Returning to myself
How Biking Is Therapy After Caretaking Overload & Some Holiday Chaos
In my last post, I wrote about fun co‑sponsorship in relationships, how we can actively support each other’s joy instead of just tolerating it. This story feels like the next chapter of that: what happens when life gets intense and someone lovingly co‑sponsors your nervous system back to center with something as seemingly simple as a bike ride.
Hey all, it’s been well over a month and a half.
I’ve been quiet here, partly because I chose to direct much of my energy elsewhere, and partly because my little human was on break and I really wanted to be with him, not have my attention so divided. That in itself is a huge privilege, having the choice to engage or not engage with work, and I don’t take it lightly.
One of the biggest things that has stayed with me from Dan Siegel’s parenting work is the idea of “showing up” as a quality of presence, not just physical proximity. Kids feel it when we’re actually there, and they feel it just as clearly when we’re not.
Lately I’ve been noticing how easily scattered my attention can get, even with all of my good intentions. It reminds me of when a friend showed me for the first time how my iPhone had a ton of apps open in the background, draining the battery, creating glitches, and slowing everything down.
We’re like that too.
All these open tabs running in the background: worries, to‑dos, conversations, memories, group chats, news, social media, social and environmental unraveling, and way too many notifications. No wonder we’re exhausted.
Meanwhile, my four‑year‑old is just…all in. His energy is so present. All of him is here, now, feeling deeply, moving fully, experiencing everything.
And I’m like, “Wait. I had all of that energy once. Where did it go? Why am I so freakin’ tired?”
Some of it went into necessary regulation, because it’s not great for me or my relational ecosystem to throw things or scream and stomp around when I’m overwhelmed, even though my nervous system might want to.
A lot of it went into stuffing emotions, going stoic, appeasing others, and trying to “control” myself and my environment, which eventually turned into a low‑grade anxiety hum in the background, and sometimes not so low or in the background at all. Emotions can behave like little humans: the more you ignore them, the louder they get. When you actually sit down with them, they often just want to be seen, and in that seeing and acknowledging, something releases and a lot of energy frees up.
Over the last six weeks, some unexpected health stuff came up for my last living grandparent. I won’t go into details to protect her privacy. The short version is that what was already a spontaneous visit to Montana with my son turned into a lot of caregiving, logistics, and more stress than my sister and I anticipated.
Before the trip, I had just written an article about moving from holiday overwhelm to connected in romantic partnership, and I realized, oh, I could actually apply these concepts to my family of origin as well. So my sister and I talked a couple times before we were all together about what would help us stay well:
Getting outside and moving every day, even if it was just walking around uptown.
Discussing options for simple, nourishing meals we wouldn’t have to think about.
Planning to go to coffee shops to reset and re-center. We grew up in the PNW and coffee shops are one of our favorite ways to access self-care and community.
Having a loose “we’re‑in‑this‑together” game plan so we didn’t have to strategize from ground zero when we were tired and at capacity.
Once there, we realized we’d stepped into way more crisis response than expected. We checked in often to name the gap between expectations and reality, reflect on the uptick in caretaking, and consciously handed some responsibility back to the family members more involved in decision‑making. For the most part, my sister and I worked really well as a team, tending to each other’s capacity, and using a lot of humor along the way.
There was one brief moment towards the end of the trip when my controlling, big sister, adaptive‑child part snapped and I yelled at her for not wanting to parallel park in uptown. A few breaths later, I regrouped, asked for a reset, and apologized. She laughed and said, “We don’t need to fight with each other,” and I was like, “So true. Not helpful.” That tiny repair felt just as important as all the big logistical teamwork we were doing.
Towards the end of our visit, we had an open, clear, and lovingly honest conversation with my Grandma. She was a bit taken aback and somewhat defensive at first, and we explained that we were doing a kind of family retro so we could be more effective and proactive next time, and minimize frustration and resentment all around.
It wasn’t about blame. It was about honoring our nervous systems, naming the relationship between choices and consequences, setting clearer limits, and considering what would actually be sustainable.
Afterward, my sister and I debriefed the debrief. Counselors love to process the process. We both noticed our bodies felt more spacious. Emotionally, we felt relieved, hopeful, and empowered. I commented that our bodies and emotions were giving us data that we were in our integrity. Accountability to self and others is a form of love.
