A journey of self-discovery

There are three of us staying in this secluded cabin in the woods. We have come here to hide from our L.A. lives, write and be inspired by California’s natural gifts. One of us is married, one of us is debating her status and the other is very single. None of us grew up here, but we all feel like we could use some fresh air.

Two of us are the kind of gutsy gals who take off on a six-mile mountain trail with one bottle of water, no food and light jackets. We did not set out to hike the six miles. We’ve got less than two hours before sundown.

About an hour into our journey, we are delighted to be in the woods among the junipers and white firs, beautiful boulders and the vistas of blue-green Big Bear Lake in the distance. We regretfully decide it’s time to head back. So down we go. Along the way, sometimes we talk. About growing up in Florida and Louisiana. About heartache. About writing.

Sometimes we are silent, mindful only of our heartbeats as we tread down, down, down toward a crossing that should look familiar. We agree to venture one way and realize 20 minutes later that we are heading the wrong way. We retrace our steps and keep moving as the last vestiges of sunshine peek through the clouds.

It’s getting pretty dark now, and our surroundings aren’t recognizable, but we figure everything looks different at night. Out here, the only light we have is the color screen on my cellphone. The trail winds downhill, and that is encouraging. Until it goes up, up, up again.

“The village lights are that way,” Cassandra says, trying to find her bearings. She looks up and spots Mars.

I’ve never prayed to a planet, but desperation calls for planetary pleas. As we march on, I look up and beg, “Mars, lead the way. Get us out of here.”

“Was that growling?” Cassandra asks.

“I don’t want to know,” I answer.

We walk, jog, run. Now we see houses. That makes us feel safer. We eventually come to a road. With Mars hovering over us, somehow we have landed directly in front of our cabins. This is not where our trail began, but we are very happy this is where we have finished. Now that we are safe, we can laugh.

On our last morning, when we are supposed to be sharing our weekend’s worth of prose, we can’t stop talking about our parents and the little girls that shaped us into the women we’ve become. As we peel layer after layer and discover one another’s hot buttons, I am struck by what I learn.

Cassandra is on a side of the sisterhood I never knew existed. It’s not the men in my sweet friend’s life who have wounded and caused her to doubt herself. It’s a lifetime of betrayals and jealousy by women that has led her to believe that female friendships are impossible to sustain. She can name man after man who has given her happiness, loyalty, caring. She can list woman after woman who has disappointed her, broken her trust, made her feel unlovable.

This is foreign to Ava and me. We are more like the “Sex and the City” crew, lost without our girl power to help us sort through the Sordid Man Files. When we describe negative experiences with men who were not able to handle our strong personalities and focused ambition, Cassandra tells us she has experienced the same with countless female friends who turned on her when her successes made them feel inadequate. “I don’t know where I’d be without my girlfriends,” says Ava.

Me neither. I think back to a few years ago, when part of my charm included spending hours bashing men. Thinking the worst of men. And, interestingly, attracting more and more men who lived up to my expectations. I tell my friend what wiser women used to tell me: “You can’t judge them all by the actions of a few. There are some good ones out there.”

The morning quickly blends into afternoon, and it is time to pack up. Time has run out before we are able to share the words we wrote privately in our rooms, in the woods and beside the lake. We jokingly refer to our hours of discussion as “group therapy,” but deep down we all appreciate its value. One of us took a leap to let two new women into her life; the other two faced new truths. It doesn’t matter if you’re from Mars or Venus, we are all capable of inflicting and feeling pain.

We hit the trail home, this time certain of where we are going.

Maria Elena Fernandez can be contacted at maria.elena.fernandez@latimes.com.