Bad Ass Tumbleweeds: Learning Vulnerability

Once upon a time in my twenties, I was a bad ass bitch. I proclaimed it, I sang about it, I was resplendent with badassery. I was proud of my fierce independence. I needed no one. This was the 90s in New York and Seattle when combat boots weren’t just a fashion statement; they were about being ready for anything from a mosh pit to a riot to a protest to a quick escape up a mountain. I was inspired by contemporary music of other bad ass bitches like Ani Difranco, PJ Harvey, Alanis Morrisette, Lauryn Hill, Erykah Badu, Bikini Kill, Sinead O’Connor, Bjork, Hole, Fiona Apple, Tori Amos, Missy Elliot, etc. etc. etc. I was pissed at the injustice of the world like most people of my generation--alienated, irreverent youth. And as a woman, growing up in a time when sexual assault, domestic abuse and rape were still about blaming the victim and what she was wearing, being tough and invulnerable was almost a necessity.

And then, I moved to Alaska. I was always interested in living off-grid (perhaps this goes along with my independence streak) and that’s how everyone outside the big towns was living in Alaska. I lived in a small close-knit community, chopping wood, carrying water, using an outhouse, and skiing out my front door. The enormity and vastness of the natural world in Alaska is already so humbling and add to that living at the mercy of the elements, and I began to soften a bit. Maybe that’s why when one day a friend pointed out to me that I was distant and always seemed angry, I was ready to hear it.

It's not easy to let go of the self-protective tools we have created.

Recently I learned that Russian thistle grows where nothing else will. Maybe you heard of Russian thistle by it’s more common name, tumbleweed. It is an iconic staple of Western movies everywhere, rolling across a lone highway on its way to nowhere. When we moved to our property on a high mesa covered in sagebrush, much of it had already been cleared. When sagebrush is cleared, the only thing that can grow is tumbleweed.

Although sagebrush is a byproduct of historical overgrazing, it serves as a shelter for many animals such as sage sparrows, jackrabbits, rattlesnakes, deer mice, collard lizards and more. It also helps other species of plants to grow like rabbit brush, sunflowers, milkvetch, evening primrose, toadflax, thymeleaf sandmat and more. Also, it smells amazing after the rain.

Tumbleweed on the other hand, is the worst. In the spring, you might be fooled into believing it is an innocent uptick of greenery, but it soon turns spiky and dries into a painful, thorny and merciless plant that can disconnect from its roots to fly all over the place spreading its vicious seeds. Tumbleweed is my nemesis. I am at war with the tumbleweed, constantly yanking its baby shoots from my yard as it encroaches consistently along the outskirts of my fence.

Tumbleweed is a bad ass bitch. In some respects, I must give respect to this invasive plant that continues to thrive in conditions where no other can. It is extremely independent and does not rely on mycorrhizal networks. This is its power and its weakness. It is angry and mean and won’t let anyone get close.

That was my issue too in my younger years. Being highly sensitive, empathic, and struggling with CPTSD, being a bad ass protected me for many years and hid my deeper insecurities. But it also kept me from being vulnerable with anyone or developing intimate relationships with healthy partners.

Tumbleweed is good for the ecosystem. Since they don’t form mycorrhizal associations, fungal invasions will kill them off. In turn, the fungus population is able to increase and help more plants to grow. Dead tumbleweeds provide microshading for other sprouting plant species. Of course, the lone wolves must die before others may benefit. But in the long run, the ecosystem flourishes thanks to tumbleweed. (Pro-tip: add topsoil to disturbed sites where tumbleweed is in excess, mushroom compost all the better.)

My bad ass bitch had to die too. Being spiky was hurtful to me and others. I had to let go of the prickly shields and let others in. Through my yoga and meditation practice as well as time in the wilderness, I was able to let down my guard. Soon after, I met my husband and we’ve been together for 20 years. Eventually, I added more embodiment practices such as energy work and forest bathing to help further allow me to soften enough to be fully present in my body with all the hard feelings that I spent years learning how to avoid. But just as I now appreciate the tumbleweeds, I appreciate that person I used to be, holding compassion for my tumbleweed years and the lessons and nourishment they provided for who I am today.

Have you ever been a tumbleweed? Email me and let me know. I love to hear your stories.

Here’s a cover song from the 90s about vulnerability, if you’re feeling like a tumbleweed:

Interested in learning more about how nature can aid in embodiment and vulnerabliity? Check out my class Earth Sensory Perception to hone your nature intuition.