This tells the story of a woman who uses nature as a healing element to overcome PTSD. <br/><br/><a href="https://wherethesilencebreathes.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast">wherethesilencebreathes.substack.com</a>
Where The Silence Breathes’s Substack Podcast
Claim This Podcastby Jim Pierce
5.0(1 reviews)
17 episodes
Updated Daily
Accepts GuestsHas Sponsors
9
Podcast Authority
BetaPoorBased on show quality, social media presence, reviews, charts, and more
Quality17
Social0
YouTube0
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Podcast Overview
This tells the story of a woman who uses nature as a healing element to overcome PTSD. <br/><br/><a href="https://wherethesilencebreathes.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast">wherethesilencebreathes.substack.com</a>
Language
🇺🇲
Publishing Since
5/22/2025
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9
Podcast Authority
BetaPoorBased on show quality, social media presence, reviews, charts, and more
Quality17
Social0
YouTube0
Engagement0
5
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1
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13
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excellent
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Every 3 days
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needs improvement
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Recent Episodes
July 10, 2025
017 - Under the Dripping Canopy
<p>Sunday morning dawned gray and sodden, with the rain continuing its slow, deliberate fall from the sky. It lacked the sharp urgency of the previous day's storm, but the weight of the weather still settled over everything like a damp wool blanket. The thunder was gone now, leaving behind a steady drizzle that tapped softly on rooftops and slid down windowpanes in long, meandering lines. The sky held no promise of clearing, but the healing woman felt a different kind of restlessness today. The kind that didn't call for blankets and books, but for boots and a camera lens.</p><p>Her youngest son, still sleepy-eyed but willing, agreed to come along without protest. He’d emerged from his room earlier than usual, already dressed, his camera bag casually slung over one shoulder. When she offered him his rain parka, he grumbled only slightly before pulling it on. Their silent rhythm was familiar, and their unspoken understanding of each other’s moods made preparation effortless. They moved through the apartment like a pair of dancers who knew the steps by heart—packing extra water bottles, a few Redbulls, and two Caramello bars she had tucked away with quiet intention.</p><p><p>Thanks for reading Where The Silence Breathes’s Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.</p></p><p></p><p>The drive to the preserve was uneventful, the roads slick and glistening with fresh rainfall. They listened to the patter of drops against the windshield, the swish of wipers keeping pace with their thoughts. Neither of them filled the quiet with conversation, and neither of them needed to. The air was already full of sound—the hum of the tires against wet pavement, the groan of distant wind through the trees, and the near-constant hush of the rain.</p><p>By the time they arrived at the trailhead, the world felt soaked through. The trees at the edge of the preserve shimmered with moisture, their trunks darkened, their leaves heavy and dripping. The canopy above seemed to sigh under the weight of collected water, letting it fall in slow, rhythmic drops that struck the forest floor with a sound somewhere between a whisper and a kiss. Everything looked richer in color—mosses gleamed neon green, the soil was black and dense, and even the fallen leaves from weeks past seemed newly alive, slick with water and pressed against the earth like forgotten photographs.</p><p>They zipped up their rain parkas, the sound loud and plasticky in the otherwise subdued stillness. The material crinkled with every movement, an inescapable rustle that grated at her nerves as they began their walk. Each step seemed to amplify the noise, and she winced slightly as the swishing of their sleeves caused a pair of birds to vanish from a nearby bush before she could even lift her camera. She tried to shrug it off, but already she felt the fragile magic of the morning slipping through her fingers.</p><p>Despite the constant noise of their gear, they continued on, moving deeper into the trail where the canopy thickened and the sound of rain grew more distant, absorbed by the dense foliage above. She focused her breathing, slowing her pace to match the hush of the woods. The animals, however, were scarce. What little wildlife stirred darted away before her lens could find them. A rabbit, startled by the rustling of their hoods, vanished into a thicket before she could focus. A woodpecker high in the trees shifted branches just out of reach, never staying still long enough to frame. She clenched her jaw against the frustration, reminding herself that sometimes the forest asked to be observed without being captured.</p><p>Rather than chase what fled, she shifted her attention to what stayed. The forest offered plenty, even if it wasn’t alive in the way she had expected. A spider’s web stretched between two thin saplings caught her eye, each thread heavy with water droplets that glistened like glass beads in the muted light. She crouched low, ignoring the cold dampness that crept into her knees, and framed the shot with care. The web sagged slightly under the weight of the water, its pattern intact but delicate, its lines bent yet unbroken. She captured the image and then another, adjusting the aperture to bring out the detail in each drop.</p><p>Nearby, her son was studying the base of a tree where bright orange fungus bloomed like flames along the bark. He didn’t speak, but the click of his shutter echoed softly in the space between them. They moved through the woods like that for some time, each drawn to small, silent wonders that asked nothing more than to be seen. She photographed the veins in wet leaves, the spiral patterns of soaked bark, the shimmering reflections in shallow puddles that caught the trembling canopy above. The world around them glistened with stillness, and for the first time all morning, she stopped mourning the absence of motion.</p><p>At a wide bend in the trail where the ferns grew dense and low, they paused. She unzipped her pack and handed her son a Redbull and one of the chocolate bars. He grinned at the sight of it, tearing the wrapper open and taking a generous bite. “Best part of hiking in the rain,” he mumbled through a mouthful of caramel. She chuckled and took a sip from her own drink, the sweetness cutting through the damp chill that had settled in her chest.</p><p>They sat side by side on a low, moss-covered log, the canopy dripping steadily above them, droplets landing in tiny bursts around their feet. Her legs ached slightly from crouching, and her hands were damp despite the gloves, but she didn’t mind. Her son leaned back against a tree, boots resting in the mud, eyes still scanning the branches above. There was no rush to move. They had already found what they hadn’t known they were looking for—a kind of shared quiet, grounded in texture, patience, and presence.</p><p>When they resumed walking, the forest seemed to accept them more fully. Perhaps it was her expectations that had softened. She no longer moved through the trail searching for deer, waiting for birds to reveal themselves. Instead, she found purpose in the rain-lacquered leaves, in the steady tap of water against stone, and in the small pools that gathered in the hollows of tree roots.</p><p>By the time they reached the end of the loop and the parking lot came into view through the trees, her camera’s memory card was nearly full. Not a single frame held an animal, yet her heart felt full in a way she hadn’t expected. She had documented something quieter than movement—the resilience of the forest in the rain, the perseverance of beauty in overlooked places.</p><p>As they peeled off their wet parkas and stowed their gear in the car, her son turned to her and asked, “Did you get anything good?”</p><p>She looked at him, smiled, and nodded. “I got what I needed.”</p><p>And as they drove away, the woods receding in the rearview mirror, she thought not of what she had missed, but of what she had learned to notice when she finally stopped chasing the fleeting.</p><p><p>Thanks for reading Where The Silence Breathes’s Substack! This post is public so feel free to share it.</p></p><p></p> <br/><br/>This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://wherethesilencebreathes.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1">wherethesilencebreathes.substack.com</a>
July 3, 2025
016 - The Storm Within
The episode explores the introspective experience of a woman finding solace and connection to grief during a storm, using nature and writing as emotional outlets.
July 1, 2025
015 - Lake Reflection Morning
The author reflects on a morning at the lake, observing nature and capturing the stillness and beauty of the surroundings, which evokes a memory and brings a sense of peace.
17 total episodes available
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- What is Where The Silence Breathes’s Substack Podcast?
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This podcast updates daily.
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This podcast is available on 4 platforms including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and more. You can also use the RSS feed directly.
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