Finding my way back to myself…
There are times in life when the things we take for granted are suddenly taken away from us. Sometimes it’s our health, our physical freedom, our sense of purpose, or simply the ability to do the things that make us feel most like ourselves.
We don’t always recognize how deeply these things are woven into our identity until we can no longer do them.
For me, that realization came on suddenly.
I’ve always been someone who finds great joy in movement and the outdoors. My weeks have traditionally been filled with weight training, hiking, trail running, yoga and exploring the forests, mountains and coastlines of Vancouver Island. Being physically active has never been just about fitness. It’s been about how I experience the world and how I connect with people. Curating my physical strength, more importantly, is how I maintain my inner strength.
But over the last few years, my body had other plans.
Following menopause, I began experiencing a number of physical challenges and extreme pain that eventually brought my active lifestyle to a grinding halt. February of 2025 I had a sudden onset of pain in my right shoulder. What began as discomfort turned into debilitating pain by June of 2025, and for a long stretch of time, even the simplest movements became difficult. Walking around the neighbourhood, gardening, lifting something from a shelf or simply finding a comfortable sleeping position could be excruciating. Luckily, I said to myself, it’s not my painting arm, it was only in my right shoulder…for now.
What surprised me most wasn’t simply how much I missed exercising. I missed the companionship of friends on a trail, the anticipation of planning an adventure, the feeling of being physically capable and the quiet pleasure of finding myself somewhere beautiful.
I hadn’t realized just how much of my emotional well-being was tied to those experiences.
At first, I thought, this surely won’t last long. What’s the saying? I have good news and I have bad news? I started to feel an easing of pain in my right shoulder by December. Yay! However, I could tell my left shoulder was beginning to seize up in the same way. By February of this year I found myself just sitting there in pain and overwhelmed by the thought of another year lost. And if it got as bad as my last one, I knew I wouldn’t be able to paint.
I realized I needed something to focus on, something to give me challenge and joy. I took up knitting! Since my childhood, I’ve wanted to learn and it was something I could do without the use of my shoulders. I found purpose in learning something new and in the simple satisfaction of creating something with my hands. It gave me a little corner of creativity and accomplishment during a time when so much of my usual routine had disappeared. With joy, I would exclaim to my family, look what I made!
It took a year of “elimination testing’ and a change in doctor to deduce that it was in fact frozen shoulder. I got a cortisone shot in March of 2026 and within days I had relief. It turns out that reclaiming my life required a little help from nature, a lot of determination, a very patient family, and a new doctor and a cortisone injection. I’m not sure which deserves more credit!
At first, I started small. A little vaccuming, a walk around the neighbourhood, an easy stroll through the woods. I was surprised by how much strength and muscle I’d lost, and I had to learn to be patient with myself.
Then I reconnected with some old friends who had continued exploring the trails and mountains around Vancouver Island. I can’t quite describe the joy of finding myself back in the woods with those women. There was so much laughter, so much catching up and so much anticipation around where we might go next.
My dear family bought me a pair of walking poles to help with my balance and confidence while I rebuilt my strength. Before long, we were setting some rather ambitious hiking goals. (I am amazed by muscle memory!)We started doing vertical repeats on Mount Benson, climbing 600 metres over just three kilometres, and gradually worked our way towards more challenging adventures.
Every step brought me hope.
And somewhere along the way, I began to understand something that I hadn’t fully appreciated before. Nature wasn’t simply where I went to exercise. It was where I went to feel better. It was my medicine, my reset button, my source of inspiration and a place where I could reconnect with myself.
The more time I spent outdoors, the more I felt myself returning.
There was the day we hiked to Century Sam, where the effort of reaching the top was rewarded by a glacier lake so incredibly calm and still that it seemed to hold its own little world. The colours were almost impossibly saturated. As a painter, that kind of intensity of colour makes my heart flutter. We also stumbled upon a massive bed of wildflowers, where we, five grown women proceeded to have the silliest photo shoot imaginable, lying amongst the flowers and posing like glamorous models. We laughed our way through the entire afternoon.
