Walking My Path – Lessons and Little Insights from the Camino de Santiago

Since 2020, walking the Camino de Santiago had been on my list. Back then, when I quit my job for the first time, I wanted to walk the Portuguese route. But then I extended my work contract – and postponed the adventure for later.

In the following years, I traveled a lot, and somehow it was never the right moment to walk the Camino. Even though it kept reappearing on my love-to-do list, the timing never seemed to align. But in 2025, the Camino began showing up in my life again and again.

I even considered going to Santiago in April this year. A friend told me back then,“That would be such a wonderful thing to do. I’ve always wanted to walk it too.”

What had always held me back wasn’t the walk itself – I trusted my body. It was time. Five weeks! For someone as impatient as me, that felt like an eternity.

A few months later, I was in France. I first visited a friend in Marseille, then planned to surprise the man I was totally crazy in love with. Well – romance quickly turned into a storm. Within a single day, everything changed. I was left standing there, heartbroken, asking myself: Where to now?

My old reflex would have been to suppress it, to move on quickly. But this time, I wanted it to be different. I wanted to learn how to let go with love – without drama, without losing myself. To accept things as they were, unconditionally.

On the train back to Toulouse, I spontaneously searched for connections. San Sebastián caught my eye. Why not? I had always wanted to go there. So I booked it, and a few hours later I arrived at the bus station.

The next morning, I was sitting in a cozy café with my journal in front of me.  A gentle sadness and confusion still lingered in my body. I started writing down all the possible things I could do next. At the very top of the list: Camino de Santiago.

I had to laugh. My friend in Marseille had said to me when we said goodbye, “Maybe you’ll end up walking it.” And there it was again – that quiet inner impulse.

When I told my mom and I was still doubting, she said: “Do it. You have the time now.”

And I thought, Yes – this feels right. I will do it now.

One problem remained: my huge backpack filled with my laptop, microphone and all the things you don’t need on a pilgrimage. I asked around everywhere if I could store it somewhere – no luck. Then a hostel employee said: “You can ship it to Santiago by mail.”  It sounded crazy – but it was actually possible! For 36 euros I could send my entire 15 kg backpack to Santiago, storage included. That felt like the final sign. I was very happy.  Everything else I could buy at Decathlon – after all, I hardly had any sportswear or even a proper hiking backpack with me.

Two days later, I was already on a bus to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, the starting point of the Camino Francés. The doubts came with me again: “Shouldn’t you go back to Germany? Work on your business? Do something sensible for once?” But my adventurous heart replied, “No. This is the right decision. The rest will find its way. At the end of the way you will know the answer.”

Even the journey there felt magical. The Pyrenees looked like a gateway to another world. At the pilgrims’ office, they asked me if I had booked any accommodation in advance. “No,” I said. I wanted to let myself be carried by the journey.

No plans. No control – something that was very unlike me.

In the end I booked my accomandations mostly two or three days ahead - out of convenience. 

Lessons from the Camino

That very first evening, I got my first lesson: After just five minutes of small talk, a guy from my guesthouse invited me to his room for “a few hugs.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or shake my head. And I realized: not everyone walks the Camino for spiritual or religious reasons. Then came the second night – an entire orchestra of snorers. At some point, another roommate and I escaped to the balcony with pillows and blankets. It was cold, noisy, and uncomfortable – but still better than trying to sleep through the snoring. As it turned out, sleep deprivation would become one of my main themes on the Camino. For ten days, I struggled – until someone gifted me a pair of earplugs. Game changer! But soon I noticed that even when I slept in private rooms, my sleep didn’t improve much. Quite the opposite – the restlessness stayed.

My friend Jen then said to me, “It’s not the snorers, Kathrin. It’s you.” And she was right.

One evening, in a small bar, I met an elderly couple from Oregon. I told her about my sleep problem. The woman looked at me gently and said, “You need to learn to protect your energy. You absorb everyone’s emotions. In the morning, imagine putting on a protective cloak around you.”

So simple, yet I felt deeply understood. That was my first little bit of Camino magic.

The next day, I continued walking alone. For me, as a harmony-seeking people pleaser, that wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to leave my group behind. But I wanted to follow my own rhythm. To listen to my inner voice.

Up to that point, I had no physical problems – no blisters, no knee pain, no exhaustion. But then my hip started to hurt. And as we know, the hips store our emotions – they wanted to be heard. None of the towns along the way really invited me to take a rest day, so I reluctantly decided to have my backpack sent to the next stop. I had just read in a book that almost everyone on the Camino “cheats” at least once – by taking a bus, a taxi, or sending their backpack ahead.

And so I learned my next lesson: Sometimes we have to adjust our expectations – even when things don’t go exactly as planned. And that’s okay. Letting go is part of the journey.

Letting go also showed up at mealtimes. From my sugar-free and organic diet in India and Tenerife, I found myself eating bocadillos and tortilla española every single day. At first reluctantly, then with growing pleasure. The Camino has its own diet – simple, practical, sometimes heavy and gloriously unhealthy.

I began to understand what it means to accept what is. To stop resisting. There would always be time later to eat clean again –for now, my body was walking long distances every day, and that was enough.

Boundaries also became a constant theme. Traveling had always been my time for solitude – but on the Camino, I was constantly surrounded by people. I loved the community, but it also overwhelmed me. I craved time alone – and felt guilty for wanting it. Once I was so overwhelmed with everything, I explained myself to my friend Joseph and he just said to me, “Take the time you need. We like you just the same.”

The Everyday Camino Life

Every day was different – new beds, new faces, new energies, new places. Every morning, we packed our bags in the dark. Every night, we hoped for a bit of quiet. Sleep quality varied dramatically.

