Working through my current healing process has brought me into an uncanny synchronicity in my life where I will experience something and then within a couple days, have to read or write about it (I am a ghost writer on some self-help projects and such).

For instance, today I had to write a lesson for a weight release course on “Releasing Our Victim Story.” Though it somewhat escaped me at the time, this past Sunday I had an experience that allowed me to tell my victim story, acknowledge it, and begin to disconnect and let it go.

It also helped me acknowledge that I have more than one victim story! Ugh…

All the World in a Grain of Sand

A new friend of mine invited me out to Santa Barbara for the day, to enjoy some time at the beach and then hike up to a mountain peak where he had spread his dog’s ashes. I happily agreed, figuring it would be a fun day. I had no idea what I was in for (that’s becoming a theme with me, isn’t it?) and, as has been usual with my life experiences of late, a huge lesson and healing awaited me in the dust and dirt of that mountain trail.

When we reached the base of the trail, I had a minor panic attack.

The trail shot straight up, snaking through the mountain to a peak very far above us.

“Yep, it’s all up hill,” he said. I gulped, wide eyed. “Come on, you can do it,” he grinned, threw me a water bottle, and began the trek.

I followed and to my surprise, I didn’t tire out as easily as I used to on hikes. I haven’t been active or exercising in a couple months, yet I kept a decent pace. The hike was also entirely different from my usual hiking experiences.

For the past several years, I would go on similar hikes and hate every second of it. I’d appreciate nature and I love camping and exploring – but up hill, climbing, strenuous paces? NO THANK YOU.

I always feel self-conscious because whoever I’m with can handle the hike so much easier and faster than I can and they’re always forced to wait for me.

Yet I didn’t feel any of that this trip. It was actually a pleasure to be exhausted and out of breath. My body hummed with an energy I haven’t experienced in quite some time. I actually enjoyed the way my legs ached and my heart thudded. There wasn’t an anxiousness there this time – just a good workout!

I realized half way up this mountain what the difference was between this hike and all the others:

It was just me on this hike. I didn’t take my story with me.

You see, at the bottom of the mountain, when I saw the seriousness of this trail, I decided to let down my guard, my need to appear that I have it all together, and I told the truth. I said, “Look, I have to be honest. I am only now getting back in shape and this trail is very intimidating! I’ll have to take lots of breaks and go slow. Is that alright with you?”

Being honest about what I feared took all the steam out of it. My victim story (one of them; I have several!) was that I couldn’t be active with other people (bike riding, hiking, jogging, etc. – all activities I fear doing in the presence of others) because it would embarrass me. They would see how unfit I was and they would judge me for it.

By acknowledging the truth (that I would have to take breaks) and seeing that it was perfectly alright with my friend, I was able to see that the rest of my story was not the truth – it was my perception and belief about how the truth would look to someone else.

And I left it behind!

I found that I took less breaks, challenged myself more, and had more energy because I didn’t have to prove to myself the reality and truth of my story. It didn’t exist anymore. The only truth was that I would have to take breaks, and I did. I no longer had to prove that I would be embarrassed by them or that I would be judged. And so I allowed the space for the opposite to be true – and instead I felt joy, pride, and acceptance. It felt great!

Rocky Heights & The Dark Unknown

Since I was a child, I’ve had a fear of cliffs and climbing rocks.

Making it to the top of a 2 hour, all-uphill-trail made me proud. I was happy to stop there. But my friend had spread his dog’s ashes at an outcropping at the very peak of the mountain.

“But the trail stops here!’ I cried. He pointed to my right where a tiny rocky trail slithered up a steep rise through a thicket of trees, bushes, and branches.

“No way,” I cried, but after about ten minutes of coaxing, I agreed to go.

We climbed, with bodies crouched low, through the thicket. The way was so steep we had to hold onto tree trunks and bushes to pull ourselves up. Then we came to the end of that so-called trail and emerged through an opening. For the second time (and not the last!) my heart leapt to my throat. To my left, the mountain fell away to a sheer cliff with all the valley and world below us. To my right, jagged boulders squatted along an inroad that led further up the mountain.

I couldn’t even talk. I just shook my head no. This time I really couldn’t. I was terrified. Terrified of falling, terrified of hurting myself or twisting an ankle, terrified of the large armies of red ants smothering half the rocks I’d have to climb and grab hold of…

I began to feel like a victim again. Now he would pressure me, tell me that I am weak and a failure if I stop now. He would tell me all the reasons why I’m not good enough – for the hike, for him, for his poor dog that he just wants to honor and visit…how good of a friend could I be if I couldn’t even brave a couple rocks to share such a sacred moment?