Those conversations with my Grandma and other family members were uncomfortable and clarifying in equal measure, and they made the support we did offer feel more grounded and in alignment. We also savored the support of the outdoors, other family members and friends outside the situation, cozy coffee shops, and an extraordinary woman at the organic store next to The Local, who shared the most delicious ginger snaps, along with compassion and perspective about appreciating loved ones even when they’re driving us crazy, because someday we’ll miss them and their unique crazy.
And still, by the time my son and I flew back to Denver, I was fried. My nervous system felt like it had twenty extra apps running in the background.
We landed to a gorgeous, mild Denver day, which I love and also feel some concern about given drought and fire risk. Once we were home, my spouse, Scotty, who had been getting the story in fragments via text, looked at me and said, “You should go for a bike ride.” Then his actions backed up his words: he aired up my tires, lubed the chain, and loaded my bike onto the car.
To minimize decision fatigue, he suggested heading to Lair O’ Bear Open Space, knowing how much I love the riding there particularly, Rutabaga Ride, on my e‑bike, another privilege I love and appreciate. Familiar, fun, and just enough challenge without the “I might die or be seriously injured” energy.
Within minutes, I could feel the difference. All the tension I thought I’d already worked out was still hiding in my shoulders, neck, low back, and hips. As I pedaled, my body remembered: Oh right. This is how I move things through and release them.
Biking has been shown to reduce stress, anxiety, and even symptoms of depression, partly because the rhythmic motion and being outside create a kind of moving meditation. That’s exactly how it felt. The dirt was just moist enough in sections to be hero dirt. Hardly anyone on trail. The trees kept me company.
At one point I heard a rustle in the rocks while climbing switchbacks and thought, “Oh shit, it’s dusk and that could be a mountain lion.” A heartbeat later, I felt immediate relief when I realized it was just a couple of deer having dinner. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d seen a mountain lion while mountain biking solo, as I’ve shared in other Bike Therapy posts.
Years ago, during a consultation with an addictions counselor trained in a particular medicine wheel, I identified my animal path as the flicker and Scotty’s as the deer. Ever since then, when I see deer while I’m alone outside, I think of him and feel connected to his energy and support.
There’s a certain magic for me in being in the trees like that. The light. The quiet. The sound of water. The feeling that the land itself is helping me compost what I’m carrying.
By the time I finished the downhill, I did a quick body scan and was honestly stunned. I felt spacious. Open. Clear. More like myself. Not because anything in my family shituation had changed, but because I had changed in relation to it. My presence had come back online.
This is what bike therapy is for me: where stuck emotion becomes movement, where scattered energy gathers itself, where the nervous system gets to complete stress cycles that daily life interrupts, where intuition is more vocal because the external environment is quieter.
Coming into this new year, with everything happening in the world and in our own homes, it feels like many of us are walking around with several extra tabs open. Some loud. Some quiet. All draining.
For me, this ride was a reminder that:
Presence is a practice, not a personality trait.
Connecting with the body is one of the fastest and most grounded ways back to that presence.
When we’re grounded and present, we’re far more able to act from our highest self and deepest truth.
We don’t always need a massive transformation; sometimes we just need one trail, one nourishing and delicious meal, one stop at a cozy coffee shop, or one brief kind interaction with a stranger.
My hunch is that the more we practice this in our own bodies and relationships, the more capacity we’ll have to reshape the bigger systems we’re so exhausted by. Not through perfection. Not through performance. But through how we actually show up, one interaction at a time.
So if your energy feels thin, or your emotions are knocking shit around like a persistent toddler, consider this your gentle nudge: close a few apps, move, breathe outside, let your body do some of the processing, and listen for the small, wild whisper that shows up when you immerse yourself in the slow quiet.
And if you feel like sharing, I’d genuinely love to hear:
What’s your version of bike therapy?
Where do you go, on wheels or feet or in dreams, when you need to come back to yourself?
Gratitude to Rowan, the AI writing companion supporting my creative and relational process, for helping me shape and refine this piece.
What a beautiful essay! Well done. I love that you saw a coupe of deer; Scotty's spirit animal. You know you're on the right track when the Universe shows you the way!
“So if your energy feels thin, or your emotions are knocking shit around like a persistent toddler, consider this your gentle nudge: close a few apps, move, breathe outside, let your body do some of the processing, and listen for the small, wild whisper that shows up when you immerse yourself in the slow quiet.”
I have so many tabs open all the time. This is a good reminder.