The Climb: Healing as a Personal Mt. Everest

People often tell me I seem so balanced, so calm—even in the middle of chaos. Sometimes I see surprise in their eyes, like they think I came out of the womb radiating zen energy. But the truth? Getting here has felt a whole lot more like climbing Mt. Everest in a blizzard than floating down a lazy river.

What No One Sees: The Mountain Beneath the Calm

It’s easy to assume that someone’s steady presence is just a personality trait, something they lucked into. What’s invisible is the mountain behind the stillness—all the heartbreak, the self-doubt, the messy lessons learned by stumbling, falling, and getting up, again and again.

Healing is not a straight path or a weekend workshop. It’s a grueling, often lonely climb. There are days when the wind howls, when the summit disappears into the clouds, when you wonder if you’ll ever catch your breath again. You slip. You start over. You want to turn back, but something deep inside keeps urging you onward.

The Essentials: Patience and Grace

If I could go back and talk to myself at the base of that mountain, I’d bring two things: patience and grace. The kind that’s endless, that stretches further than you thought possible. Because there are moments when the path vanishes beneath your feet, when nothing is clear and all you can do is pause and wait for the fog to lift.

This isn’t the patience of simply waiting in line—it’s the soul-deep, bone-tired patience of tending to old wounds over and over, sometimes with no evidence that things are changing. It’s the grace of forgiving yourself for every slip, every flare of fear, every time you thought you “should” be further along by now.

Every Step Counts (Even the Pauses)

The climb isn’t glamorous. Some days, the biggest win is not giving up. Other days, it’s letting yourself rest—taking shelter when the storm hits, trusting that the weather will clear eventually. You learn to celebrate every small step, every moment you choose gentleness over self-criticism, every time you return to yourself instead of running from discomfort.

If you see me calm today, know that it was earned the hard way—step by painstaking step, breath by ragged breath. I didn’t get here by accident. I got here by refusing to give up on myself, even when the summit felt impossibly far away.

For Anyone Still Climbing

If you’re still on your own mountain—still slipping, still searching for the next foothold—please hear this: You’re not failing because it’s hard. You’re climbing your own Everest. You are brave, even when you feel lost. And if you can’t see the path in front of you, maybe that’s your invitation to pause. To breathe. To let grace and patience keep you company until you’re ready to take the next step.

The summit isn’t a single moment or a finish line—it’s every choice to keep going, every time you hold yourself with compassion, every breath you take along the way.

You’re further than you think. And you’re not alone.

With you in the messy middle,

Sarah