The Stillness of Winter and My Nature Story
Taylor Bourassa-Wilson, RP, DTATI
Ottawa, ON
Taylor Bourassa-Wilson is a Registered Psychotherapist and art therapist with a private practice, Wellness Grove Therapy. She incorporates the environment into her practice through the use of natural materials, meditative practices that centre the earth, inviting the natural environment into sessions as a co-facilitator, and sharing the primordial knowledge the earth provides.
Nature’s Way is a regular column written by Taylor, exploring eco-art therapy techniques to incorporate into therapeutic practices, and invites us to practice ways of interacting with, befriending, and enhancing our relationship with the earth. These are two articles written by Taylor, one in honour of the end of winter and what of the season we can carry with us throughout the year, and another a reflection of her history and ongoing relationship with Nature.
The Stillness of Winter
Can you feel it? It hangs on just a bit longer, the air thick with anticipation. But if you breathe, let the air fill your lungs, there’s a hitch and it gets caught in your throat. Waiting for the sun to return, melt the snow, and beckon in the Springtime. It’s the same every year... but this year things feel different.
I can appreciate the stillness of winter but there always comes a point when all I can think and feel is: I am done with the snow and the white. Bring me some colour and song instead. Through the stillness there is always contemplation, appreciation, gratitude, a welcome rest and reprieve that so many of us have a difficult time accessing, for whatever reason. The low hum of momentum drums in our ears begging us to stir.
The stirring of Spring is different. It is a stirring which wakes the soul and begs for continued introspection, but this time through connection. Through the stillness of winter we can edge our way safely into the thrill of connection. And when that first ray of sun shines through my window and wakes me to breath in a different kind of fresh air, I will welcome it gladly, curious, seeking, and asking: what do you have to show me this time?
But as I sit here and wonder “where is Spring?” I feel the stillness of winter holding onto me, begging for longer, deeper reflection. Slower movements. What I once before would shake off and force away all too soon, I now turn towards and welcome into my inner world. Okay winter, you’re begging me to sit a while longer, to feel the cool harshness of your breath in my lungs, and connect with myself... Spring will have its moment but for now, you have something more to say to me. I’m listening...
Listen to your heart and your needs... pay attention to the world around you... those who may need your care and consideration... when the sun returns and your days get longer you are all too quick to rush headlong into the newness of life returning, the freedom warm air affords you. But you also forget that I will be back, eventually, asking you once more to sit with your life. Reflect. Listen. Hold. Care for and tend to. This year I am asking that you carry a bit of me in your soul all year long— after all, you carry spring and summer with you so easily throughout my time... never fully giving me a space to be myself and be my own... carry me with you when the sun is shining and remember that I too have a place in this world and I have things to show you.
Don’t forget me, honour me.
My Nature Story
Nature is a part of me and I am a part of it. It has always been this way, since the time I was young and felt the soft leaves of grass on my feet, to now, when I intentionally find myself communing daily with the spirit and sound of the forest. It’s a different kind of relationship: one that is as much you as it is another entity or being. The connection I feel between myself and the more-than-human world is what fuels my soul and makes my heart sing.
As the world becomes increasingly more dismissive and cavalier towards Nature and the current ecological crises, it is even more apparent to me how significant this beautiful green Earth is, and how important it is to save it. Not only for ourselves, but for each other, for all beings: from the smallest organism we can’t see, unaided by scientific intervention, to the largest ecosystems. Recognizing the interrelationship between all living things, and how there is a constant rippling effect when one thing, anything, changes or is harmed.
These are not new feelings for me. In fact, they are part of my personal philosophy for life, ingrained in me since I first felt the air on my face, whipping my hair in all different directions as I pedalled as fast as I could on a tricycle that still felt too big for my small body. But they change meaning, take different shape and form dependent on where we are in the landscapes of ecology, conservation, and protection. I recognize I am but one person in the larger whole, but through sharing the importance of nature in my life, perhaps I can inspire you to do the same.
When I was young in the early 90s and 2000s, most of my time was spent outdoors playing until all hours of the night. The only measure of time was the sky turning dark and being summoned for dinner, at which point my siblings and I would be vying to return back outside as long as we promised to stay close to the house–streetlights acting as beacons guiding our way home. Each day was a new adventure, filled with connection and communing with the land in various forms: playing in the grass, counting the clouds, tracking animal foot-prints, climbing trees, picking apples, walking in the creeks, and finding salamanders. As we grew older we ventured further as a family, discovering all kinds of animals and organisms along the way to grow curious about. I was thirsty to know more about them and so I spent my time learning about these new discoveries, building stories around them and simply spending time with and near them. I understood early on the importance of non-intervention, and respecting or honouring these other entities and their space, homes, and feelings of safety.
In my early teens I became more and more involved in environmentalism and eco-justice (which are philosophies that persist today)– attending rallies and protests, forming my own petitions with my sister and signing as many as we could get our hands onto, any way that we could support in the limited capacity that we had as teenagers. Or that we felt we had. One of the most significant moments for me was when I discovered a moose living in the forest behind our house. It was a small forest, and clearly the animal was out of place– it was likely it has travelled across from the conservation area a few kilometres from our property. Not only was this an amazing thing to encounter (I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a moose face to face, they’re massive), it also highlighted the mutual relationship between humans and the more-than-human world for me. Because although this moose was mere metres from the edge of my yard, I was intruding on its space, and yet the moose did nothing. He simply walked away. I recognize now how lucky I was in that moment. The back forest would not be present for much longer, as it was being re-zoned for housing developments: a new cul de sac of white to replace the verdant green. Recognizing the impact this would have on the moose, and the other animals who truly called that land their home, we petitioned to have him re-located back to the conservation area, or to postpone re-zoning. Neither were approved, or even truly considered.
This moment stuck with me as a realization of personal power– what is actually in my hands? Where do I hold sway and where is my voice heard? Recognized? Dismissed? Denied?
Now as an adult I carry these moments with me and they continue to inform the way I live my personal life and how I practice therapeutically. I can recognize how significant, essential, beautiful, and wonderful the more-than-human world is, and I can use my voice, while recognizing that not everyone will listen. But I can also uplift other voices of those who need to be heard.
The nature-based therapy that I ascribe to is rooted in these acknowledgments: recognizing the inherent interconnection between us and the more-than-human world, our reliance on and responsibility to the natural world, and the spiritual aspects which invariably show up when in connection with the land.
When I travelled to Ireland in 2018 and found my way to The Hill of Tara, the screeching stone behind me, the wishing tree next to me, I felt an ancestral connection to the land and felt the breath of all who had been there before me and who were yet to come. It was a truly transformative moment, and, for me, acts now as a beacon for continued personal growth as I invite the practice of nature-based therapy into my life, grounded in the recognition that all things are interrelated through time, space, and place. And that if I wish to practice this work I need to do so in a truly embodied, interconnected, reciprocal, and honouring way.
Nature is a part of me and I am a part of it– it will always be this way.
I’m curious: what is your nature story?