Last May while staffing the Eighth Grade Washington DC trip, I realized that something in my life had to change. I was struggling to keep up with the group, was in pain, and the reality that I had been neglecting my health and physical well-being hit me hard. I came home from the DC trip feeling ashamed, tired, and knew that I had no other choice but to start to make time in my busy life for self-care. In addition, my husband, Joel, and I were beginning to plan a three-month travel adventure which would include hiking and other outdoor activities. By early August, I joined a gym for the first time in seven years and began working out with a trainer to help me use the next six months to get into shape and prepare for the trip, and to hold me accountable. My trainer, Scott, said to me at the start, “You need to do one hard thing every day. When you come here - this can be your hard thing.”
For five months, I stuck to my plan and made it to the gym about three times a week, and with the encouragement of my amazing colleague, Lisa Exler, I stopped using the elevator at work, my Fitbit sometimes telling me I had walked as many as 23 flights of stairs in a day. The last month or so before my trip, things got really busy and stressful, three days a week at the gym, became two, and then one, and the stairs slowly morphed into more and more elevator rides.
We arrived at our first destination on our sabbatical a few weeks ago (our students are receiving location clues and guessing at each step!), and on day two, we decided to go on a challenging hike, but I was sure that all my work would render this possible. With hiking boots on and a positive attitude, we arrived at the park and listened to the ranger warn us that we would need intense focus, especially for the first three hundred feet of rocky incline. She warned that on the way back when we were tired the slippery rocks would be especially punishing on the way down. She told us that the four-mile loop (all we were planning to do, even though Joel would have preferred the seriously strenuous 12-mile option) can usually take folks four hours, and she explained that there would be no cell service.
The trail introduced herself to us honestly from the start. She was not going to be an easy hike. You see, not only is my physical conditioning lacking, I am terrified of heights. The trail was not too wide, and we were walking alongside a cliff. Much of the trail was extremely rocky, and significant portions were slick with water and mud. My fear was intense, my heart rate elevated, and all I could do was have have tunnel vision, my sole focus being the ground in front of me. I lacked confidence and could not find my footing.
I was moving at a slow pace, sometimes getting stuck, needing to put one hand on the ground in front of me as if to ensure that I would not fall off the cliff. At other times, I would grasp onto the side of the mountain with one hand, while white-knuckling my walking stick in my other hand. I allowed every other hiker on the trail to pass me. Every. Single. One. It seemed as if no one else around me was having difficulty. I watched their feet as they passed me by. One person barefoot. BAREFOOT?!? Some with sneakers, a few with sandals. I looked down at my hiking boots and wondered why I did not feel more secure. I listened to their chatter and wondered how anyone could maintain a conversation. My brain was on a loop, “I’m scared! This is terrifying! I can’t do this! I am going to fall! This is hard!”
We rounded a bend, and suddenly the completely rocky trail ahead was even slicker with water and mud and it stopped me in my tracks. I sat down on a rock feeling defeated, looked up at the trail, and said, “I can’t do this. I think I have to turn around.” And then I began to cry. Joel said all the right things. “We can turn around any time. You don’t have to do this. I think you can do it, but you don’t have to” and so on. I pushed myself up off the rock and made it up that stretch with Joel’s help. Further along the trail, we had to cross a small stream and I am not sure what happened, it happened so fast, but I fell and bruised my knee (ego would have been bruised but it no longer existed). Three hikers were heading towards us, and as I hugged the mountain to make way for them to pass, we realized that one of them did not look well. We asked if they were ok, and they shared that the man had taken a bad fall, injured his leg, and then fainted, twice. They had used the SOS button on their phone and were hoping that the rescue helicopter would come for them, but they had to get to the helicopter landing. Joel wanted to assist him, but they refused. I gave them a packet of electrolyte powder, and they only wanted to take it if I had another. I did not, but assured them I was fine, and they needed it.
Thankfully, soon after that, we had our first magnificent vista, and then two more, each more stunning than the last. It was spectacular, and the reason that so many people do this hike. While we paused there, the rescue helicopter landed. They were looking for the injured hiker. Joel ran to them to tell them where to find them and gave them information about this condition. We kept thinking about him and hoping he was ok. We began chatting with a friendly couple, when they bid us farewell and said, “Nice meeting you, you will probably pass us on the way back!,” I replied, “Not a chance!” I had not passed anyone, but everyone had passed me. By now the sun was hot, my hat was wet with sweat, and we realized we were close to three hours in at the halfway point when the whole trail was supposed to take us four hours in total. And thus began our return.
After a steep incline, I began to not feel great. Looking at my 32-ounce bottle, I saw that I had only consumed about 8 ounces so far. But my mind was not functioning well - this is what happens when fear sets in. I had been so afraid all day, and so hyper-focused on each step I took, that I had not been drinking water. After a few sips in, I decided to keep going, but I was soonin worse shape. This time not only did I feel faint, but the nausea was setting in as well. I lay down, right there on the trail. Incredibly kind people walked around me, all of them asking if I needed help and wondering what they could do. One young man came back insisting that I take his extra bottle of water. I knew then that I needed electrolytes, but I had given mine away. Luckily, Joel dug around in his bag and found that he had taken a packet of electrolytes as well. Once I had some electrolytes in me and with my hat off, I was able to get up. It was still going to be a long way down, but I was determined at this point not to be taken out by helicopter rescue.
The rest of the hike was a blur. I was dehydrated, my knee hurt, and I had been so tense the whole way, my muscles were now sore. Covered in mud, sweat, and dried tears, in just over 6 hours, we completed the hike. I never felt that sense of elation, pride, or accomplishment. I was just so glad it was over.