White bed sheets became the new luxury. I learned to appreciate a good shower, clean bathrooms, and the simple grace of silence. And I also learned to accept that some people start loud conversations at 5 a.m. and that not everyone washes their hands after using the restroom. But that’s the beauty of it – after a while, none of it matters anymore or at least isn't that strong anymore. Priorities shift and it becomes the “new normal”.

Suddenly, the greatest joy becomes a café con leche in the sunshine or a bed without a plastic mattress cover. What matters is the moment. The connection. And yes – the acceptance of every emotion that arises along the way.

And the real goal? Just to keep walking and embracing every experience.

One of the most moving moments was at Cruz de Ferro – the Iron Cross at 1,531 meters altitude. Pilgrims leave stones there as symbols of what they want to release. I stood there, holding my stone, and cried. So many stories, so much pain, so much grief in the air.

That same day, I bought new shoes – my old ones were falling apart.

Letting go of the old, stepping into the new.

Another profound experience was in O Cebreiro, shortly before Galicia, I suddenly saw people shouting and running. I looked left – a car was rolling backward straight toward me! I already saw it about to run me over. But somehow, everything turned into slow motion. Something pulled me to the side, and the car just grazed me. A few scratches, a trembling body – and suddenly I found myself surrounded by an Italian film crew shooting a movie with a famous comedian on the Camino. The shock stayed with me. Even today, I still look twice before crossing a street and avoid cars reversing. Still in shock, I sat down in the simple stone church nearby. It felt as if I had just been reborn – shaken awake, filled with gratitude, reminded again of my true purpose in this life. And of how precious it all is – that life is a gift, every single day.

The Arrival, and What Came After

In the final days, I decided to separate from the group. I wanted to walk alone – to integrate everything, to prepare quietly for what was to come.

On the last day, it poured with rain. Soaked to the skin, I finally reached Santiago. And there it was: the cathedral. I waited for the big emotion to rise — but what came instead was emptiness. Everyone around me (including my family and friends at home) seemed happier about my arrival than I was. After nearly five weeks on the road, I expected something profound — a deep revelation, a spiritual breakthrough, a wave of release for my heartbreak. But there was… nothing.

The Camino itself had been beautiful —  the people, the landscapes, the encounters. Yet I felt disappointed. Nothing had really changed — or so I thought.

Then I remembered what Hape Kerkeling once said: that when he arrived in Santiago, he felt as if nothing had changed — and yet, afterward, everything was different.

That was true for me as well.

The real transformation came afterward — on the way to the ocean. In Finisterre, “the end of the world,”

Joseph and I sat on a rock, looking out at the sea. We talked about what we wanted to let go of. And I asked myself: What was it that I wanted to release?

• The fear of showing my full light —of being truly visible with all that I am.

• The fear of taking up space, of speaking my truth, even when it’s uncomfortable.

• The doubt that what I do is never enough, that my abilities go unseen.

• The belief that I have to keep proving myself again and again.

• The shame of having chosen a path so different from others — and the constant urge to justify it.

• The guilt of not pleasing everyone, of not always being likable.

• And the need to explain myself for it all.

Even though, deep down, I already knew that authenticity is far more important than adaptation. But saying all of this out loud — in front of someone — felt liberating.

A quiet inner peace arose inside me. I had understood it before, intellectually, but now I felt it: It’s never about the destination. It’s always about the journey.

Until then, I had lived mostly in my masculine energy — goal-oriented, driven, controlling. Even the Camino had been a “project” I wanted to complete. But when I reached the end and felt that emptiness, I realized something essential:

Fulfillment doesn’t come from doing — it comes from being.

And I was reminded of Astrid Lindgren’s words:

“And then you must have time to just sit and look at things.”

I learned that I could soften again — that gentleness is not weakness. That the feminine is a power of receiving, feeling, and trusting. It is intuition, creativity, and compassion.

I can feel.

I can receive.

I can simply be.

I don’t need to plan or fight for everything.

I can show up, take space, without asking for permission.

I can feel it all — joy, pain, fear, love.

And real freedom means giving myself permission to simply exist.

People often say: The Camino never ends. And it’s true.

Since I have arrived at the ocean in Muxía, so much has shifted —  almost magically.

Things I had longed for for weeks, months, years began to flow to me effortlessly.

I’ve learned — and keep learning — that patience is not stagnation; it’s part of the path.

That trust means not needing to understand or control everything.

That I can enjoy the journey instead of trying to plan it.

That I can receive support and trust others to hold me.

That I can surrender fully to my own life, knowing that I am guided.

That life always brings what I need, not necessarily what I want.

And that life is allowed to feel easy — because abundance is always there.

Scarcity exists only in the mind.

We are all pilgrims — pilgrims of life. The Camino de Santiago is only a symbol; the real path is life itself.

When I think back on those 35 days — the rain, the sun, the snorers, the community, the red wine with cola, the frustration, the laughter, the tears, the silence — I feel nothing but gratitude.

Gratitude for every encounter. For every insight. For every step of growth.

Now I know: We are all on our way — step by step, sometimes tired and exhausted, sometimes euphoric and excited, but always guided.

And maybe that’s what makes the Camino so special: it reminds us that we’ve been on the path all along. There is no arrival. Only the next step.

Maybe these questions can help you reflect on your own journey too:

• What would it mean for you to slow down and trust the path you're on, even when you can’t see the destination?

• Where in your life you're still trying to prove your worth, instead of simply being?

• What are you ready to release, so that something new can unfold?

• How do you define “arrival” — and could it be that you're already where you need to be?

• Where can you allow more ease and softness instead of control and striving?

• What does trust look like for you — in life, in others, and in yourself?

• How can you remind yourself that abundance is always there — that you're always guided?