Pain and Self-Discovery

My Year at Folk High School: A Journey of Pain and Self-Discovery

I had dreamed of attending a folk high school ever since my mother shared her experiences. I imagined myself reliving the same joy and adventure she had, hoping to create my own unforgettable memories.

But what I encountered was beyond anything I had expected…

I applied to three outdoor adventure programs in Northern Norway:

• Vefsn Toppen FHS

• 69 Degrees North FHS

• Pasvik FHS

I was accepted into the first one, which, as it turned out, had a variety of different courses that would eventually become my advantage.

I had high ambitions for this year. I trained physically, believing that strength was the only thing that mattered. I broke in my hiking boots, practiced carrying my “home on my back,” and prepared for long treks. What I wasn’t prepared for, however, was a new teacher whose idea of outdoor life leaned more toward extreme sports rather than the classic hiking and campfire experiences I had envisioned.

This meant not only traditional outdoor activities but also dog sledding, a winter expedition to Børgefjell in -30°C, and a “live or let die” mentality. This was a program for tough individuals who could endure hardship.

At the time, I didn’t know I was highly sensitive. I didn’t realize that the last six months of the program would be a cycle of doctor visits, physiotherapy, bedridden days, and pushing myself through the pain just to keep up. I carried backpacks, dragged pulks, climbed, dog sledded, kited, spelunked, built shelters, went on five-day kayak trips, did river canoeing, summited mountains, and traversed glaciers.

That year taught me so much about myself, but it would take me another eleven years to fully understand that I am highly sensitive and clairsentient. I wasn’t just carrying my own pain—I was absorbing the pain of those around me.

I struggled immensely. My teacher resented me, and it was obvious. I was in pain, yet no one believed me. They thought I was faking it. But I wasn’t. I was just trying to survive, taking one day at a time, completely disconnected from my body, intuition, and higher self.

I felt ashamed, angry, and lost.

Despite it all, I made wonderful friends—though eventually, I lost touch with them. As I began to understand my true nature, I realized I didn’t fit into their world after folk high school. Or perhaps they simply grew tired of hearing about my struggles.

For years, I buried the memories of that year. But thanks to my guides, I was forced to care for myself. I played an important role in my group, always noticing the weakest, those on the sidelines, those who needed to be seen.

This became especially clear on our expedition to Børgefjell at -30°C. Our teacher had told us that regular ski pants would be sufficient—I should have chosen down pants. But I listened to her. When we arrived at our starting point, it was colder than expected. But it wasn’t until we reached a river that I truly felt it. My hands were so cold that I had to warm them in my teacher’s armpits.

We were paired up, one carrying a backpack while the other pulled a sled, meant to switch roles throughout the journey. But that didn’t happen. I carried everything the whole way. Our group of ten, including the teacher, split into two: three of us fell behind while the rest disappeared ahead. We followed their tracks.

I walked alongside a woman from Serbia who had only been on skis once before, carrying both a backpack and a sled and a man with a sled. She suddenly said she was so exhausted she wanted to die. I was leading the three of us and stopped, insisting we take a break for water and snacks before continuing.

"You’re not going to die here. You can do this," I told her.

I understood her pain. My feet felt like they were pulsing, swelling inside my borrowed ski boots. I didn’t know then that my feet were actually swollen, growing beyond the confines of my shoes.

We pressed on, finally spotting distant lights—it had to be the cabin where we would stay for the week while learning to kite and explore the area. By the time we arrived, it was dark. I was furious that the others had left us behind and confronted them about it, but my frustration was dismissed. I was exhausted and fed up.

When I took off my boots, my feet were ruined. I spent the entire week indoors, keeping the cabin warm and mentally preparing myself for the journey back. It got worse. I developed first-degree frostbite, my feet turned purple, and I spent two weeks bedridden, relying on crutches and feeling utterly hopeless.

That was the beginning of my battle to be believed. It led me down a path toward disability, making me question if this was all life had for me.

BUT!

That year taught me one crucial lesson: I MUST LISTEN TO MYSELF.

I had to reclaim my inner strength and accept that being clairsentient means I feel people’s emotions before even meeting them. I can help others, but only if I understand my own abilities and surround myself with those who see and respect me, rather than turn their backs or mock me.

Those who don’t understand me are not worth my time.

Are you highly sensitive or clairvoyant? Do you recognize yourself in this story?