Growing up in the city-centric culture of Chicago, located on the notably flat Midwestern plains, I personally never came across “backpacking.” When I discovered a love for hiking 3 years ago after moving to the PNW, I did hear of it but immediately filed it away under “Things I Would Never Do.” With titanium rods glued on my spine for close to a decade, I thought it was something that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy or even be capable of. Day hikes were enough for me.
When a new friend well-versed in the outdoors began inviting me on backpacking trips last summer, I turned her down each time, providing every reason why I couldn’t. No you don’t understand, I’m not strong enough for that. I’ve never hiked that length. I’ve never even hiked with a bag like that. I don’t even have a backpack?
She offered solutions- she had extra gear, told me I was capable, that I was making it harder in my head than it actually was. I was running out of excuses! So when she proposed a trip that was similar in length to my day hikes (though sans-backpack), I finally agreed to go.
I prepared myself as best as one could. I bought what gear I needed and borrowed the rest. I’d pre-treated my back as best as I know how. I was feeling ready to take on an exciting new adventure.
We drove the 3 hours to the North Cascades. It was a beating hot August day, and I was a little nervous but committed. We geared up and off we went.
A few measly minutes in, the doubt returned. The heavy weight on my back was a shock. The sun was strong and was quickly melting away my confidence. But my friends encouraged me as we continued on.
I soon needed to stop again, and seeing how they didn’t need these breaks, I started feeling out of my league. Reality set in and I reminded myself how I’d done no training with this type of pack on: what was I thinking?
They kindly encouraged me. My friend shared that the challenge of backpacking is actually more of a mental block. That if you don’t believe you can do it, then you won’t. Out of breath, I disagreed, “no it’s definitely all physical!”
We continued on, but soon after I found myself panicking and shared embarassingly that I should just turn back- I’d find someone to drive the 3 hours to come pick me up. I was already giving up on myself.
They assured me I was doing great and that we were already getting close, which gave me some hope. We kept going, but the more we hiked, the more the mountain grew. The trail seeming to only get longer and longer as it revealed itself. The hard parts had only just begun.
A bit later, starting to feeling confident again at our progress, I checked the map. I was disappointed to see we were not a significant ways along at all, and of course the sun would continue to get hotter. I knew that in order to do this, I needed to fully follow my body’s unique pace, so I told my friends to go ahead without waiting for me.
I kept charging ahead but every break I took at the switchbacks, my mind would whisper to me again that I was out of my depths. The doubt dug in as I saw my friends shadows shrink tinier and tinier up the mountain ahead of me. A women carrying a toddler on her back passed me, and whew that was a kicker to my confidence. I tried to remind myself that some people have been climbing these mountains most of their life, and this is all new to me.
Over halfway to camp, the first small patch of shade appeared and I stopped. Another group of women also saw this oasis and huddled underneath it too. After they left and I was alone again, emotions came over me as I fought back tears behind my sunglasses. Suddenly I was confronted by some old emotions I hadn’t been aware of, ones that were reminiscent of things I felt as a kid. I couldn’t believe I was wading through these thoughts again, ones that told me I wasn’t as strong or capable as others. I had felt confident that I’d gotten stronger the past few years, but now it felt like that wasn’t true at all.
My emotions were nudging me that this was where I finally turn back, but my mind continued trying to rationalize with it. So I began bargaining with myself: I picked a final point ahead on the mountain as a goal post, and told myself, “Ok go to that ridge up there. If you can’t make it there, then you can go home.”
Soon enough, I was at that point without any strife. It evoked a feeling that I encounter on my day hikes: that my extreme curiosity of what sights are around the bend always overrule the voice telling me to turn back. I just have too strong of a desire to know what lies ahead of me. Afterall, I’ve now come too far to not find out.
So I set my sights on the next visual point. Of course each achievement I got closer and closer to the end, making the option of going home less and less desirable. Finally, I drop the bargaining act altogether and am filling with excitement as I near the top.
Before I know it I am there, unbelievably I have made it, marveling at the beauty of this vantage point. I reflect on just how high I’d climbed, squinting and trying to find the parking lot we started from, when a woman from the shady oasis comes over and offers to take my photo. I am so grateful to have that memory preserved.
I still had a bit more to go, but the rest was a breeze- downhill and shaded. I was so elated and relieved when I ran into my group setting up camp. They congratulated me and reassured me that everybody cries on their first backpacking trip — turns out it’s a rite of passage. I settled my eyes on the insane reality of my surroundings, and enjoyed the evening playing games and sleeping under the stars. It was the most serene evening in the mountains.
The trip back the next day was still challenging, but somehow the mental part was off the table — I now fully knew I could do this because I had successfully done it the day before. And my backpack felt less burdensome on the second day now that my back had adjusted to the feeling of this weight on it.
When we finish, I am exhausted but undeniably proud. I was almost in shock, it was hard to believe that I completed something I had filed away as something I could never do. I ask for a photo so I never forget that finale.
While it is physically grueling, I realized my friend had been right at the start: the bigger challenge of backpacking can surprisingly be the mental one. This is true for many things, isn’t it? I had to fight to overcome all the parts of me that told me to give in or that I’m not strong. But I was literally the only person who had convinced me I couldn’t do it— it was Me vs Myself.
Several months later, I found myself in a very dark time of life. The hopelessness was all-consuming and I was struggling to believe there was a future for me. I began scheduling plans a few days or weeks out— something small like a community event I could attend, volunteering shift, plans with a friend, or just an appointment. I told myself to make it to that event, then I can re-visit how I feel after that. This gave me a goal post to see beyond the tough day-to-days. When that plan comes, I realize I made it, and I schedule another. Time passes around these events and slowly but surely I trudged myself out of the black fog of my mind*. This little method gave me a hook to anchor back into reality when I felt so far from it. Along with a small feeling of accomplishment- a boost our brain needs in those times.
After writing this piece, I realized that I used the same mental technique to battle my depression that I used to successfully backpack. I find that my curiosity of what’s around the corner eventually overrules my mental blocks. I just have too strong of a desire to know what lies ahead of me, I’ve come too far to not find out.
*I also utilized other tools and reached out to resources during the really unsurmountable moments as well, which cannot be understated. If you are struggling with mental health, please call someone you know, or 9–8–8 for a 24-hour hotline. And low-cost therapy can be accessed through BetterHelp and TalkSpace. There is a life waiting for you around the bend.
