A Quiet Measure of Healing

Castlepoint, Masterton — 2025

The last time I walked at Castlepoint was at least seven years ago. Back then, I remember how hard it felt just to move my body. Walking hurt. Breathing felt hard. My fitness was low, but more than that, my nervous system was constantly in survival mode. I didn’t yet understand how deeply my body was carrying what my life had asked of it.

Returning now, I can feel the difference immediately.

This time, the walk wasn’t about proving anything. It was about noticing. Noticing how healthy habits, healing, and years of quiet, unglamorous effort have added up. The kind of work no one applauds. The kind you only really see when you return to a place that once showed you your limits.

It wasn’t perfect. I still had to navigate pressure in my head and the old familiar vertigo. My body reminded me that healing isn’t journey and that some things still require patience and gentleness. But instead of stopping, I adjusted. I listened. I rested when I needed to. And I kept going.

I walked all the way to the lighthouse.
Then I went further.

I stood on the cliff, grounded enough to pause and take in the view. The ocean stretched endlessly in front of me, wild and calm all at once. And in that moment, it wasn’t just about the scenery it was about what my body allowed me to experience

Seven years ago, this place highlighted everything I couldn’t do.
Today, it reflected how far I’ve come.

Healing hasn’t made my body perfect. It has made it safer. Stronger. More trustworthy. It has taught me how to work with my body instead of fighting it. How to respect its signals without letting fear lead the way.

Castlepoint didn’t change.
I did.

And standing there, wind in my face, I felt deeply grateful not just for the view, but for the resilience that carried me there.