I've got you

You know that moment when you finally find your way to a hot shower after a few grungy days of camping? You know…when you can see the stink swirl around the drain and you feel every single cut, scrape and scratch as if they were brand new? I had that feeling a couple of days ago and I can honestly say I’ve never been so happy about a shower in my life.

We get to take our clients on a 3-day, 2-night experiential (aka camping trip) once a month. We have an overly adventurous clinical director and he literally lives for this kind of stuff. And it’s awesome. Our clients rave about these trips long after they graduate from our program and move on. I’ve been lucky enough to participate in 3 of the 4 trips we’ve organized so far, and I’ve gotta say, not a single one that I’ve ventured out on has gone smoothly. That being said, all’s well that ends well, right? No need to dive into the #lifewithjory stories of old. (If you know, you know.)

So this past week, we headed down south for a Snow Canyon adventure. We had waited until the 10-day forecast showed average temps in the 50s with little-to-no moisture. We stocked up on extra sleeping bags, space heaters, and propane tanks and loaded up the caravan for one of Jory’s tried and true adventures. (Sidebar: Jory’s wife happens to be my therapist. When I told her I wouldn’t be needing a session this week because I’d be camping, she was the first to point out that I’d definitely need a session afterward. So understand, these stories aren’t meant to be derogatory in any way. It’s literally just #lifewithjory.)

Let me paint a quick picture for you: We are a drug and alcohol detox and rehabilitation facility so when I say we take our clients, I’m referring to addicts from all walks of life. Some of them are out of prison for the first time in years; some of them are corporate executives; some of them are stay at home moms; some of them are just like you or your brother or your next-door neighbor. Addiction doesn’t discriminate and neither do we…even on these trips. As our facility gains momentum and grows, so does the size of our caravan. This week was the largest group we’ve adventured with yet. We had 15 clients and 11 staff members in all and we ranged from early 20’s to early 50’s in age and 20 pounds underweight to 200 pounds overweight in stature. We had everything from cowboys to nature enthusiasts to homebodies and everything in between. The thing I love most about these trips is it doesn’t matter what your background or current lifestyle is…we all participate, regardless of our comfort level.

If you know me at all, you know I love hiking. Like, LOVE it. I start to crave my favorite trails if I go too long between afternoons spent heaving up a mountain somewhere. Sunshine or rain, blistering hot or blizzard-ly miserable, if I don’t get out and hike regularly, my insides start to shrivel and I become a version of myself I don’t like very much. I prefer hiking alone, rarely get spooked, and usually push myself a little too far every single time because what will I miss if I turn around too soon? That being said, I hate heights. I don’t rock climb. I don’t rappel. I don’t shimmy down narrow slots using nothing but my body weight and sheer endurance to keep me from sliding to my death. I just don’t. I’m not afraid to die but I’m afraid to die like that.

Deceptively beautiful

Anyway, back to Snow Canyon. After reading that last paragraph, I bet you can’t guess what our fearless leader had us doing as soon as we got settled into camp. I was excited to head out. We all were! If you’ve never explored Snow Canyon, you must go! It’s uniquely gorgeous and a place I had never spent any time up until now. And honestly, it looked pretty harmless from where we started. (Another sidebar: Jory - our clinical director - is one of those extreme adventurers that doesn’t possess an ounce of fear or lack of ability. He’s extremely fit, never spends a quiet weekend at home, and knows Utah’s backcountry like the back of his hand. He is everything I’m not.) Anyhooo…I digress. The hike started out mellow enough and my work-wife Jen and I hung back with some of the more timid clients, enjoying the perfect weather and good company on our leisurely stroll.

OK. I’m just going to cut to the chase. This innocent little hike turned into one of the most trying afternoons of my life in a big hurry. I’ve tried to explain the scenario to a few people since we got home and there is really no way to accurately portray the experience because every single person on that hike experienced something different. In nursing, we are taught that pain is what a patient tells us it is. We can’t look at someone and gauge their pain level. We can’t measure someone’s pain tolerance, symptoms, or history in order to ascertain if their pain is as intense as they say it is. Fear is the same way. You can’t measure individual fear. Our life experiences, abilities, state of mind, and perceptions all play a role in the amount of fear we experience in any given situation. My fear of heights, overweight and out of shape physique, and steadfast awareness of what my body is NOT capable of - all strategically placed in the middle of a death-defying hike - left me absolutely, horrifically paralyzed on the side of a steep and rocky mountain with no way down and no apparent way up. With no cell service. With a bunch of addicts. In cowboy boots. With emphysema. (I’m really trying to play up the drama here…so just bare with me.)

The situation was this: for Jory and about half of our staff and clients, being hoisted over boulders twice their height while dangling a precarious number of feet above a very hard landing was no big deal. For the people who use their lean muscle mass on a regular basis and have a BMI reasonable enough to ensure the ability to do at least a couple of pull-ups, relying on the assistance of other normal-sized and athletic folks to pull them to safety is a simple feat. For us two-ton-Tonyas who can’t flex a bicep if our lives depended on it, the thought was enough to turn us into sobbing, soggy, Oh Hell No trekkers with zero ability to be consoled or encouraged. (Yet another sidebar: 2/3 of our staff and clients realized that the route the other 1/3 of us were on was no bueno and went another way. So while it may sound reckless and irresponsible, we did send the majority of our party the way of flat, boulderless trails to safety. Those of us that had gone first had no choice but to forge ahead as going down was far more treacherous than going up at that point.)