But I had left that story behind, at the bottom of the mountain. It couldn’t reach me all the way up there. And my friend said none of those things. He just reminded me that “you can do it,” and then he gave me my space and just slowly climbed the first portion of rocks. I was able to battle it out for myself without any fear of judgment or blame.

After a few minutes, a strange feeling came over me. It was courage.

I hadn’t felt it in a long time. I had gotten so good at being afraid and staying stuck and safe. But here was a challenge, and once I let the fear subside, there was something exciting about it.

I stopped telling myself I couldn’t do it and started to wonder, “what if I could do it?”

I jumped up right then and there, with a determination I knew was etched clearly into my face, and I grabbed my first rock. I looked down, situated my toe into a crevasse, and lifted myself up to the first outcropping. Then I reached for the next boulder and euphoria swept over me. I’m doing it, I thought. And it’s not so scary!

Then a hand reached out to me and pulled me up over the swarm of ants covering the next set of rocks.

He had waited for me. And he was there to carry me over.

I could feel my new story budding into life as I climbed those rocks. It told me that challenge was good, and wonderful, and lovely. That I could do it, I could always do it. At the least, I could always try and the things we fear aren’t ever quite as terrifying as what our fear felt like. Most of all, my new story told me that when I would strike out in courage, help would come and I was not alone.

When we reached the top, we had to hunch down through some bushes and trees and kind of climb out of a tunnel onto an open outcropping of rock at the peak. The entire Santa Barbara valley was below, with the ocean and Channel Islands beyond. To our back was another mountain with the sun setting just at its head.

Completely out of breath, exhausted, and so proud of myself for getting up there…when I looked out at the incredible view, I just cried. I was overcome with so many feelings. Euphoria, gratitude, awe, proud of myself, and breathless in every glorious sense of the word.

There in that space, with the world below, and my feet planted firmly on the place of my greatest fear – heights – I stood triumphant. But it didn’t feel as I would expect triumph to feel like. It was better. It was peaceful. I received clarity on that mountain top. And a new, empowering story.

The way down the mountain, I was given the chance to live that new story…

The sun had set as we stood there in wonderment. We had to run down the mountain in the dark, racing to hold onto the last remnants of the fading light. Going downhill was supposed to be easy, but at the speed we had to go, with the little light we had, nothing was what it seemed. Rocks would appear to be one place on the path and in fact be in another. I almost twisted my ankle about a hundred times.

Did I mention I’m also terrified of spiders? I encountered two massive tarantulas on the way down. And it kept getting darker. Would there be more? I wondered. And what else in the dark forest would emerge?

We were running so fast…we had heard that at night, huge spiders weave massive webs across the trail and they did so very quickly. We ran with our arms in front of our faces, waving.

I can’t remember ever feeling such true, instinctual, gut fear. I was truly afraid. Not of hurting myself, but of some dark horror-story unknown.

I share this last part because yes, I had a huge epiphany and healing on that mountain peak. Yes, I connected with and forged a new, empowering story for myself.

But on the way down the mountain, all that was forgotten and I was still afraid and feeling very much alone.

And that’s alright! Because healing is a process and it’s never linear. Two steps forward, one step back. Even though I had my new story, I couldn’t expect myself to suddenly act from that space every second of every day.

Part of my story now is that I am also gentle with myself, and compassionate and loving towards my terrified inner child.

And Then a Glorious Transformation…

I was baffled. Last night, the day after my mountain hike, I tried on a pair of pants that I bought five years ago and could never wear. They were so tight on me, even when I was 15 lbs. thinner than I am now, that I couldn’t get each pant leg over each thigh, let alone the zipper up and button clasped around my waist.

Now we girls get this…we always buy that one pair of pants that is like four sizes too small, that we’ll test out every year or so. The ’skinny pants’ that, once they fit, notify us that we have reached that glorious goal of skinny.

Well last night my skinny pants fit.

It seems I’ve released 10 lbs suddenly in the past week and dropped several clothes sizes. My body looks different. And all through processing and healing. NOT dieting or exercising (except this freaking hike!).

I’m in awe and gratitude and love for this process and those, like this friend, who bless me with such lessons and healings.

Thank you for holding the space for me to share