helplessness equals trauma.” If that is the description of trauma, then yes, my experience fits. Our emergency department was continuously overwhelmed by COVID patients, patients who had avoided getting care they needed for other conditions, and patients who, like me, were losing their minds because of COVID.
My husband was caught off guard by the intensity of my tearful breakdown. At that point, our exchanges had looked roughly like, “How was your day?” “It sucked.” I tend not to share emotional experiences until they have a neat narrative arc with a nice moral, or until I have examined them for days to make sure they “stand up in court.” He is a stay-at-home dad, so his day-to-day experience hadn’t changed much. I was at a small rural hospital rather than a big city hospital, so he assumed I was outside of the worst of it, too. After a good cry and a snuggle, he said offhandedly, “Maybe you should talk to someone.”
I don’t know if you’ve been in a similar position, but the only thing more overwhelming than my life at the time was the idea of trying to navigate finding a therapist. After some light Googling, I signed up for BetterHelp.
It was fine, the therapist was fine, but my spiritual needs still felt unmet. I needed something more.
The allure of adulthood initiation & vision quests
I kept thinking back to a couple years earlier, when I had learned about “adulthood initiation,” which is a traditional test of sorts for teens involving separating them from home, enduring some sort of trial, and returning home with new wisdom and a new role. Another name for it is vision quest. I was familiar with the concept from a very rudimentary knowledge of Native American and African traditions, but this rite of passage used to be present in European culture as well.
Doing something similar in midlife appealed to me because I thought it would help me connect to my soul’s purpose. I also knew that early motherhood and my experiences as a physician—specifically working during COVID—had dramatically transformed my values and priorities. I was still coming to grips with this “new” version of myself, and a transition ritual felt like what I needed to mark the experience.
Emotional work was required first
I sought out John Wolfstone, a rites of passage guide based in British Columbia, Canada. Initially, we focused on relearning how to identify what I was feeling physically and emotionally. In medicine, we are taught to ignore our needs, skipping meals, sleep, even the bathroom during busy shifts. Emotions are messy and get in the way when you are trying to get things done, so they are set aside, often never dealt with.
In the beginning, I had no idea what my needs were, particularly if I needed something that was different from what others needed. I also felt victimized by COVID and had always avoided conflict, so I began experimenting with communicating directly, first with co-workers, then friends, then family about things that angered me. I also dabbled in creative ventures—poetry, writing, drawing, painting—to express all this newly unearthed emotion and to strengthen my self-worth.
New rituals added meaning to my life
Overall, my adulthood initiation work with John took about two years. From the outset, he taught me to incorporate rituals into my life. This allowed me to include that spiritual part of myself that felt neglected in therapy. At a “story share” I hosted for my 40th birthday, I shared my story of why I was setting out on this initiation journey. I told friends and family about pivotal events in my life, what I was hoping to keep, and what I was hoping to change and learn.
I held a ritual that included tending an overnight fire. This was a traditional rite of passage of early adolescence. I visited a remote state park by myself. As evening came, I lit a fire. Traditionally, it would have been a friction fire, but I didn’t have those skills, so I used matches. I tended the fire all night, sometimes praying, singing, or telling stories to the ancestors and the wild. Out by myself in the wild, two trees fell out of the blue, and I felt connected to spirits, or at least something beyond what my rational mind could comprehend. At dawn, I swam in the lake and enjoyed some special food and drink I had prepared.
I also hosted feasts to honor my ancestors. I invited family and friends to bring photos, mementos, stories, or favorite foods and drinks of their ancestors. We shared as many stories as we knew. I try to make these ceremonies as much like the Dia de los Muertos celebration in the movie Coco as I can.
Lastly, I incorporated smaller rituals, like daily sit spot, which is sitting in the same spot every day or as often as possible to observe cycles, changes, patterns, life, and become part of the ecosystem. Prayer also became a much bigger part of my life. I reconnected to ancestral prayers like the Rosary, wrote my own religious prayers, and asked for the help and guidance of my ancestors.
The big ritual: A 3-day ‘wilderness fast’
As I built the skills to face a wider array of my emotions, and learned the art of rituals, my initiation journey culminated in a 10-day trip last September to Spirit Horse in Wales, led by John. (As you can probably tell by my last name, Wales had a special draw for me since I have ancestors from Wales.) The trip included a wilderness fast, meaning I’d go without food and essentially be on my own for three days. Symbolically, the fast mimics the process of death and rebirth.
Gearing up for this trip was not without its drawbacks: My husband was resistant to me going on the fast both for safety concerns and for reasons I wouldn’t understand until I returned. My daughters were not thrilled that I’d be gone for 10 days, but ultimately didn’t seem too bothered by it. I imagine it felt sort of like a busy workweek to them. Other friends and family were either curious or confused about why I would want to do a fast.
