From Wounds to Wisdom

My life has always been about sacrifice. As early as childhood, I learned to put others’ needs before my own, from an emotionally unavailable parent to a military career where I was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. In the military, I dedicated every part of myself to something greater than my own needs. I served with pride, always putting the mission and others before myself. But as the years passed, I realized I’d lost touch with who I was beneath the uniform. My identity had become entirely wrapped up in duty and expectations.

Things became even more complicated when I entered a relationship that demanded sacrifices I never anticipated. While I was no stranger to sacrifice, this was a different kind of strain—emotional, physical, and mental. It left me feeling more isolated and distant from myself than ever. Between the weight of my past and my hope for the future, I was gradually stretched too thin, no longer living in the present. When I finally ended the abusive relationship, I was left with a lingering emptiness, feeling as though I had been poured out with nothing left to give— a stranger to myself. It was in that moment I realized something important: I had sacrificed myself beyond recognition. What I needed next was something radically different from anything I’d ever known.

Living for Others, Losing Myself

Joining the military was a way to honor the promise I made to myself after losing 75 pounds the year before. It challenged and allowed me to serve a purpose bigger than my own. In many ways, the experience gave me strength and confidence I wouldn’t trade for anything. But a life of service is complex, especially when it means putting yourself last for years on end. There’s a certain pride that comes with enduring hardship for others, but over time, it takes its toll. I became so accustomed to following orders, meeting expectations, and pushing my own needs aside that it felt natural—even necessary.

I often found myself exhausted, both physically and emotionally. My life was structured and disciplined, but in a way that left little room for my own thoughts, passions, or happiness. It was as if the version of myself who could dream freely had been locked away, waiting for the right moment to emerge. When the time came to move on from my military career, that realization hit hard: I had given so much to others that I no longer knew how to give anything to myself. I then fell into something familiar: an unbalanced relationship that required me to make sacrifices that ultimately led to abandoning myself. Eventually, it became abusive—physically, emotionally, and verbally.

The Courage to Start Over

Leaving the military and ending that abusive relationship brought me to a painful, but pivotal turning point. I felt free yet disoriented, hopeful yet afraid. I had a profound sense that I was being given a second chance at life, a chance to finally put myself first and rebuild from the ground up. But as empowering as that idea was, I wasn’t sure where to start or how to heal from everything that had happened.

I found myself in a constant state of uncertainty, wondering if I could ever truly feel whole again. The weight of my past, combined with the open-ended question of my future, made it feel like I was standing at the edge of a vast unknown. My body knew what felt "safe" and familiar, but my mind knew where that had led me in the past. Deep down, I knew this was my second chance at life, and now, more than ever, was the time to break the patterns and heal.

Nature’s Therapy

I’ve always felt drawn to traveling and nature. When life became overwhelming in the military, I prioritized traveling whenever I could. And when I couldn’t travel, I’d hike. I spent a lot of time outdoors during my relationship’s darkest moments. Nature became my sanctuary. I would go for a hike on my 5 acres and enjoy the Sangre de Cristo mountains, letting the vastness of the views drown out the chaos in my mind. There, I could let my head and heart wage war while I simply allowed myself a few moments to feel safe and breathe.

With nature as my sanctuary and travel as my passion, I knew that now was the time to embrace van life. I realized that the open road, minimalistic lifestyle, and the uncomfortable feelings that accompanied it were exactly the disruption I needed. The road became the space where I could heal. Whether driving for hours or hiking alone for miles, every journey brought me closer to rediscovering myself, shedding the layers of my past.

Living Simply, Healing Deeply

When I decided to take up van life, it was more than just a lifestyle choice. It was a commitment to dive deeper into this journey of self-discovery and healing. Living in my van meant I could move freely, exploring new landscapes, and allowing myself to live unstructured. The constant change helped me embrace adaptability and resilience, and living simply allowed me to reflect on what truly mattered.

Van life wasn’t without its challenges—losing over $20k in an incompetent builder, navigating inclement weather, finding safe places to park, on the fly repairs inside and out—but each obstacle felt like a part of the journey, teaching me self-reliance and patience. The simplicity of life on the road allowed me to focus on my inner world without the distractions of a traditional life.

Wanderher Wisdom

Over time, nature and travel taught me lessons I couldn’t have learned anywhere else. I discovered confidence and intuition in the face of challenges, whether it was hiking a tough trail alone or navigating my van through 60+mph winds across Nevada. I learned to trust myself, make peace with solitude, and find gratitude in the simple things—like watching a desert sunset or the sound of rain on my van’s roof.

More than anything, I learned that healing isn’t a destination; it’s a journey. There were (and still are) days when I felt overwhelmed, but nature and travel have given me tools to find my way back to peace, no matter where I am.

A Journey Still Unfolding

Today, I’m living on a homestead, traveling part-time in my van, and working to share my story with others through The Wanderher. Though I’ve come a long way, I know my journey isn’t over. I continue to find healing and inspiration in every adventure, whether it’s a hike near home or a road trip to a new destination.

If you’re feeling the pull to explore nature or use travel as a way to heal, know that you’re not alone. I created The Wanderher to share my journey and the insights I’ve gathered along the way—showing how travel and nature can help us rediscover our sense of peace and purpose. Let’s see where this path takes us, guiding us to wander beyond and heal within.

<3 Lindsey

Delicate Arch - Canyonlands National Park, Utah