An Internal Hike: A Journey Through the Wilderness of My Mind

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been labeled: weird, crazy, embarrassing, and a loner. Growing up, I always felt like I didn’t fit in—like something was wrong with me. I’ve struggled with mood swings, an inability to focus, and difficulty with emotional regulation. The strange thing? I think I was actually better at handling those emotions as a kid than I am as an adult. This isn’t a “woe is me” post—this is more of a reality check that I just had to come to terms with.

Like many, my life has been anything but easy. Cliché? Sure. But sometimes those clichés hold a bit of truth. I’ve weathered my fair share of storms (and, let’s be honest, probably more than my fair share). I won’t go into every detail, but here’s a quick snapshot: broken family, domestic and sexual violence, workplace trauma, and so much more. It’s been a lot.

But last year? That was the tipping point. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Over the course of my 20-year career in injury management, I’ve encountered some truly traumatic situations—threats to my life, stalkers, people committing suicide while I was on the phone with them, and countless other high-stress, often life-threatening events. Yet, what happened last year was different. It was the moment I hit rock bottom. After all this time, I was finally diagnosed with PTSD and Bipolar Type 3.

The PTSD didn’t come as a surprise. But the Bipolar diagnosis? That shook me to my core. It made me feel like I was spiraling—unstable, confused, heartbroken. I was suddenly everything I had feared being growing up: weird, crazy, embarrassing, a loner. I couldn’t help but ask myself: why me? Why do I have to be the one who finally becomes everything I was made to feel?

As I’ve struggled with this new reality—one that’s still hard to accept, honestly—something else has been quietly saving me. And that something is hiking. But not just any hiking. I prefer going solo. It’s a way for me to reconnect, to hit pause on everything else, and just focus on me.

In my career, I’m responsible for so many people. Vulnerable people who are facing their own struggles, their own pain. At home, I’m the “Mumma Dingo,” the caretaker, the one responsible for my cubs, my husband, our pets, and, let’s be real, the never-ending household chores. I’m always caring for others. But when I step into the wilderness alone, the only person I’m accountable to is myself. It’s become my therapy, my mindfulness practice, my gym, my outlet.

I also have creative outlets in my art, but there are days when I just can’t bring myself to create. On those days, the voices in my head tell me I’m not good enough, that I’ll never measure up, and I spiral into a deep, dark place. Hiking, though, has been different. It’s been a space for clarity. There’s something about walking for hours, breathing in the fresh air, feeling my body move that brings a sense of calm. In those moments, I feel normal again—like I can finally exhale and let go of all the pressure and self-judgment.

What amazes me most is how much I’ve been able to accomplish on those hikes, both physically and mentally. There’s a certain empowerment in reaching the peak of a mountain, in pushing through when I feel like giving up. Hiking is more than just a physical activity for me; it’s become a metaphor for my mental health.

As I trek through the forest, my mind follows the same path. I navigate through the dense thickets of anxiety, the tangled branches of past pain, the rocks of self-doubt. But on the good days—those “up” days—when I feel like I’ve conquered something, that’s when I reach the peak of my mind. It’s like a mental selfie, a reminder of my strength, a victory to hold onto.

It turns out, hiking is the perfect metaphor for life and mental health. The journey is tough. The terrain is rocky, unpredictable. But the harder it is, the better the reward. Well, most of the time. Sometimes, you walk through a lot of struggle only to find a dead end or a stretch of wilderness that feels like it’s going nowhere. But do you quit? No. You pick a new mountain, a new challenge, and start again.

You won’t always choose the right path. Some journeys are more rewarding than the destination, and sometimes both the journey and the destination feel like one big disappointment. But one thing is for sure: life, like hiking, is ever-changing. And the only thing you can count on is the inconsistency of it all.

What hiking has taught me is this: we can’t always control what happens to us, but we can control how we react to it. Just like on the trail, life throws obstacles our way, but we have the power to choose how we face them—whether we run, hide, or keep walking toward the summit.