Totem

***This is a true story in my life. I thought from time to time, I’d share a story from my life to let you all get to know me and what has made me into who I am. All these experiences bleed out into my art in one way or another. Currently, I am working on a painting of a bear and so this story came to mind.***

The night before I turned seventeen, I sleepwalked into the woods—and into a story I’d carry for the rest of my life.

Some time in the middle of the night, I sleepwalked away from camp. When I woke, the forest was silent and pitch-black. The cold of a March night crept into my bones, and fear wrapped itself around me. I had no idea where I was. No shoes. No flashlight. Just me, lost among unfamiliar trees.

I walked for hours in the wrong direction, the chill and damp clinging to my clothes. At some point, my jeans began to chafe my thighs raw. Welts formed, and the stinging pain forced me to take them off and tie them around my waist. I hiked in my underwear with the legs of my pants tied about my waist. My feet were already bruised and raw, and I would carry the blackened spots for two weeks after.

By the next day—my birthday—I was still lost. It was warmer but a chill still hung in the air amidst the shafts of sunlight that speckled the forest floor. I had walked for so long my feet ached and I had yet to recognize my surroundings. My focus narrowed to the crunching of dry leaves beneath my bare feet as I walked up a slope. I suddenly felt a shift in the air, a presence, a shadow blocking the light. I looked up.

Standing on a large boulder just above me was a mother black bear—only she wasn’t black. Her fur was tinted with the reddish hue of cinnamon. I would later learn that’s what they’re called: cinnamon black bears. Behind her, two cubs peeked out cautiously. Her muscles tensed, ready to protect. I was standing in the perfect landing spot if she decided to jump down from her rocky perch. 

Everything in me froze. But something deeper rose to the surface—something calm and ancient, a knowing, a stillness. I raised my hands slowly and met her gaze.

"I'm your friend," I spoke calmly but surely. "I'm not here to hurt you."

We locked eyes. Her body shifted. Her eyes softened. And in a huff of breath, she retreated back a step.  She saw me—not as a threat, but as another soul, lost in her woods. 

I backed away, palms open, never breaking eye contact until I knew I was a safe distance away. With my heart pounding against my ribs, I turned and followed the sound of water until I found a creek. I walked beside it the rest of the day, eating sour flowers, creeping Charlie, and pine needles. I drank the water. My stomach ached and my legs cramped in protest. My birthday had come with no cake, no candles—just hunger, fading light, and diminishing hope.

As dusk settled in, panic clawed at my chest. How could I survive another night? Wet, barefoot, alone, and cold. Maybe this will be my last birthday, I thought.

About twenty minutes later—I broke through the trees into a clearing. A river, wild and uncrossable, roared in front of me. I collapsed onto the rocks, tears mingling with defeat.

Then, up the hill across the river, I spotted a fence. A tractor rolled alongside it. I screamed, jumped, waved my arms, pants still tied around my waist, underwear clinging to me. The man on the tractor saw me. He couldn’t hear my words, but I knew he understood.

Help was on the way.

Soon, an old man arrived, talking on a phone. And not long after, a tugboat came to rescue me. Turns out, my entire community had been searching. I was embarrassed. As time passed, and I reflected on the whole experience, my perspective changed.

That bear became my totem. A symbol of strength, protection, and quiet understanding. In some Native American cultures, they say young people are sent into the wild to return changed—to return as adults. I wasn’t sent. But I came back different.

That forest stripped away everything I thought I needed—comfort, direction, even clothing. And what remained was something stronger. Wiser. More whole. Something that would prepare me for future trials and tribulations.

Years later, I became a nurse. One day, while chatting with a patient, he asked where I was from. I told him. His face lit up.

“Years ago,” he said, “a girl showed up on my land across the river. She’d been lost in the woods. I helped her out. We had to get a tugboat to get her across the river, ‘cus it was so high. Crazy.”

“I was that girl!” I told him. “ Thank you for saving me!” 

“Huh.” he huffed. “I helped you then and you are helping me now. Life is funny, ain’t it?”

We sat there, smiling—two people connected by a moment that had stayed with both of us, the surrealness of it all suspended in the air between us.