I do believe that my body was capable of doing this hike and that my physical preparations made a difference. What held me back was my lack of confidence and my fear. After rehydrating and a much-needed shower, I texted my siblings, “Just did the hardest hike of my life! It was awful! I fell once and almost fainted twice!” I was waiting for a response of “Wow! I am so sorry! That sounds awful! “ But instead, my brother responded, “Well, congrats! I hope that only encourages you!” I thought maybe he didn’t really read my text. I needed to tell him more of the gory details so he would give me the correct response. But as I think about it more, I understand his point. Being out of your comfort zone is the path toward growth, and you can’t get there without being uncomfortable. I am thinking about what Scott said to me and his idea that I should do one hard thing every day. I guess I am proud of myself. This was the hardest thing I have done in a while, and given how much it has made me think, I believe it was worth it after all.
Some thoughts about how this experience relates to parenting:
There is no reason to be the first to the top. The view will still be there. At first, I thought, “It is the same view!” But that is not entirely true. The view will always be a little different when you get there due to the time of the day, the day of the year, the weather, and so on. But, we can each experience awe in that view, and when you get there is not the point.
Child development is not a race. In fact, early precocity is not always an indicator that a child will be exceptional, and as my father (a retired pediatrician) used to say, “They don’t go off to college in diapers.” In essence, while we do want to give children the support they need, it is a good idea not to focus too much on the pace of your child’s development or to try to rush them to be the first to hit milestones. Childhood is meant to be savored and enjoyed, and children need time to play to develop.
When you are so focused on every step along the way, you might miss the big picture and other important cues. I barely looked up. It took all my energy to focus on each step. I took in the big vistas at the scenic lookouts, but I am sure I missed a lot along the way. I also forgot to take care of my basic need to drink water because of my hyper-focus. I am certain that if I did this trail over and over, I would develop both the skills and the confidence to be able to look up and look around me, and I would have been able to take better care of myself along the way.
It is important not to over-focus on the trees and to miss the forest around you. Sometimes being able to step back and ask ourselves the following questions can go a long way in keeping perspective: “Is my child really suffering or struggling or are they just uncomfortable? Will my involvement prevent my child from working through something on their own and learning from this moment? Is it necessary to focus on this or can we wait and see?”
When you lack confidence, it can create a self-fulfilling loop. I wonder how different my experience on the trail would have been had I used positive self-talk.
We should never skip the step of reminding our children what they are capable of. Encourage them to do things for themselves whenever possible (yes, they should carry their own backpacks in the Gan, and do their own homework - have them tell the teacher if they struggled, along with all kinds of tasks at home). Model using mantras and positive self-talk when you are doing something challenging and encourage your children to do the same. Slipping into the negative loop is destructive, and because we can’t hear our children’s' inner thinking, we have to work hard to make sure (and not assume) that positive self-talk is part of an explicit routine. Even when our children ask us to do things for them, if we know that they are capable many times it might be better to encourage them to do it themselves rather than do it for them. Doing it for them might unintentionally signal that we don’t think they are capable. This is hard - we want to do things for the people we love, we want to make things easier for our children. It’s ok to choose your battles here and there, and occasionally clean up after them, but doing these things all the time is not good for their own sense of self and for their development. We build confidence and abilities when we have to do hard things for ourselves.
Allowing fear to control our parenting is not healthy. It may at times be impossible to prevent this, as in truly life-threatening moments for example (when it is also a necessary life-preserving reaction). When possible, being able to identify this emotion and work through it is also crucial. My fear on the trail prevented me from being able to move to positive self-talk and it inhibited my ability to move my body with ease. I just needed to be cautious, but not fearful. There is an important difference.
Creating a narrative for our children that the world is a very scary place to be feared at all times does not raise healthy children. We want our children to be cautious and develop a good sense of when true danger is lurking, but we want them to be brave, and resilient, take healthy risks, and develop confidence. I spent a lot of time saying things like, “Watch out! Be Careful!” when my children were little and were learning to climb because my own fear of heights controlled me. I so wish that I could have been more relaxed at that stage. It is important to check ourselves and ask, “Are we giving them tools to become good decision-makers, or are we simply scaring them?”
It is good to do hard things - and remember, everyone’s hard things are different. When we as adults stay inside our comfort zones most of the time, we may forget how hard it is not to have sure footing. I spent the whole time on the trail thinking that I was the only one struggling and that it was easy for everyone else. I think sometimes our children feel that way.
We can really help our children by doing two things:
1) Doing hard things ourselves. I am sure that doing hard things helps us to build empathy, and grow more confident, and it can become powerful role modeling when we allow ourselves to make visible our hard moments. Our children sometimes think we can do anything! Showing them that we are also in a process of growing and learning (and struggling) might be the best gift we can give them!
2) Encouraging our children to do hard things. The more we can say, “I believe in you, I know you are capable,” and then saying, “I am here if you need help” the better it will be for our children. This might be the single most important thing we can do as parents. There is no more powerful way to show our love than to share a message that we believe in their capacity.
May we all be blessed to have moments on solid ground, where confidence leads us to great heights, and may we also be blessed with opportunities to stumble, get hurt, and get up again because these are the moments that make empathy and growth mindset possible.
P.S. Some of my favorite parenting books that inspired these thoughts:
The Blessing of a Skinned Knee by Wendy Mogel
The Blessing of a B- by Wendy Mogel
How to Raise an Adult by Julie Lythcott-Haims
The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt
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