When I Realized I’d Lost MySelf

I didn't wake up one morning and suddenly realize I'd lost mySelf.

I think it happened gradually.

Somewhere between being a mom, navigating challenges I never could have anticipated, trying to hold things together, and doing what needed to be done, I slowly lost touch with the person I was outside of all those responsibilities.

And for a long time, I didn't even recognize it was happening.

For more than a few years, so much of my everyday life had revolved around navigating difficult circumstances surrounding my daughter. Parenting had become something far more complicated and emotionally demanding than I ever could have imagined.

There were challenges, difficult decisions, and experiences that affected not only our immediate family but our relationships with extended family as well.

Then COVID happened.

Suddenly, there was another layer of uncertainty. More things outside of our control. More changes in outside relationships and yet, at the same time, healing for our immediate family.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, though, I felt like I'd disappeared.

Not physically, of course. I was still there, doing all the things that needed to be done.

But me? The person underneath the roles, responsibilities, worries, and expectations?

I wasn't entirely sure where she'd gone.

I felt empty.

I felt disconnected from myself.

And perhaps hardest of all, I felt inadequate in nearly every way imaginable. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually.

I questioned my decisions, my abilities, and my sense of who I was.

So much of my energy had gone into navigating everyone else's needs and circumstances that there didn't seem to be much left for me.

Looking back, I can recognize something I couldn't fully see at the time.

I'd spent years abandoning myself while trying so hard to show up for everyone else.

And I don't say that with judgment toward the woman I was then.

She was doing the best she could with what she knew, what she had, and what she was carrying.

But something needed to change.

I needed to reconnect with myself.

I needed to know that I was capable of making decisions, navigating challenges, and trusting myself again.

And I needed something that was mine.

Not another responsibility. Not another situation to manage. Not another role to fulfill.

Something I could choose for myself, on my own terms.

And then, during COVID, an idea began taking shape.

What if I hiked the Appalachian Trail?

Not just a weekend hike.

I was thinking about a seven-month thru-hike.

And I wanted to do it alone.

I can't tell you that I was overflowing with confidence when I first considered it. Quite the opposite.

I was questioning myself more than anyone else could have questioned me.

But underneath all that doubt was a feeling I couldn't ignore.

I needed to do this.

At the time, I thought I needed to prove to myself that I was capable. Capable of doing something physically challenging. Capable of navigating difficult situations independently. Capable of relying on myself.

What I didn't fully understand yet was how much I also needed the space to reconnect with the parts of myself I'd lost touch with along the way.

I had no idea what the trail would eventually teach me.

I certainly didn't know how differently the journey would unfold from the one I was imagining.

But the idea had taken root.

And for the first time in a long time, I was beginning to imagine something beyond the circumstances that had consumed so much of my life.

Something that belonged to me.

And I wasn't quite ready to let that go.

To be continued…

Next in the series: Chapter 2, “The Crazy Idea That Wouldn’t Leave Me Alone”

With love and a little trail dust, Kristina