To Hemorrhage or to Calcify: Is That the Question? Two Ways We Lose Our Life—and the Quiet Third Way the Forest Teaches

Most of us are not exhausted because we care too much.

And most of us are not numb because we care too little.

We are exhausted because our energy has nowhere to rest.

And we are numb because it has nowhere to move.

There are two common ways human life loses its vitality. One spills downward into exhaustion, while the other spills upward into conquest. They often masquerade as virtues. They are praised, rewarded, even spiritualized. But both are signs that something essential has gone missing.

When we spill downward, people admire us for our over-functioning, over-giving, the way we put others over self. What they do not see however is the dissolution of our giving, the diffusion of self when we over-function, or the way we quietly bleed-out, until it feels like nothing left of us remains.

When we spill upward, we take great care of the self. We climb the ladder. We are successful and we achieve. Those around us are impressed with what we build, what is accomplished, and how sturdy we remain no matter how difficult the storm. What they don’t see are the bruises we left behind, the bodies in the concrete of our foundations, or what success costs the people around us. The costs are often in our relationships.

For our time here, I will refer to these two ways of being as hemorrhage and calcification.

Understanding the difference—and learning how to live between them is at the heart of the work we do at Deep Calls to Deep. This practice, at least for me, isn’t meant to be a cure all. There are no magic potions here to take while we scamper in the woods. We aren’t chasing Neverland, we are becoming.

Let’s go deeper.

Hemorrhage: When Energy Cannot Stay

Hemorrhage is not passion. It is loss disguised as intensity.

In the human body, a hemorrhage is a medical emergency. Blood is no longer circulating, it is seeping and seeping quickly. Blood that cannot travel to where it is meant to land cannot nourish what it was meant to nourish. When hemorrhaging, what looks like abundance is actually depletion. The system is not too alive, too rich with meaning, or too good, rather, this system is failing to contain its life.

In the human experience, when our souls begin to hemorrhage, it looks like:

• chronic over-giving

• urgency that never rests

• performance that cannot pause

• empathy without boundaries

• goodness that spills outward faster than it can return

Hemorrhaging people are often admired. They are generous. Available. Always responding. Always showing up. They feel deeply and give freely. But eventually, hemorrhage leaves the body hollowed out. There is no replenishment, or at least not enough to keep a person going. The return valves are under-functioning, the heart, no matter how well intentioned loses rhythm.

And yet, in our culture, because this hemorrhage of goodness and presence feels alive, we mistake it for health. It is really anything but – it is a pathology masked in health.

Calcification: When Energy Cannot Move

Calcification is not strength. It is protection hardened into rigidity. In the body, calcified tissue does not adapt. It resists movement, blood in calcified arteries cannot flow, much less respond. Everything has grinded to a halt. What our bodies meant to protect, now prevents circulation. The proteins that made us strong, turn against us and our strength becomes our own undoing.

In the life of a human soul, calcification looks like:

• emotional withdrawal

• unquestionable certainty

• strength that struggles to soften

• systems that value order and winning, over life itself

• boundaries that no longer listen to what is kept out

Calcified people are often respected. They are steady and they can be counted on. Calcified people have often looked full on the chaos of life and remain controlled. Their lives are predictable and therefore serve us all as a refuge in times of storm. Being calcified, they do not “leak.” What you see is what you get, they preserve energy and do not over-extend. It is why we admire them.

But calcification carries its own danger.

When energy cannot move, it turns cold—stagnant even.

When feeling becomes locked down, if it appears at all, turns toward the abstract.

When certainty replaces responsiveness, the bodies of others are easily forgotten.

Calcification does not erupt or spill out. It authorizes. At this is its biggest danger.

Why These Two Are Often Confused

Hemorrhage and calcification look like opposites, but they are siblings. Both are failures of containment. Containment is not repression, nor is it control. Containment is the form that allows life to remain relational.

A hemorrhage inside us loses life by giving it away too fast.

A calcification inside us loses life by holding it too tightly.

Neither can sustain love for a lifetime. Neither can be fully present without collapse or control. Neither can sustain joy or take us where we feel we were meant to be. What we need is not less energy or more discipline. What we need circulation.

The Forest Knows This Without Explaining It

This is where forest therapy becomes more than metaphor.A healthy forest is not one where growth is unchecked. Nor is it one where growth has stopped. It is a system of rhythm, return, and restraint.

In a forest:

• sap rises and falls

• leaves harden, release, and return to soil

• roots interlace themselves beneath the surface

• all life is negotiating space together, not dominating it

When a forest hemorrhages, it erodes. Nutrients wash away. Roots are exposed. What looked like abundance collapses upon itself. When a forest calcifies, it becomes monoculture, a kind of rigid sameness bent against harm. And yet, in all that sameness, it remains vulnerable to disease because nothing can adapt, grow, or change.

But a living forest holds energy without hoarding it and this healthy forest releases energy without losing itself. This is why our nervous system settles among trees. Our bodies recognize a form of life that knows how to stay – how to circulate life between either extreme. We do not over-give, over-function, or leak. Nor do we dominate, confuse, or seek sameness. The forest reminds us, that we move, and that our movement always needs a place to land.

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The Third Way: Circulation as Contained Aliveness

There is a third way between hemorrhage and calcification. It is contained aliveness. This is the way of circulation. Things move at their proper pace, neither hemorrhaging nor calcifying. In this space of balance and harmony, we can lean into --

• strength that can also soften around the edges

• openness that does not leak into other’s domains

• generosity that can say no with gentleness

• boundaries that still listen and stay present

• presence without urgency or vigilance

Contained aliveness, circulation, these do not rush. They do not freeze. They respond. This is the kind of vitality forest therapy invites—not by fixing us, but by re-tuning us. Our breath slows because nothing is demanding it speed up. Our attention widens because nothing is trying to seize it.

Our bodies remember that life moves in seasons, not emergencies.

Why This Matters to Deep Calls to Deep

At Deep Calls to Deep, we are not trying to make the world calmer so we can all return to the same patterns more efficiently. We are not teaching people to “manage stress.” And we most certainly are not offering escape.

We are helping each relearn how to hold life without losing it. We are reclaiming our bodies in sacred time, learning how to circulate and hold the goodness we all feel.

Our forest therapy practice is intentional about creating conditions where:

• hemorrhaging people can feel where their edges are again

• calcified people can feel movement in their hearts return safely

• bodies can remember that restraint and vitality are not enemies

This work is slow on purpose.

Gentle on purpose.

Rooted on purpose.

Because life that is truly alive does not need to be forced—or defended.

It needs to be held.

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An Invitation for All of Us!

If you find yourself exhausted, you may not be weak.

If you find yourself numb, you may not be broken.

You may simply be living without circulation.

The forest knows another way.

And when you are ready,

let's walk there together.