My Sisters, My Expedition Team

When asked recently the most extreme thing I’ve ever done, I contemplated for a while before I responded “ joining a sorority”.

Everyone has their mountains to climb. For me those started out more metaphorically than literally. My own personal Everest formed in the shape of keeping female friendships. I struggled to fit in and find my niche growing up, like many other kids do. In essence, I was a solo climber. What I eventually learned is that in this climb called life, I was simply ill-equipped to really go at this alone. To truly succeed (summit) I needed an expedition team.

The greatest setback over the years came as recurring avalanches. I suffered mental, physical, and sexual abuse from an older girl in my neighborhood. In the wake of those events was a debri field far greater than I could understand at the time. I spent many years in that debri field, trying to pick up the pieces and find my way out. It took years before I could look back and realize I was lucky to be alive. I often wonder if it was sheer luck, or unrelenting perseverance that didn’t lead me down the path of addiction or suicide like so many others who experience similar traumas. However, although alive, I did not come out unscathed. Scars and haunts developed and a tortured soul relented. In many ways, the abuse carried on and took form through self inflicted mental damage which surely lead to my depression.

It just became easier as time went on to avoid the uncomfortable circumstances of befriending women. I found solace in my more masculine pursuits of sports, science, and math. Looking back, I feel grateful I had those healthy outlets available to me otherwise I’m not sure how things would have turned out. By the time I had reached my junior year of college, I was in a predominately male career path (engineering) and living with six guys. That environment became my security and being a tomboy was title I wore like an old glove, close and comfortable.

However, many nights I would still find myself vegging out watching Sex and the City, longing not for their Jimmy Choos or fleeting romances, but for my tribe, my expedition team. No longer content sitting home wishing for my Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha I set out on a mission. True to form, I drove in head first and began rushing a sorority and got comfortable being uncomfortable.

Bid Day Spring 2006

A few short weeks later, I got my bid on a beautiful spring day and fortunately I never got what I wanted. I never got my fab four like Sex and the City. I did nonetheless, get exactly what I needed; my expedition team. I walked up to the sorority house that day to find over twenty women waiting, cheering, banging pots and pans, and celebrating my arrival as if it was the New Year. Their arms were outstretched ready to embrace me, and I braced myself as if I was ready to jump off a bridge into a cool river. I took a deep breath, let the cold anxious feelings wash over me, and then slowly become dissipated by the warmth and love around me.

Epsilons - Spring 2006 

All the while the only thing I could hear was a little voice in my head saying, “ They picked ME, they want ME.” Me - for all my bumps and bruises, my non-girly ways. They want me. Looking back at that moment, I can’t help but acknowledge that while what I wanted was girlfriends, what I truly needed was love and acceptance. Love and acceptance from not only other women, but from myself.

It was in that moment, I realized I didn’t have to be exactly like them or every other woman. They appreciated me because I was different. I didn’t have to be like them for them to love me and want to call me their sister. They were proud of my more tomboy pursuits. They bragged about the former wrestler and showed up at my hockey games with posters making me one of the few players with a whole cheering section. All the support and acceptance helped me to truly embrace our motto, "Esse Quam Videri - to be rather than to seem to be" and let me be more me. Eventually embracing it so hard, I got it tattooed on my wrist.

Best cheer section to date

It’s been ten years since my bid day and most people still find it shocking that I joined a sorority. It still remains one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. When I think about the woman I’ve become and the difficulties I’ve faced, I know I wouldn’t be half the woman I am without the women in my life.They’ve been the first ones to send me words of encouragement on each new crazy venture I take and they still show up to my sporting events with posters. Others have roped up with me to take the mountain on together, others to give me the beta (advice) on the climb ahead, some have gone ahead to break trail, other times they’ve let me take the lead, and lastly some maintained support from base camp waiting for my return, ready to welcome me home and mend any injuries that ensued. Through it all, they teach me to believe, to be vulnerable, to accept, to support, and most of all to love. They truly have been my expedition team as I summit every new peak that life presents and I couldn’t be more grateful.


To my soul and summit sisters, yours in true sisterhood - Nicole

Another lap around the sun

As we complete another lap around the sun and begin a new one, I’ve been reflecting on not only this past lap but also my past 31 laps around the sun. In reflection, I can’t help but look at a questionnaire I filled out at eleven about who I would be at thirty.  Needless to say, thirty came and went this past year and I’m still not the person my eleven-year-old self thought I would be. My eleven-year-old self said I would be married, have kids, be a doctor, live some place where there is peace and quiet in Pennsylvania, and that I would be worried about taxes, bills, and recycling. The questionnaire also asked what I would do in my leisure time and I left it blank... BLANK!!!!!  While I could be upset at the fact that I’m not the person I thought I would be when I was eleven, part of me is relieved. Many of those answers except for the finding some peace and quiet somewhere in PA (NJ is close enough), were based on what I feel like I should do or what I could do to be happy. What did upset me was that my eleven year old self couldn’t dream of what I would in my leisure time thirty.  

