I Forgot to Stop and Look at the Mountain I Climbed

I watched a video recently where a woman said something that stopped me in my tracks. She talked about realizing she never acknowledges when she does something amazing because she immediately moves on to the next thing.

And I felt that one in my bones.

Because I do the exact same thing. My entire life, I have been climbing mountains, reaching the top, and instead of stopping to take in the view, I immediately start looking for the next mountain. There’s no pause. No celebration. No moment where I sit there and think, “Wow. I actually did that.”

It’s always just been, “Okay, what’s next?”

When I really sat with that, I started thinking about all the things I have brushed aside like they weren’t a big deal. Things that, if someone else told me they accomplished them, I would absolutely celebrate.

I earned two college degrees with almost perfect grades, while my youngest was battling for his life with an undiagnosed rare genetic disorder and a liver transplant (or three). I made the National Dean’s List three years in a row. And somehow my brain tucked that away under, “Yeah, but that’s just what you were supposed to do.”

Except… was it?

Because if anyone else told me they had done that, especially while juggling life, family, and everything else that comes with being human, I would never minimize it the way I minimized it for myself.

Then there are the things that don’t come with certificates, awards, or little gold stars.

Like trusting my intuition when something wasn’t right with my kid. I knew something was going on, and I followed that feeling until we finally had answers and learned about his rare genetic disorder.

I advocated. I researched. I paid attention. I kept pushing.

But I never stopped and thought about what that actually took from me. I just moved into the next stage because that’s what needed to happen.

Looking back, I realize that has been the theme for most of my life.

Survive. Solve. Adapt. Keep going.

I survived abuse from people who were supposed to protect me. I survived relationships that left their marks. I picked myself back up more times than I can count, rebuilt, changed direction, and figured out the next step.

And every single time, I skipped the part where I acknowledged the strength it took.

Creativity has been the same way.

I spent twenty years crocheting. Twenty years of learning, creating, experimenting, and making things with my own two hands.

Then life shifted, and I shifted with it.

I found pyrography and spent years burning stories into wood. I built skills, taught other people, created courses, wrote books, made journals, and poured myself into that chapter of my creative life.

Then another shift came.

Now I’m creating surface pattern designs. A completely new world with new things to learn, new challenges, and plenty of moments where I have no idea what I’m doing. And yet somehow, I already have five collections sitting in my portfolio.

Five.

And do you know what my brain says?

“That’s not enough yet.”

Seriously? The audacity of that little voice.

If a friend came to me and told me that same story, I would be amazed by them. I would remind them of every obstacle they pushed through and every brave decision they made.

But when it’s me, I tend to only see the unfinished pieces.

I think part of that comes from not really having someone standing beside me saying, “Hey, look what you did.”

There wasn’t a cheering section. There wasn’t someone waiting at every milestone with confetti and a cake.

Most of the time, there was just me figuring things out.

Again.

And again.

The funny thing is, one of the few people who has actually said the words out loud is someone I have never even met in person. An online friend I’ve known for eleven years told me twice in the last few months that she was proud of me.

And I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear those words until someone said them.

Maybe that’s the lesson I’m sitting with right now. Maybe we spend so much time waiting for someone else to notice how far we have come that we forget we are allowed to notice too.

We are allowed to be proud of ourselves.

Not in a bragging way. Not in a “look at me, I’m amazing” kind of way.

Just honestly.

The same way you stand at an overlook after a long hike. You’re tired. Your legs hurt. You’re probably covered in dirt, and you definitely questioned some life choices on the way up.

But then you turn around and see how far you climbed.

And for once, you think:

“I did that.”

Because I did.

I climbed all of it.

And before I go searching for the next mountain, I think I’m going to stay here for a minute and enjoy the view.