One of my favorite things to do is to hike. I haven’t gone much this summer because admittedly I’m a fair weather hiker and don’t like to go in the heat. But this was a perfect morning for a hike. My girls wanted to hike the Mount Sanitas trail, a popular but challenging trail in Boulder. While the trails is only 1.5 miles one way, the elevation increases 1300 feet. I call it nature’s stair-master.
We hiked this trail together last year. It was tough, and my girls handled it like rock stars. We went on a warm, sunny day and took lots of breaks to drink water and catch our breaths. We made it all the way to the top. I felt so proud of them for persevering, and they felt proud of themselves too. I thought we might have a similar experience this time.
Kaitlyn, my 10-year old daughter, has incredible endurance and strength, and she led the way. She could have run up that mountain, but she knew that her sister and I couldn’t. She kept asking if she should slow down, and I encouraged her to go at whatever pace she wanted and we would do the same. Kaitlyn likes to keep her people close, so she kept slowing down to wait for us. She was so patient and encouraging with me and her sister as we followed behind her.
My seven-year-old Corinne has a much more sensitive body type and gets overheated and out of breath more easily. Plus she is two years younger than her sister and has to work harder to keep up. She got to set the pace and ask for breaks whenever she needed. We know the meltdowns that happen when she gets overwhelmed, so we respected her pace. I knew she was trying as hard as she could, and to be honest, I couldn’t have gone any faster than her.
I followed behind the girls, encouraging them at their own pace. They wanted to talk the entire way, but I struggled to catch my breath and couldn’t engage in conversation. We passed a lot of people who told them how tough they were for doing that hike.
About two-thirds of the way up the mountain, after an intense climbing stretch, I started to feel dizzy. I had been breathing heavily the entire way, but the strain moved from my chest to my head. Afraid of falling, I stopped and sat down on a rock. I felt nauseous and thought I might throw up.
The girls suggested taking a snack break, and I felt relieved to have some time to process through what was happening to me. In addition to the physical sensations I felt, I was having a strong emotional reaction as well.
First, I tried to figure out why I was feeling this way so I could ‘fix’ it and move on. Maybe I was dehydrated and need to drink more water. Or I was hungry and would feel better after eating a snack. Maybe I was just breathing too hard and needed to rest longer. But I was too nauseous to eat, and I had been drinking water and taking breaks the whole way.
Next I worried that if I kept going and the dizziness got worse that I would pass out and my girls would have to figure out what to do on their own. I played through the scenarios in my head: the trail was busy and they could ask someone for help who could call 911 and have me carried off the mountain; they could use my phone to call a friend to come get them and we would all be okay. My logical brain created a plan to solve the problem. It was a crazy solution, but one where we wouldn’t have to turn around before we reached the top of the mountain.
Then I started to think about why it mattered so much that we made it to the top. Shame. I was feeling ashamed about not being able to finish a hike that I had done many, many times. It was only three miles. Was I really that out of shape? How could my body fail me? Am I being a wimp? What is wrong with me? Those old ‘not good enough’ lines played through my head.
I so badly wanted to show my girls that I am a tough mom. I didn’t want them to feel embarrassed or ashamed by me. I wanted to finish the hike with them and have our picture at the summit, capturing another wonderful memory we created together. But I knew I need to listen to my body and turning around was the safe thing to do.
My girls weren’t ashamed of me at all. Instead, they showed me compassion. “It’s okay, Mom, we should turn around,” they told me. I could tell Corinne was tired too, and Kaitlyn was worried about the storm clouds moving in around us. And maybe they were a little scared of something happening to me and being left alone. We were having so much fun together they didn’t even care if we made it all the way to the top.
I struggled with my shame and embarrassment most of the way back down the trail. People were so impressed with my girls for doing that hike and some asked if we made it all the way to the top. “Almost, but Mom got dizzy,” I would tell them. I wanted to take the blame and let people know how tough they were. As if I had to prove something to these complete strangers.
Not once did Kaitlyn and Corinne say they wish we had gone all the way to the top. They just kept talking about how much fun they had. We challenged ourselves and connected with each other in the process. Summit or no summit, we all learned something about ourselves. We were able to show compassion for ourselves and each other when it got hard.
I went into the hike with the expectation that we would do the whole thing. But so often my expectations get in the way of the bigger lesson that God has for me. This summer I have been on a quest to prove to myself that I am enough to do all kinds of things. While turning around could have made me feel not good enough, I became aware of that train of thought and finally turned it around.
This hike was not about proving what I could do, it was meant to show me what I can be. And modeling that for my girls. I can be gentle and compassionate with myself when I’m having a hard time. I can take care of myself when I don’t feel good. I can be flexible when things don’t go according to plan. I can accept others right where they are.
By showing compassion for my girls in their challenges on that hike, I modeled for them what is important. And they were able to turn around and show compassion for me when I struggled. Showing up for ourselves and each other brought us closer. As far as I’m concerned, that’s better than any mountain summit.
This post previously appeared on Single Mom with Faith.
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