‘Only 16 minutes by car?” became our running joke on the Camino. Each day, as we planned our next stage, we’d check the map to see how far we had to walk. Google Maps, ever practical, would always tell us first how long it would take to drive. Sixteen minutes by car — or six hours by foot! Some days, I’ll admit, hopping in that car was a tempting thought.

In early October 2025, four fellow members of the SIRPA (Stress Illness Recovery Practitioners Association) board, my fiancé Matt, and I set off on the Portuguese Camino. We started in Tui, a small town on the Portuguese–Spanish border, and walked 119 kilometers (about 78 miles) to Santiago de Compostela.

None of us had ever done anything quite like this before. For me, it came with a good dose of excitement — and a fair bit of apprehension.

The MindBody Challenge

I wasn’t entirely sure my body could handle it. And if I’m honest, I carried a quiet fear of failing. When you’ve recovered from Chronic Pain/Fibromyalgia and now work as a MindBody practitioner, there’s this subtle pressure to appear like you’ve got it all together. To always be the “success story.”

But recovery isn’t about perfection — it’s about compassion, awareness, and trust in your body. Still, that’s easier said than done, especially when your body’s protective mechanisms and old beliefs get stirred up along the way. (I’ll come back to that later.)

Walking the Way

While many people walk the Camino as a religious pilgrimage, we simply fancied a long, meaningful walk. Our journey took us through charming towns, along shaded woodland paths, past roadside cafés, and over the rolling hills of Galicia in northern Spain.

As first-time pilgrims, we made some mindful choices for comfort and safety. We stayed in Airbnbs instead of hostels (the famous albergues), and we had our main luggage transported each day rather than carrying it all. These small decisions helped me feel more at ease — and, to be honest, more likely to finish! We may not have slept perfectly every night, but we rested well enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Each morning, I loved the simplicity of just putting on my day pack and setting off. We usually skipped breakfast and found a café a few kilometers into the walk — the first coffee and croissant of the day always tasted like pure joy.

We were lucky with the weather too: mostly sunshine, with just one day of drizzle. The heat, however, was a challenge — especially for me.

The Body I Walk In

This part feels tender to write. I’m living in a body that’s larger than I’d like it to be, and I often give myself a hard time about that. The world can be very judgmental toward people in bigger bodies — but, truthfully, my harshest critic is often the voice inside my own head.

And let me tell you: on the Camino, you spend a lot of time with your inner voice.

I share this because I know that same self-critical voice often shows up in chronic pain and stress-related conditions. I’ve been there, done that, got the t-shirt. The judgments, the fears, the beliefs about not being “enough” — they can all become part of the body’s stress response.

So as I began this journey, I carried not just my day pack, but also that familiar self-doubt. I was surrounded by wonderful, understanding people — all SIRPA practitioners who “get it” — but that didn’t always quiet my inner critic.

When the Body Speaks

What transpired was not quite what I expected.

Day one was a gentle start — just nine miles, mostly flat. It felt good to finally be walking after all the anticipation. But despite breaking in my boots during our training walks, the heat that first day made my feet swell more than usual. Before long, the dreaded blisters appeared.

I didn’t realise it at the time, but I’d also laced my boots too tightly — something I wouldn’t discover until day two or three. The result? Pain with every step for the rest of the journey.

Now, when you work in pain recovery, that’s… a little disappointing. You like to think you’re beyond this kind of thing, right? But there I was, limping my way through Galicia, feeling like a walking (and slightly ironic) case study.

Because of the blisters, I tried to adapt my gait to avoid pressure on my feet — no small task when you’re walking for hours each day. Even after switching between three pairs of shoes, my body had already learned a new, awkward way of moving. By the time my third pair felt comfortable on the blisters, my legs were sore from walking like, well, a dressage horse.

The MindBody Dilemma

Here’s where things got interesting. From a MindBody perspective, we know that all pain is created by the brain — it’s the body’s way of protecting us from perceived danger. But when you’re deep in it, trying to tell the difference between physical injury and brain-generated pain can be tricky.

I had clear physical causes — blisters, swelling, heat — but there was also another layer: the inner voice. The one that said, “You’re heavy. You’re too slow. You might not finish. You might fail.” (That’s the polite version of what it actually said.)

And of course, that kind of internal chatter doesn’t exactly help the pain. In fact, it can turn up the volume.

So there I was — sore feet, aching legs, swollen ankles — and a mind running wild with self-criticism and fear. Was I pushing too hard? Was something seriously wrong? Would I be the one who couldn’t make it?

Intellectually, I knew what was happening. I knew how fear and self-judgment can amplify pain. But in that moment, I wasn’t the practitioner — I was the pilgrim, trying to make sense of my body’s messages while just putting one foot in front of the other.

Finding My Way Back to Myself

Thank goodness for the knowledge I’ve gained through SIRPA and the MindBody work I’ve done over the years. Thank goodness for friends — for their wisdom, humour, and kindness on the days when I needed it most. And thank goodness for the tools and understanding that reminded me, even in pain, that I could choose compassion.

When the self-criticism crept in, I practised speaking to myself gently. When fear rose up, I anchored into my breath. And when the sensations in my body felt overwhelming, I reminded myself that discomfort doesn’t necessarily mean danger.

Sometimes that meant simply pausing to notice my surroundings — the crunch of gravel underfoot, the rhythm of footsteps, our Camino song (see below), the scent of eucalyptus trees, the laughter from my companions ahead. Little moments of presence that softened the edges of pain.

And somehow, step by step, that was enough.

Because of all this — the knowledge, the kindness, the connection, the self-compassion — I finished the Camino.

I made it to Santiago.

Our Camino song…

“Step by Step, Side by Side”

Six hearts, one road, the journey has begun,
Rising with the morning, walking toward the sun.
Every stone beneath us, every sky so wide,
We carry one another, step by step, side by side.

Step by step, side by side,
On this way we learn to fly.
Through the mountains, far and wide,
Hope’s our song, and love’s our guide.

Tui to Santiago, the story that we weave,
Every mile behind us, something we believe.
Voices join together, no need to hide,
We’re stronger on the journey, step by step, side by side.

Step by step, side by side,
On this way we learn to fly.
Through the valleys, deep with pride,
Hope’s our song, and love’s our guide.

The road may bend, the hills may rise,
But laughter shines in weary eyes.
The shell, the star, the pilgrim’s sign,
We walk as one, our souls aligned.

Step by step, side by side,
On this way we learn to fly.
Through the dawn and eventide,
We’ll reach the square with hearts alive.

Buen Camino