I'm not going to lie. I'm struggling today.
I don't know if it's tiredness, or a busy brain, or just the cumulative effect of five days in the woods across two weeks while also trying to run a business in between. But my brain arrived this morning firing on every cylinder, plus it had apparently borrowed some extra ones from somewhere and was firing on those as well. Everything was louder. The birds were chirping at what felt like twice the normal volume. Things were moving more than usual. The whole woodland felt like someone had turned the contrast up.
This is my usual overwhelm sign. I know it well. What I don't know is why it's arrived now, because I couldn't be happier with what I'm doing. Sometimes your brain doesn't care about the context. It just does its thing regardless.
Stretches, Knots, and a Brain at 173mph
We started with a stretchy name game - which, honestly, I probably needed. Maybe I am just tired. The stretches helped. Then a safe knot, which I can do on autopilot, so the morning was manageable. So far so good.
Then into a really interesting session on behaviour. Not "managing behaviour" in the way teachers usually mean it - controlling a room, getting children to sit still. This was about understanding behaviour as communication. Or information. Every behaviour is telling you something. A child who's climbing everything isn't being naughty, they're telling you they need to climb. A child who's withdrawn isn't being difficult, they're telling you something about how they're feeling. The behaviour is the message, not the problem. Reframing it like that changes everything about how you respond.
And then, because the universe has a sense of timing, it was presentation time. Acting out our particular behaviourist theory for the group.
Ordinarily this isn't my comfort zone. Today, with my mind going at 173mph and showing no signs of slowing down, it was significantly less than my comfort zone. The group was great, as always - supportive, patient, encouraging. But I'm not convinced the words coming out of my mouth were actual words. Certainly not the right names. My brain had the information somewhere in there but the connection between knowing it and saying it out loud had gone on strike. C'mon brain. Get a grip.
Time for a cup of tea, I think.
Den Building (The Reset I Needed)
Around midday we moved into something physical, and I have never been more grateful for a change of pace. Den building - with sticks this time, not tarps. Lash a big branch to a tree, collect some long sticks, pile on some brash and leaves, and you've got... well, it's not pretty. But it kept our team dry, which is the only metric that matters when you're testing a shelter.
This was probably the time, the space, and the focus I needed. There's something about physical work - hauling branches, lashing joints, problem-solving with your hands instead of your mouth - that lets the brain calm down just enough to feel a little more normal. The noise in my head didn't stop, but it turned down a few notches. The woods did that. The activity did that. Being given something tangible to build, rather than something abstract to articulate, was exactly what I needed.
Thank you, woods. And honestly - isn't that basically what Forest School is for? Creating the conditions where someone can work through what they're feeling, at their own pace, using the environment around them. Nobody told me to go and build something physical because my brain was overwhelmed. The session just happened to be den building, and the woods did the rest. That's not a coincidence. That's design.
Chilli, Crumble, and Sunshine
While we'd been building dens, Sarah had been cooking. Flatbread and hummus. Chilli. Apple crumble and custard. A three-course meal, cooked on the fire, in the woods.
I need you to picture this properly. A group of adults, sitting in a clearing in the woods, sun shining through the canopy, eating chilli and apple crumble that's been cooked over an open fire, chatting about nothing in particular, with the smell of woodsmoke and the sound of birds and the warmth of a spring day that has absolutely no business being this warm in March.
Bliss. Actual, genuine, uncomplicated bliss. The kind of moment where you stop thinking about everything you need to do and just exist in where you are. My overwhelmed brain didn't stand a chance against chilli and crumble in the sunshine. It gave up trying to panic and just ate pudding instead. Wise decision.
Woodland Management and Deadwood Fences
The afternoon brought some theory on woodlands and woodland management. Then a spot of paperwork - yes, my nemesis. Is it worse than software documentation? It's definitely on a par. There's a particular kind of energy drain that comes from filling in forms when your brain would rather be doing literally anything else, and it turns out that energy drain is identical whether the form is about risk assessments for a woodland session or API documentation for a REST endpoint.
But then we were back outside and into a practical session - our group built a deadwood fence. And apparently, this was the kind of day my body knew I needed before my brain figured it out. A physical day. Lifting, stacking, arranging, building something real with heavy materials. By the time the fence was done, I felt more like myself than I had all morning.
Some days your brain needs theory. Some days it needs a deadwood fence. Today was a deadwood fence day, and I'm learning to recognise the difference.
Tomorrow
I need a decent sleep tonight. Tomorrow is shaping up to be a bigger theory day, which means my brain needs to arrive in a calmer state than it managed today. The forecast is also looking super windy, which adds a whole new dimension to being in a woodland - trees move differently in the wind, sounds change, and there's probably a risk assessment conversation in there somewhere.
Five days done. The overwhelm today was real, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. But even on a difficult day - maybe especially on a difficult day - the woods helped. The physical work helped. The food, the group, the sunshine helped. And the fact that I can have a genuinely rough morning and still come home thinking I want to go back tomorrow tells me everything I need to know about whether this course is right for me.
It is. Even when my brain disagrees.