Gosh. This is a really hard story to articulate. If you’re still with me, I’m going to try and get to the point here, I promise. So, to make a long story short, before I had time to process everything that was happening, I found myself stuck in my worst nightmare, on the side of a very steep mountain, with no gear, no resources, no easy way out and absolutely no physical reserve. Let me be clear, I gave it EVERYTHING I had the first few boulders that I was hoisted over. But the higher we got, the further it seemed we had to go and the more my fears and insecurities took over. I had a full-blown panic attack…I’m not going to lie. Tears, snot, hyperventilation and all. I was so physically spent that I knew there was no way I had anything else to give to help myself try to summit this mountain. Everything inside of me told me there was no way out. I actually tried to use the emergency 9-1-1 feature on my phone at one point but we didn’t have any service. That’s when I knew I was going to die on that trail. Listen. I know how dramatic this sounds. I also know that if you were to ask Jory or a handful of the clients with us, they would tell you that this absolutely was not their experience. But this was MY reality and this is MY blog and I will tell it MY way.

I believe every trial we face in life is placed before us to teach us and allow us to grow. I’ve learned that the hard way over the years. This day was no different. There came a point when I was at the very end of my rope emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I stopped moving, closed my eyes and started praying with everything I had. I was specific. I prayed for courage. I prayed for strength. I prayed for wisdom. I prayed for calm. I prayed for all the people I was going to rely on to get me home safely. I prayed to know each step I was supposed to take and I prayed for the faith to keep taking them. I’d love to tell you I felt a bolt of lightning and the Rocky theme started playing in the background and I was able to Spiderman my way up the mountain. But that’s not what happened. I still had to painstakingly look each person in the eye as they told me to let go of the rocks and grab their hands so they could pull me to safety. I still begged them not to let me fall each and every time they hoisted me over another obstacle, while simultaneously apologizing for being the type of person who needed so much help. I still had to dig into the deepest parts of my soul to find the tiniest shred of strength to help propel my old and tired body forward one. more. time. Over and over again. When I was at the very last obstacle, I looked to the client who was reaching down to save me and I panicked again. She is lucky if she’s 100 pounds sopping wet and I was supposed to trust her to pull me vertically up the length of my body to safety. I started crying again and refused to let go of the rocks that were steadying me. Bless her tiny little heart. She looked me in the eye with both arms outstretched and simply said, “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall,” willing my death grip away from the dirt and into her tiny hands.

Spoiler alert. We lived. Every one of us. We got to the top of the mountain just in time for the rest of our party to call off the Search and Rescue team they’d summoned when hours passed without any sign of us. We were covered in bruises, abrasions, dirt, sweat, and tears, but that was all overshadowed by the overwhelming sense of accomplishment and teamwork. We absolutely would not have made it to the end of the line if we hadn’t had faith in each other. Oh, a few of those sons of bitches would’ve made it out just fine, but a handful of us would have become a tasty midnight snack for the local vultures if we hadn’t had one another.

This doesn’t do it justice, but this was the top of the death march. You can’t see what we conquered because I refused to get close enough to the edge to take a decent picture after.

Two very distinct lessons were taught to me that day. The first and most important in my mind is the correlation to my Savior’s life and the Atonement. After we have done all we can do individually, we must turn to Him, put our faith in Him, and allow His mercy to work on our behalf. I have never been so physically spent in my life, let alone needing to find just a little bit more to give. It’s not often in life we get such a poignant representation of the gift we were given by our older brother. When I knew I could go no further on my own, I looked to our sweet and determined client and put my faith in her when she said I’VE GOT YOU. I need to remember to do that with my higher power in my daily life and struggles. We were not meant nor expected to muscle our way through life unassisted. He is there. He is ready. He is patiently waiting for us to look up, let go of the dirt and rocks and take His hand.

The second lesson I learned didn’t hit me until the drive home. Believe it or not, I followed Jory on ANOTHER fear-inducing excursion the very next day, even though every fiber of my being wanted to tell him to go to hell. And believe it or not, after allowing those stronger and more experienced than me to help me, I survived AGAIN. As we were driving home, it hit me: I can do hard things! I am not finished struggling, nor am I finished growing. I’ve been in an immense rut the last couple of years, getting down on myself and believing that my best years are behind me; that the mistakes I’ve made and the detours I’ve taken have laid out a path for me that cannot be altered; that pure, unadulterated joy was never going to be mine again. I. Was. Wrong. It is never too late to be something more than you were yesterday. We are never so far gone that we cannot find our way back to happiness. The thought of actively searching for my happily ever after has been overwhelming the last couple of years. It has felt like an obstacle too big for me to attempt to conquer. This week I learned that there is no such thing as unconquerable. I can’t do it alone…but I can do it.

What an amazing time of year to be blessed with such profound experiences. As we celebrate His birth, I am so grateful to know that He’s “got me” through every trial and triumph I’ll encounter. And as we start a new year, I am so excited at the possibilities of what this ole gal might be able to accomplish. I just hope I remember to reach back to those coming behind me with a steady grip and the words “I’ve got you” when they need it most.

XOXO

-Ames

P.S. You may have noticed the blog name has changed. It’s now called Dude…it’s fine. Stay tuned for some new posts with a slightly different flavor and an explanation of the title. Here’s to new chapters! Cheers! XO