Excavating Grief
/How a trip to a cabin helped the healing begin
Foreground: Mykella Van COoten; Background: Cabin near Toronto (Photos courtesy Mykella Van Cooten)
“Sometimes, the feelings that are causing us problems are buried so deep that only the stillness of the woods can show us what we are truly feeling.”
Season 4 // Episode 6
Mykella Van Cooten was angry, and she didn’t know why. It got so bad that she began to feel unhinged.
And then, she went to a little cabin in the woods. In this episode, she tells the story of what happened. It’s a story about stopping, about letting go, and about uncovering the real feelings that are buried deep beneath the surface.
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Welcome to Out There Podcast. Our stories are written for the ear, so for those able, we recommend listening while reading along. Transcripts may contain minor errors; please check the audio before quoting.
VOICEOVER: Hub and Spoke audio collective.
WILLOW BELDEN: It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. I’m in Colorado with my uncle. We’re at the top of this mountain. And the view is just gorgeous. It’s this panorama of snowy peaks. And we’re trying to figure out which mountain is which. Because, the day before, we had tried to summit one of them. Which didn’t end up working out, because we got caught in a snowstorm. But anyway, we wanted to see where we had been. So I pull out my phone and open up PeakVisor.
So, North Arapaho Peak is straight in front of us there.
WALTER MUGDAN: So, when you say “straight in front of us,” does it look like the highest peak from our perspective?
WILLOW: Yes, it looks like the highest peak.
WALTER: OK.
WILLOW: Um, and then you see the glacier.
WALTER: Oh that is the glacier. That whole big snow bowl thing is the glacier. OK, now I get it.
WILLOW: Right.
PeakVisor is our presenting sponsor this season. Their app helps you figure out what you’re looking at when you’re out in the mountains. When you open it up, it determines where you are, and then it shows you a panoramic picture of everything you’re seeing, with all the peaks labeled.
If you’d like your own personal mountain guide, check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
Hi, I’m Willow Belden, and you’re listening to Out There, the podcast that explores big questions through intimate stories outdoors.
Big feelings can be scary. They keep us on edge, they seep into our work, they can threaten our relationships. And it’s especially hard when you don’t really know where they’re coming from. When the feelings don’t make sense.
So what do you do in a situation like that? How do you regain a sense of calm, when your emotions are baffling, and you can’t seem to get them under control?
In this episode, Mykella Van Cooten takes us from her home in Toronto to a cabin in the woods, and explores how she found healing.
And just so you know, this story contains some adult language.
MYKELLA VAN COOTEN: I learned a long time ago, as a black woman, I had to control my anger. I never wanted to be stereotyped as an angry black woman. But last year, my anger was right there, bubbling and rising up. And there was so much of it. It got to the point where I got so angry that I began to feel unhinged.
Every little annoyance would balloon into this weird rage. Every noise my roommate made; every time my dog Eddie stared at me and I didn’t know what he wanted; every time there was a knock at the door while I worked from home, I would feel this rage just rising up. I felt like I was outside of my body. And I just kept wondering: why am I so angry?
I like being in control. It makes me feel safe, and it relieves my anxiety. So when my anger began threatening to burst out of me, I was scared. I felt out of control, and I did not like it.
Normally, when I need to sort out confusing emotions, I go away. I book myself into a retreat with yoga and energy work, sound baths and meditations. A trip with a purpose. And then I come home feeling refreshed.
But this time, taking off for a week of “me time” just wasn’t an option.
I’d recently changed careers and I’d gotten a coveted work opportunity, and I didn’t want to say no to it. That also meant I had a deadline to meet. So there was no way I could take time off.
So I figured I’d do the next best thing: I’d book myself on a work-away trip. I wouldn’t be able to get away to a retreat, but I would be in a place where I could be alone with my dog and just kind of veg out, doing spurts of work, and maybe get away from the daily annoyances that were triggering this weird anger.
I started researching the perfect hideaway, with quiet and hiking trails, but also cell service and high quality wifi. After weeks of searching, I’d found the perfect spot. I even knew what restaurants were nearby, what they had on their menus, and if they delivered. I was ready.
