Two Wheels and a Dirt Path to Healing

For me, rock bottom looked like this: I was on my knees on a dirt fire road, clenched fists pounding the gravel in front of me, forehead pressed into the damp soil, shouting that I couldn’t deal with the pain anymore, that I simply could not continue like this, voice echoing through the redwood-filled canyon, my shocked wife looking on in confusion.

I will never forget the moment. It was nearly three years ago and I was several days into an anxiety-fueled nervous breakdown. My wife had taken time off work to shepherd me through it, and she had suggested a hike to help clear my head, to get me moving. But after just a few steps, I was flooded with unassociated panic. It seemed like an out of body experience, but I’ll always remember the very real pain of the rocks grinding into my bare knees, how the loudness of my voice surprised even me, how I couldn’t have cared less if another