More often than not, I get the impression that people believe the person I am today is someone I’ve always been. Looking at my eleven year old self’s idea of who I would be today its obvious that it isn’t true.  While it is slightly depressing I couldn’t imagine how I would one day spend my leisure time, it’s given me hope. It reminds me we don’t have to become the people we think we are or think we will be. 

We are the story we tell ourselves. And for a long time, I told myself a very gloomy and unhappy story. I believed I was a lonely, miserable, person who didn’t deserve happiness or the company of other people. It wasn’t until I hit my rock bottom that I began to tell myself a new story: a story of love, happiness, fun, and inclusion. For a long time I thought I wanted my story to end, when in reality I just wanted a new chapter. We have the power to tell ourselves a new story not just every new year but every new day, every new minute, and every new second. Each second is a choice to continue with your story or to make a choice to start a new one. 

When I look back on my eleven-year-old self, I wish I could tell her that we are not always the people we tell ourselves, we have the ability to change the stories we tell ourselves, and that all of the things I thought I should do to try to make me happy, might not actually make me happy.  Instead, I wish I could help her value being present, appreciating the now, and continuing to create a story that I want tell. I wish I could help her understand that those values will help lead me to the place I need to be.  For my 2016 resolutions, I’m going to live by those values I wish I could have given myself 20 years ago and learn to appreciate that I am exactly where I need to be. 

Active for Education

Thanks to Daniel Lipschutz for this awesome sketch 

Today marks a little over halfway to my goal to ride, climb, hike, ski, skate, paddle, walk and any other human powered way possible to get to 2,500 miles in a year. In that I am hoping to raise $10/mile to build a Pencils of Promise school. It is just a little over 6 months since I began this journey and I have logged over1,270 miles since April 22, 2015.

What originally started as a way to help my friend Joanna achieve her dream of building a Pencils of Promise school has over the last six months turned into what I believe is my life’s purpose.

During my struggles with depression, being active and having new experiences helped me through those dark times and they still continue to do so. Aside from my friends and family, my active lifestyle and education are the two key factors which helped me make positive changes in my life and facilitate my road to recovery. My goal is to help others, especially those who are in need whether it is financially, physically, or emotionally to have access to these same resources and experiences.

In order to do this, I am starting the campaign Active for Education.The goal of this campaign is to promote the outdoors, physical activity, and education to help support a happy and healthy life. My personal goal each year is to log 2,500 miles and help raise at least $25,000 for a charity, foundation, or organization that promotes this mission. This year it is Pencils of Promise.

For anyone reading this who would like to get involved whether it planning fundraising events, logging miles with me, sharing this mission, or donating money please reach out to me.

#LifeUnfiltered

Hitting post on this was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s taken me several years to get to this point, but as my finger presses down on my mouse pad I'll let out a sigh of relief and a hopeful wish that the universe will be kind as I share my life unfiltered.

The stigma behind mental health is still real and ongoing. Even after all that I’ve been through, I can’t help but wonder how putting this out into the world will affect my relationships, my family, my career, and even the perception of those who only know me through the internet. However, I felt compelled to share my story after reading Madison Holleran’s story, by friends recently affected by depression and suicide, and by the arrival of September, Suicide Prevention Month. My goal and my only hope is for this piece to reach at least one person who is suffering or who feels helpless, and to let them know that they are not alone. That not all hope is lost.

Here is a part of my #LifeUnfiltered

I was seven the first time I threatened to commit suicide by screaming profusely to my parents that I wanted to jump out the window. Suicide was never mentioned again until 3 years ago when I hit rock bottom at the age of twenty-seven and in the throes of my depression wrote my goodbyes and that I was finally going to end my life.

Over those twenty years, I wasn't living and was barely surviving. For a long time I held onto this idea that if I just did what was expected... and that someday, one day everything would be right… I would finally be OK... As if somehow doing everything I thought I was supposed to do like go to college, get a good job, or be in a long-term relationship was somehow going to make me happy... One day. And I survived for twenty years on that notion and I lived consumed with the fear of screwing that up. Then I graduated, got a good job, was in a relationship but still I was the furthest thing from happy. That’s not to say that there wasn’t some glimmer of hope. There were some good times. However, underneath all that lived a darkness inside me that I kept hidden and a fear that consumed most of my days.

In those moments, I felt like Emily Dickinson with "a funeral, in my brain" and I mourned. Even when I knew the depression was ridiculous, it didn't change how I felt. And that's the thing about depression, it only gets worse when you know you shouldn't feel the way you do. At the end of the day, I didn't like who I was or the life I was living.

I believe that no one really wants to die. However, over those twenty years, the option of death provided a solace. There were days where getting out of bed was nearly impossible. I begged and pleaded for something to make it stop, to take me and to please put me out of my misery. All the while I thought: "This isn't right, something is wrong with me. I shouldn't be depressed, because I have everything I ever wanted and was supposed to want.”

Many of us get caught up in those ideas of what we should be doing, and it's hard not to do what you feel you should be doing. Whether it's the media, your friends, your family, or your work, there always seems to be something or someone telling you what you should be, what you should do, and what you should want. And for me it was an endless pursuit.