Then there was Jewel Lake on Mount Arrowsmith. This was probably the most physically demanding hike of my summer. The descent into the bowl where the lake sits was steep, loose and slippery, and I was genuinely terrified. But I did it. My daughter was with me, along with two friends, and sharing that experience with her made it so meaningful. She’s my best friend, and having her alongside me for these adventures is one of life’s great gifts. In fact, it’s the reason I made the commitment to an active life. As a “older mother”, I wanted to be sure to be strong enough to play with my daughter.
When we finally reached the lake, we discovered that none of us had brought swimsuits. That didn’t stop us. We stripped down to our underwear and jumped into the freezing glacier water. The shrieking, the laughter and the sheer ridiculousness of it all made for one of my favourite memories of the summer.
These are the moments of importance to me.
Not because they were extraordinary achievements, but because I want to be fully present in my life.
Other moments were quieter. A family hike through Paradise Meadows in Strathcona, out to Lady Lake and taking in the beautiful alpine scenery. An afternoon at Botanical Beach, exploring the incredible rock formations and tide pools revealed by the receding ocean. Evenings at Piper’s Lagoon, watching the sunsets with my family as the sky continually transformed, playing cards on a blanket and taking photographs of the changing light.
We also spent a summer getaway in Port Renfrew with friends. Our waterfront rental overlooked the mouth of the Gordon River and Pacheedaht Beach. Every morning, I’d take my coffee outside, settle in with my knitting and simply watch the fish jumping in the mouth of the river. In the evenings, we’d gather for cocktails. The kitchen window opened directly onto the patio, so we’d serve drinks through it like a little seaside drive-through bar. It was wonderfully ridiculous and exactly the sort of thing that makes a holiday memorable.
And then there are the places that have become part of the fabric of our lives. Yellow Point Lodge, where my husband and I have celebrated our anniversary for 25 years. Over that time, we’ve built a close-knit community of friends who return year after year. We hike, play games, share meals and laugh endlessly. It has become a place of respite, belonging and familiarity. A reminder that some of our most treasured connections are built simply by showing up, year after year.
Looking back, I realize that my return to the outdoors wasn’t just about regaining physical strength. It was about rediscovering the things that make life feel rich and meaningful.
It was about the anticipation of an upcoming hike, the camaraderie of old friends, the beauty of a still alpine lake, the repetition of waves pounding against the shore and the warmth of a sunset. It was about having something to look forward to, somewhere to go and people to share it with and a deeper appreciation for it all.
I think many of us experience some version of this throughout our lives. It might be a health challenge, a period of change, a loss, or a time when life simply doesn’t unfold the way we imagined. And sometimes it’s the things we once considered ordinary that we find ourselves longing for most.
For women navigating perimenopause and post-menopause, there can be an especially profound shift in our relationship with our bodies. The changes aren’t always predictable, and sometimes we find ourselves having to reconsider what strength, health and well-being look like. I’ve certainly had to do that.
But I’ve also learned that reclaiming yourself doesn’t necessarily mean returning to the person you were before. Sometimes it means discovering a different perspective, developing a little more patience and finding new appreciation for the things that bring you joy. And yes, I’m even loving vacuuming again. lol.
This collection of eight paintings is a reflection of that journey.
Each painting holds a little piece of this summer. You’ll notice it in the quirky titles of these paintings. A detail about the place paired with a word prompt of gratitude. Together, they tell a story about finding my way back to the things I love and characteristics I fought to hold onto.
Perhaps that’s why I paint.
I want to create paintings that carry those feelings into our homes. Pieces that invite us to slow down, remember, reflect and reconnect with the places and experiences that have shaped us. I love the idea that an original painting can become a little vessel for our own memories, holding a feeling or a moment long after we’ve left the landscape behind.
The Reclamation Collection is ultimately a celebration of finding my way back to myself. Of rebuilding strength, rediscovering joy and recognizing just how much beauty there is in the simple act of being present.
And sometimes, the greatest lessons comes from losing something in order to truly love feeling like yourself again.
Here’s to reclaiming the things that make us feel alive.
Footnote: Some of you may have noticed that it’s been a long stretch since I released a collection. Despite the cortisone helping, painting has been a challenge. You’ll see that most of the paintings are small. I found it easier to paint flat on a table top, so I didn't need to raise my arm as much. In fact, I had to stop painting altogether in September as the cortisone wore off. Thank you to Dr. Simpson and to especially Dr. Mell for getting me in within a week for a second shot. That intervention helped me complete this collection.
Creatively yours, Ronei