So I headed to this little cabin in the woods, to work remotely, in peace. Well, that’s what I thought I was doing. It turns out, nature had other plans.
I did have some idea where my anger was coming from. I want to say it was September 2021 when I got a text from my stepmother. She was asking if I wanted to adopt a child.
I guess this question deserves a little bit of history. I’m 50 years old. And there have been several times in my life when I have tried to have a child. I had tried to get pregnant during my short-lived marriage. Later, I joined a co-parenting “dating” site. Then, a really good friend of mine even tried to help me make a baby for almost a year.
I had tried a lot of things. But none of them had worked. So, when my stepmother asked me if I wanted to adopt a child, it made sense. And I said yes. We hung up, all smiles, and that was that.
The following February, I got a call saying there was a baby who needed to be adopted in Guyana. That’s where my family is from and where my stepmother was living at the time. The baby girl would be born in two months. I was going to be a mom!
And my stepmother offered to help — a lot. She offered to move the baby in with her until the baby could come to Canada. She had a lawyer handling all the paperwork at her own expense. And she even promised that she and my dad would help me out financially.
The baby was born in April. Every few days, my stepmother would send pictures or we would do a video call. And I started to plan a baby shower.
But some things were feeling off to me. Like, when the baby was just a couple of months old, I remember hearing that my dad had told a family friend that he had a new grandchild. But somehow, I was never named as the baby’s mom. And later, I found out, promises were being made to the biological parents — about things like visitations — without asking me first.
It seemed like my dad and my stepmother didn’t really see me as the baby’s mom. And more and more, I was feeling like some kind of surrogate caretaker or babysitter, not a mother. I felt like they didn’t even see me, and it hurt.
The last straw was an issue with the baby’s name. My stepmother and I simply couldn’t agree on what to call her. And when I didn’t back down on what I wanted, my stepmother just stopped. She stopped talking to me. She stopped sending pictures and updates about the baby. Well, there was one phone call. On it, stepmother said she felt disrespected. Then she hung up.
I didn’t get a chance to respond, and my requests to talk more were ignored.
Eventually, I got a text from my stepmother saying simply: “The parents have decided they no longer want you to adopt the baby.”
I went from being a mom, to not.
I was stunned. I felt how you feel after an accident. Numb. Dazed. Like when time stands still, and you aren’t really sure where you are, or what just happened. Sometimes I would just walk my dog aimlessly, feeling out of my body, like I was free-floating.
After the shock wore off, there were all kinds of emotions. Different ones on different days, in different hours, and different minutes. There were all the bad ones: sadness, depression, loss, grief. But there were also good ones. I was relieved to finally know what was going on, to be free from a co-parenting agenda I hadn’t consented to. And I was proud that I put my foot down. And I was grateful that I had had enough time to cancel the baby shower before people had wrapped gifts for a child who wasn’t coming.
I felt so many things. And I processed them all. Every day, for months, I did the emotional work of sorting through my feelings. And I had come to terms with losing the opportunity to adopt a baby.
So why, dammit, if I had done so much emotional work, why was I still so angry?
On the morning of my trip, I checked the last item off my list and headed out. It was a nice drive, just an hour and a half outside the city. Then, there it was: the cutest little cabin, sitting at the edge of a forest in all the prettiest reds, yellows and oranges.
I got out of the car, let Eddie out, and moved my things from into the house. I packed everything away — food in the fridge, clothes in the dresser, toiletries on the shelf in the bathroom. Putting everything in its place made me feel at home.
So, now that everything was in its place, now what? I had no work to do that day, so I decided to explore the cabin’s amenities. There was a cute porch to sun myself on and a cute little firepit just for me. The fall sun was beaming down like it was still summer.
So I sat by the firepit, and I rested.
Well, kind of.
I sat there for a few minutes. But it wasn’t long before my brain started circling. Had I forgotten anything? Had I put all my stuff away? Was the car locked? Did it even need to be?