In total, nine people fasted, with three guides facilitating. The first few days were spent emotionally and spiritually preparing for the fast, with much of the discussion involving what we were hoping to let go of and grow into. The afternoon before our fast, I went to find my spot and set up camp. I was drawn to a peaceful, grassy area by a stream. It was in the valley between two mountains, and there was a large old oak tree. I felt especially drawn to the tree because the roots entwined in the rock, leaving a space just large enough for me to crawl.
The morning of the fast, I was led to my site. I’ve always loved camping, though I don’t get to go often. The time I spend in nature is calming and often helps me to tap into my own wisdom and the wisdom of the plants, animals, stones, and waters around me. I had packed a sleeping bag, clothes, a little water, some offerings to the spirits, and that was about it. After some rituals to provide spiritual protection and root me into the spot, I was on my own.
Many friends and family I told about the fast had heard of vision fasts and thought that the vision came from hallucinating because you hadn’t eaten. This is definitely not the case. Three days of fasting is a long way from hallucinations for a healthy person. However, I do feel like the experience does allow you to let go of the steering wheel of your imagination a bit.
I focused on letting go of the armor I used as part of my identity as a physician.
The first day, I experienced a sense of peace and deep rest and I was also struck by how little animal life there was compared to where I live. I did not see any rodents, frogs, turtles, songbirds. Even insects were few and far between. The second day, I was really connected to the oak tree and the stream. I focused on letting go of the armor I used as part of my identity as a physician. The most surreal experience came on the third day, when I noticed a stone cairn I had seen each day that suddenly seemed to look like a woman with a head wrap kneeling before the waters.
I truly experienced the power of nature on the final day. It was filled with drama: Right at daybreak, a huge storm rolled in. At first, I thought it would be like a storm in the midwestern United States, where even intense storms typically blow over in an hour. Then I remembered I wasn’t at home and didn’t have any understanding of the weather patterns. The storm continued at incredible intensity for about eight hours, flooding the creek I was camping next to and several tents back at the main camp at Spirit Horse. My tarp was blown every which way. John came out through the storm to retrieve us and guide us back to the roundhouse where we rejoined our fasting companions for berries from the land, miso soup, and other comforting food and tea to welcome us back.
Back to real life
Returning from the fast was a somewhat tumultuous experience. I am told that is typical. I returned to a letter about a formal patient complaint. This was the beginning of a string of stressful incidents at work that have ultimately led me to question my future in medicine and led me to an upcoming leave of absence to further explore that question.
I also returned to anger from my husband. I could tell before the trip that he wasn’t happy I was going, but he hadn’t been willing or able to tell me what his objection was so we could talk through it, so I went on the trip. He was still angry when I got back. Finally, we were able to discuss that he was worried I was going on the trip because I was unsatisfied with my life with him, and that I was taking the extreme measure of starving myself to deal with it. After hearing this, I was able to convey to him that this wasn’t about our relationship or my dissatisfaction with our life, but more about how much upheaval and rearrangement I have felt in recent years — from becoming a mother eight years ago to the challenges of working in a dysfunctional healthcare system, particularly during COVID. I was questioning whether I even wanted to be in medicine anymore. (I still don’t think he totally understands why I felt compelled to do the fast, but I don’t think he feels that our relationship is threatened by it anymore.)
I’m not sure if I will fast again. I could see it being a natural fit in my life in about 10-15 years as I go through menopause and my daughters leave home, to help guide me to my inner knowing through two more very big changes. I plan to create rituals to help my daughters mark important thresholds in their lives, particularly menarche and adulthood. I would definitely encourage them to pursue a fast to mark that threshold between childhood and adulthood, but I know they may need to find their own way to mark the occasion. I think I will be pretty insistent about the need to celebrate the transition to adulthood in some formal way, though.
I feel more comfortable with uncertainty and less of a need to try to control things.
It’s hard to put into words, particularly just a few paragraphs how this experience has impacted and continues to impact me, but if I could sum it up, I’d say it helped me feel much more rooted in who I am and what I want even if I don’t yet know where I am headed or what I am doing. I also feel more comfortable with uncertainty and less of a need to try to control things.
Research has shown that people participating in a wilderness fast have felt more authentic, a deeper sense of purpose, more whole. They have developed new ways of relating to themselves, other humans, and nature. Participants also note a sense of peace, personal insight, relaxation, and clarity.
For now, I am taking advantage of that by taking a leave of absence from work to figure out if medicine is still the place for me going forward. I am really focused on adding more singing to my life and I’m actually starting to learn divination. As far as I know, I am the only doctor doing that! If you would like to know more about the fast, I wrote a poem about it.
I would also love to answer any more specific questions about the experience you may have.
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