Lessons From Moab
In effort to honor my human before therapist agenda, I figured it could be a sweet time to write a little bit about a personal experience of pushing my edges and feeling deeply, as a result.
Corona Arch May 2022
About a year and a half ago I ventured to Moab with my now previous partner + my 5 month old Aussie named Jolene. This was a time where winter was the literal and metaphorical season of my life (I just was not nearly aware of it then as I am now).
I planned a little family trip and in an attempt to feel some warmth, we headed down south.
It doesn’t snow in Moab very often. This particular weekend it sure did and I now see it as a potential omen for big shifts to come.
We didn’t go on many hikes in part to the weather, in part to having a little tiny dog that was new to the world and in part to the anxious mental state of the humans on this trip.
I was in a time of my life where I was beginning to redefine my relationship with movement after quite a hiatus. Having experienced eating and movement disorders for most of my life, I had put a big pause on movement for many months while I learned to reconnect with my body in a way that wasn’t overshadowed by my old desires to use food/movement for power + punishment.
The first and most memorable hike we went on was Corona Arch. This is a hike that is probably considered moderate to most people. But with me re-entering a new relationship with movement, accompanied by a stressed out human and an anxious puppy - the hike moved quickly to “difficult.”
At some point my previous partner chose to care of his stress by hiking ahead and creating space. The distance felt sharp and played on my already sensitive nervous system. With anxiety growing, Jolene and I kept on (while she also tried to herd every hiker on our shared path).
I caught up with the person I was with at a place that required climbing up a little ladder. The ladder section was fine, no issue - I was able to get little Jolene up and we were on our way.
When we met the part of the trail that required a little ascent up an almost vertical rock with the support of a chain to Jolene was not really understanding, nor having it. There was a line of “avid hikers” behind me offering unsolicited (and unhelpful) advice about how to manage my dog and co-hiker was already on the other side of this climb,
In a pretty dissociated state, Jolene and I kept moving ahead.
The next section brought us to a slanted, flat rock part on the side of the mountain that was just disorienting enough to make my anxiety go overboard. While I logically knew I was safe - the unfamiliar surroundings, the particular slanting of the rocks, the foreign vastness of the sky + intensity of the red rocks sent my nervous system into straight activation mode.
I had a panic attack. I had to sit down. I had to get away from the people. With my incredibly concerned dog, I just sat there and cried. I stared at the arch just ahead, unable to really move.
I sat and I cried and I felt very alone.
I wanted this cry to be like other cries that I have on trails, tears of relief and awe.
This cry was not like those cries and it really f*cking hurt.
Image of me literally sitting and crying on the trail December 2021.
The weight of carrying my responsibilities +my hyper vigilance around while taking care and tending to the comfort of others was too much. The seal had broken. I was really not okay and I really needed support.
Sitting (instead of finishing the last little bit of the hike) felt extremely hard + humiliating for me.
Movement has had a loud air of competition due to my very first lessons of movement taking place in a dance studio in the mid 1990’s.
My first experiences with movement included dancing in front of a mirror with grown ups telling my what was wrong about my body until I practiced hard enough to make it “right.”
I’ve had a challenging time with not putting every single form of movement I’ve ever done into this same ringer, which has robbed me of much of the joy that movement can offer to humans.
The hike was mentally exhausting. My practice with finding safe movement felt like a failure. The rest of the trip was tense and anxiety ridden.
Zoom past this loud wake up call, many passing months and a gut wrenching break up.
I am back in Moab. I am only with myself and Jolene.
I am back at Corona Arch.
The place that held me when I could no longer hold what was coming up.
A new version of me has shown up. A version that has actively been unpacking this need and desire to keep people close by any means necessary. A need so often threatened, that I have been hard wired to ignore own my internal cues of comfort to ensure that I’ve gained the approval of the grown ups still watching me.
This is a need that ALL of us have, but often don’t know how to navigate.
It’s not my fault that I didn’t know how to navigate this before. It goes back to times of my life where I had no other option but to prioritize the needs of other grown ups so that I could feel safe.
It is now my responsibility to learn how to shift into a version of myself that utilizes choices and is able to choose relationships that do not re-enact my trauma patterns (movement related and otherwise).
I made a choice to go back to that trail.
I made a choice to take my pup, who has also been working on regulating her little nervous system with me.
I chose to hike this trail and to see if there was a different experience waiting for me.
Jolene and I marched right up this trail, climbed up the ladder, shimmied up the chain assisted slant, moved right past the area I sat and cried in 2021 and we made it to our newest place of rest.
Together, we sat in silence together, drinking in the beauty of a desert sunset and the sense of empowerment that came with such a corrective emotional experience.
This hike was healing. Believing in myself is healing. Being in nature is healing. Following through when uncertainty is present is healing. The intense emotional and physical work I’ve done to be in a position to move through these challenges with more ease has. been. so. healing.
Jolene didn’t bark at one hiker, I cried tears of relief and then we headed back down the way we came with an even greater sense of confidence than when we began.
Some of the insights that came up for me were:
I am able to develop a deep sense of trust in my body and self that hasn’t historically be available to me
My body and sense of self are so inherently connected that if there is doubt in towards my body - that is a sign to look at my own self-trust
I have an excitement for the things that I can do in my body and with my growing pup in the future
My capacity to create what I want is endless
I can both be growing and feeling stuck simultaneously - but the truest answer lies in my actions.
Next action steps included sharing a vanilla ice cream cone with my pup for the first time, celebrating our accomplishments together and dreaming up plans for our next heart led adventure.