Then I’d stop myself and clear my mind. But in just a few more minutes, I was thinking: ‘Am I sure the car is locked?’ Then I realized the car is literally right beside me.
I’d stop thinking, but after a few minutes, I’d have another thought.
Oh, this sitting still, doing nothing, it felt so weird. I don’t know the last time I just stopped. I don’t think I remembered how.
I only stayed sitting in that chair because the sun was so unusually warm, and I wanted to stay and enjoy it. So I stayed in that chair. And that’s when things started to happen.
I lost track of time. And then I felt the denseness of my body, sinking deep into that chair. And my breathing started to slow down. My shoulders relaxed. Sitting amongst those beautiful trees in the sunshine, with nothing to do, I finally sunk into rest. And I cried — gentle, thin lines of tears that slid and rounded my cheeks and dripped off the edge of my chin.
I have no idea how long I cried. But, at some point, I got up, dried my tears and went back into the cabin. I had to prepare for tomorrow. I mean, I had a schedule. I had work to do.
So, the next morning, I settled in, with headphones, laptop and a snuggly corner of the couch to work in, with my little mug of tea. Then I attempted to start my workday. And I did do some work. But I was distracted, and I was still grouchy. And mostly, I was still drenched in sadness. Like after a really good cry, but one where you know there is much more pain there. I was grief soaked.
And the next day, I was nauseated. Then, for some reason, I started craving whole milk. I haven’t drunk whole milk in over 15 years. But I thought my body wanted it, so I went out, I bought it, and I drank it. One swig. And then I threw it up.
Dammit. Oh God, I knew what this meant. When I am nauseated and can’t hold down heavy food, something emotional needs to come out. And it needs to come out now.
My body, mother earth, they didn’t care about my work schedule. They just didn’t care. My feelings were going to come out. Right now. Shit.
So finally, I just surrendered. I took a break from all my non-pressing work, and I just sat there. I sat in the cabin, I sat by the fire pit, I sat on the porch. I ate when I needed to. But mostly, I stayed still, and I just stared — out the window, at the trees, at the TV, into space. And when the tears came, I let them. I let it all go.
And once I did, I had a shocking revelation. My overwhelming anger was my way of staying in control, of staying safe, from a deep grief that was terrifying me. And it wasn’t about losing a baby. Yes, that was sad. But I had come to terms with being childless a long time ago. This grief was way deeper. I was grieving the loss of the family life that I’d hoped I’d gain by raising this child.
My parents had gotten divorced when I was around seven years old. Before then, even when my parents were fighting, I loved being with my dad. He was my absolute best friend. My favorite memory of him was when he bundled me and my sister up in our snowsuits and took us to the park to play in the snow, for hours. And my mom, she waited inside like a Leave it to Beaver mom, making hot chocolate.
So when my dad moved out, I lost my playmate. I lost my partner in crime. And after he left, he didn’t call. He didn’t return phone calls. He didn’t visit, and he’d often miss his assigned weekends with me and my sisters.
Then, when he got together with my stepmother, I got to live with them for several years in my tweens and in high school. All of a sudden, I didn’t have to hope he would return my phone calls or come around. I didn’t have to hear him say he couldn’t talk because he was having dinner with his new family. I was in his new family. And he was right there.
As an adult, I worked for my dad's business for a while. And when I worked for him, I’d see him every day. And we would joke around and get along just like when I was little. And if I called him, he’d call me back.
But once I stopped living and working with him, I didn’t see him anymore. And he stopped returning my phone calls. He was gone.
But his new family, oh, they seemed to have a charmed life — a mom and a dad in love, with really cool kids. A full family. And as I got closer to my half sister, sh’d tell me about my dad taking pictures of her while she got ready for prom, just like it is in the movies. He even showed up for a 5k run that she did to cheer her on. Yet, he hadn’t shown up to my graduation — from university.
I mean, I knew I was jealous, but I didn’t realize how desperately I wanted to be a permanent member of my dad’s new family. So, when my stepmother called and asked if I wanted to adopt this child, with the full support of her and my dad, and I would be the mom to the first grandchild my dad and stepmother wanted so much, something inside me said, “This is my way in.”
