What the Camino de Santiago Taught Me About Pain, Presence, and Power

Before I ever stepped foot on the Camino de Santiago, I thought I understood pain. I had lived through foster care, walked out of toxic marriages, and buried pieces of myself I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back. Pain was familiar. I had carried it like a second skin.

The 500-mile walk across the north of Spain introduced me to a different kind of pain.

Here’s what surprised me: That pain brought me present, and that presence brought me power.

There’s something primal about walking with everything you need on your back. When your body hurts and there’s no shortcut, you have to be with yourself. You have to listen in.

That’s when I started to hear the parts of me I had ignored for years.

On the Camino, I couldn’t numb. I couldn’t distract myself. The only way forward was through, and in that silence, I found pieces of myself I didn’t know I’d left behind.

I remembered how often I’d betrayed my own needs just to feel loved. I saw the ways I’d overachieved to feel worthy. I felt the weight of grief I’d never made time to feel, and I let it come.

I didn't have to explain it to anyone. I just had to keep walking. That’s the thing about the Camino. It strips you down, not just physically, but emotionally, and once it does, you realize: You are the one who carries yourself forward.

That is power.

Not the kind of power that comes from accolades or admiration, but the quiet, grounded kind that comes from knowing you can walk through pain and keep going.

So yes, the Camino hurt (you should see the size blisters I got), but it also healed, and I will never forget who I became on that trail.