As I mentioned in my first blog post, The Birth of Therapy Girl, I started hiking to face my anxiety. There was a period of time when I felt constant, daily anxiety pulsing through my veins. It was uncomfortable, depressing, and completely draining. I was having difficulty wrapping my head around the reality I was living in, which worsened my anxiety.
I felt at a loss of what to do, as each day felt like torture. I wanted to escape — run away, move away, just take off and roam the world. But I felt tethered to Phoenix due to my career and commitment to a loan repayment program that would help to alleviate some of the financial burden from my student loans.
I decided to lean into the uncertainty.
I needed a distraction. I knew I had to do something that made me just as anxious as I already felt. While I couldn’t move away and hit the reset button on my life, I could do things that were new to me and focus on the anxiety that it triggers. I turned to nature as a way to disconnect from my everyday life and to push my own limits.
While I played outside as a child, I didn’t grow up going into nature very often. I was (read: still am at times) scared of everything outside — bugs, animals, cacti, the unknown. Nevertheless, I decided to throw myself into this fear.
Approximately two weeks into this state of constant anxiety, I went on my first real camping trip — by myself.
My previous camping experiences were mostly in a camping trailer that was nicer than my apartment and camping at Sasquatch Music Festival. Because of the latter, I had at least learned how to setup a tent by myself. I wasn’t exactly ready for dispersed camping where I would be isolated and most importantly, without a toilet. Instead, I booked two nights at a busy campground in Page, Arizona. I had always wanted to visit Page to see Horseshoe Bend and Antelope Canyon, so I created this opportunity for myself.
This first camping attempt was kind of a mess — I couldn’t get my grill to work so I had to eat cold burritos, had caterpillars crawling all over my things, and had no idea how to start a fire so I sat in the dark both nights. It was also such a cathartic weekend, as I sat in silence, admired the stars, journaled, and let myself feel every emotion as it arose.
The symbolism of waking up each morning with my tent being covered in caterpillars was not lost on me.
I returned from my trip with a desire for my own transformation by facing my anxiety head-on. I had always loved nature so much but felt such fear if I was out in it for too long so I started hiking. I started with some tough hikes locally like Piestewa Peak and Tom’s Thumb (ugh, those switchbacks!). I started hiking one to two times a week. In the beginning, I was nervous about everything — from finding parking to coming across snakes and scorpions.
During that time, I was able to process my feelings and sweat out all of the frustration that I felt with life while trekking down those dusty desert trails. About three months into my hiking journey, my constant anxiety started to subside and turned to occasional anxiety (read: several times a week but no longer constant throughout the day). I even tried camping alone again — which was still kind of a mess, as I got a flat tire, still couldn’t start a fire, and was rained out. I still felt some fear and nervousness about these adventures but I continued to push through and do them anyway.
While I was still reluctant to call myself anything but a newbie to hiking, I made a new friend who was an avid hiker and who fully embraced me into her hiking group. To this day, these friends never let me quit and encourage me to push through the mental block that can come with a difficult hike (much like when dealing with an anxiety attack). They sit with me through the anxiety and support me. Most importantly, they never complain when I have to stop and rest.
A year and a half after the onset of my anxiety and the start of my hiking journey, I decided to face my greatest challenge. My friends and I decided to backpack to Havasupai Falls. It was a group of nine of us and we had the best time hiking down and around the canyon, playing in the water, and sharing meals and stories together in the evenings. The blisters and sore legs couldn’t overshadow the incredible time we had in such a beautiful place.
It is a trip that will forever live in my heart.
I faced my greatest anxiety trigger at the bottom of that canyon. It was the biggest slap of synchronicity. The person that caused me so much distress at that time, which led to my hiking journey to begin with, was camping next to us. If you know anything about the permit process for Havasupai then you know how unlikely that is to happen. But thanks to the confidence gained in all of my experiences leading up to that point, I was able to face them with a calm I hadn’t expected or known to have.
The real challenge was the hike out of the canyon. Those last two miles of switchbacks triggered my anxiety in a way I hadn’t experienced in a while. I reached a new level of desperation. I wanted to tear off my backpack and throw my gear off the trail. I was lagging far behind everyone and was stopping every few feet, as I tried hard to keep from hyperventilating out of fatigue and panic. I was certain there was no way I would ever make it out of that canyon. Luckily, a random couple noticed that I was struggling and helped to lighten my load until we reached my friends, who then took over helping with my things.
When I finally reached the top, I was greeted with big hugs and high fives. I threw off my backpack, kicked it, and yelled, “FUCK YOU”— to everything and everyone that I ever felt held me back, to my insecurities and self-doubt, to my anxiety, and to my stupid, heavy backpack. It was such a physically and emotionally challenging experience — and also one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.
It felt like a graduation.
I came out of the canyon as a sore and bruised, yet stronger and more confident version of myself. In the year that I backpacked Havasupai, I also completed 52 hikes. Since then, my anxiety continues to be manageable. I continue to practice mindfulness, meditation, and getting out in nature. Being able to lean into the anxiety felt outdoors helped me to learn how to manage my overall anxiety. It provided me with a more concrete way to work through it, overcome, and feel accomplished. I have a greater appreciation for my own abilities and strength, as I look back on where I started with my anxiety and with my relationship to hiking. What used to make me anxious has now become something I greatly enjoy and has added much meaning into my life. I wouldn’t have been able to see it in the moment but my anxiety changed my life for the better.