I felt blindsided. It seemed no matter what I did, I would never be enough to fully belong. I was broken.
Now I knew exactly why I had been angry. My anger had been protecting me from my pain. But now that I knew the pain existed, I wanted to let it go. I wanted to feel normal again.
So in that little cabin, amongst towering trees and nurturing sunshine, I let the healing begin.
That week, I stayed still and allowed myself to feel my deepest pain. And as I did that — as I processed the real feelings that had been buried for so long — there was no space left for the anger.
When the week was over, I was still grief soaked. But I was so relieved to feel something I understood and could reckon with in real time. Honestly, by the end of the week, even knowing I had more grief to work through, I felt refreshed.
When I got home from the cabin, I still got angry. But it was like the little annoyances of everyday life. The grief was still there too. It takes a long time to be done with grief. But finally I knew what I was feeling, and that felt good.
I know I will never be a real member of my dad's new family, and honestly, I don’t want to be. I realized that the fantasy family I had created in my mind, that wasn’t real. The real family dynamic, I found out, is something I don’t want to be a part of. And nature helped me see that.
I had processed a lot of feelings since the adoption fell through. But it wasn’t until my trip to the cabin — until nature forced me to stop and let go — that I could even express the deepest pain I had inside. Sometimes, the feelings that are causing us problems are buried so deep that only the stillness of the woods can show us what we’re truly feeling. And only by letting ourselves feel those feelings can we start to reclaim our inner peace.
WILLOW: That was Mykella Van Cooten. She’s a radio producer living in Toronto. If you want to see more of her work, I have a link at our website, outtherepodcast.com.
Coming up next time on Out There: Naomi Mellor never learned how to swim. And taking lessons as a grownup? Well, that seemed out of the question.
NAOMI MELLOR: Swimming, to me, was like riding a bike or learning to drive. It was a rite of passage for young people, not adults. I couldn’t imagine telling people I was learning from scratch. That would be mortifying. And the longer I left it without grasping the nettle, the larger the mental block became.
WILLOW: Tune in on July 13 for a story about learning something new, as an adult.
OK, so, time for a pop quiz. Where do you think the majority of Out There’s funding comes from? Is it: a) advertisements, b) gifts from listeners, or c) grant money?
If you guessed B, you are correct. Last year, about two-thirds of our revenue came from listeners. Two thirds. That’s huge. It’s because of you that we are able to create thoughtful, introspective stories.
So, to everyone who is already supporting Out There: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I am blown away by your generosity.
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Out There is a proud member of Hub & Spoke, a collective of idea-driven independent podcasts. One of the other shows in the collective that I think you’d really enjoy is called Ministry of Ideas. It’s a small show about the big ideas that shape our world. Most recently, they’ve been running a special series about the relationship between religion and science. You can find Ministry of Ideas wherever you get your podcasts, or at ministryofideas.org.
Support for Out There comes from PeakVisor. PeakVisor is an app that helps you make the most of your time in the mountains. They have intricate 3-D maps to help you plan out hikes. Once you’re in the mountains, you can use the app to figure out what peaks you’re looking at. And if you need a little help staying motivated, they also have a peak-bagging feature.
If you’d like your own personal mountain guide, check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
Today’s story was written and narrated by Mykella Van Cooten. Story editing and sound design by me, Willow Belden.
Out There’s advertising manager is Jessica Heeg. Our audience growth director is Sheeba Joseph. Our ambassadors are Tiffany Duong, Ashley White, and Stacia Bennet. And our theme music was written by Jared Arnold.
The final episode of this season will be in two weeks. We’ll see you then. And in the meantime, have a beautiful day, be bold, go outside, and find your dreams.
Episode Credits
Story by Mykella Van Cooten
Story editing and sound design by Willow Belden
Music includes works from Blue Dot Sessions
Links
Support Out There on Patreon
This episode sponsored by
PeakVisor