With depression it doesn't matter what you have, how much money you make, the house you live in, or what you look like. Depression doesn't discriminate. Because of it, for a long time I feared anyone would question my authenticity, my pain. I kept it a secret and I kept many people at arm's length to make sure it stayed that way.

Luckily that night when I wrote my goodbyes I was also able to reach out. Instead of committing suicide that night I called my therapist and a close friend to stay at their house. Writing my goodbyes also helped to break the silence with my family and gave me a safety net I never previously had. Eventually I realized I didn't want to die and that no one ever really wants to die. What I really wanted was to stop living my life at that time. So bit by bit I started to make changes. I didn't quit my job, move, get a new boyfriend, or do anything drastic. Instead, I started to search for what brought me happiness. I focused on what I needed and not what I felt like I should do. And slowly I started to fall in love with new hobbies, new friends, new experiences, new places, and cultivated a new outlook that helped me appreciate everything I had. I fell in love not only with my life, but with myself. I was no longer merely surviving, but I started to thrive. I could finally after all those years start to let people in.

I'd never wish depression, fear, anxiety, or suicidal thoughts on my worst enemy, but in a weird way it's made my life a little sweeter. Things seem a little bit brighter after being in the dark all those years. Not many people get second chances in this life and I feel fortunate I was able to give one to myself. Every day seems like a blessing and I feel grateful I didn't become a statistic.

But no one should become a statistic and depression should not be a life sentence or furthermore a death sentence. I urge anyone who is reading this that ever feels that way or has felt that way to reach out to someone. Whether it's family, friends, or a therapist, reaching out helps more than I could ever say.

If you would have told me three years ago this is where I'd be or these are the things I'd be doing, I wouldn’t have believed you. I didn’t grow up dreaming of climbing mountains, traveling the world, racing bicycles, skiing in pillows of powder, or most importantly having friends to enjoy these passions with. This isn't the life I dreamed of or the one I set out to live. I couldn't see that far ahead. It was never in my realm of possibility. Each one of these new experiences has taught me to embrace the unexpected, be open to change, and let me see what I am truly capable of when I let myself be limitless.

For anyone who has sent me a message, a letter, a postcard, left me a comment, or told me that in some way, shape, or form that I inspire you to not only live but to live life to the fullest, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. Those sentiments mean more to me than I can ever truly say. I've kept every one, as you are each an integral part of the life vest that I've clung to at dark and difficult times.

Most importantly you've continued to inspire me to keep being me.

Everyday heroes

I've spent  some time lately thinking about what it means to be a hero. It started not long after a friend left a comment on one of my downhill mountain biking pictures in which she called me her "hero". While I appreciate the sentiment, it was easy to dismiss at first. I am certainly not saving any lives or putting myself at risk for the sake of others. But either way it got me thinking "who are my heroes?". 

I've never  been one to idolize athletes or celebrities regardless of what they've done because at the end of the day I don't truly know them on a personal level. My heroes are my family, my friends, my teammates, my climbing partners, my skiing partners...it's not the best athletes setting records, winning titles, or hitting the biggest features. For me, it's  those everyday people who push themselves outside their comfort zone and the ones who help me to do the same. The people who despite what society expects or wants them to be, still remain true to who they are because they've inspired me to be the person I aspire to be. They are those people who have courage as Brené Brown defines it "to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart". I know they are not without fear.  The courage and bravery of those that are unassuming and ordinary gives me hope. Each one of them in some way or another has been my hero. They've helped save my life from mediocrity, complacency, boredom,  societal constraints, and  even depression. 

Luckily, I was able to grow up with a younger brother who is one of my biggest heroes. I watched him consistently overcome his fears and push himself day in and day out. Having this inspiration to work hard and play harder truly saved my life. 

My brother and I on his graduation from Drexel 

My brother hitting the phantom drop at Mountain Creek

I wanted to love something the way I knew my brother always loved BMX. Something that would always be there regardless of what else  was going on, something that I could count on when all else failed to give me comfort and joy. Because in the darkest hours of my deepest depression I realized at 27 I had no idea what made me happy, what I did just for me and no one else.  It was depressing to realize how little I did for myself and my own happiness but it was also liberating. I had a blank canvas to which I could create my own happiness. True to my normal fashion I threw everything and anything I could at it. In two years I've tried horseback riding, hiking, ice climbing, rock climbing, mountain biking, mountaineering, paragliding, skydiving, mud runs, adventures races, crossfit, rafting, paddle boarding, surfing, kayaking, and I started skiing again with a vengeance. 

I wasn't sure where this all would go since it started from a place of shear desperation. Desperation  to feel joy and happiness that didn't come from anything more than me doing something I loved. My life has changed in ways I never imagined. I've made more friends than I ever thought I would, become a part of communities I never even knew existed, and have more heroes in my life than I ever anticipated. Most importantly I've fall in love with this life I was inspired to start because I get days and weekends like this one, out on my bike (sometimes my skis, skates, the trail, or the rocks) hanging out with some of my heroes. 

My DRRT teammates Cait, Lindsey, and I at Oak Mountain for GES #3
Photo: Tom Preston 

Here goes nothing...

Today seemed appropriate as ever to finally do something I've been wanting to do for quite some time and start writing publicly. Today of all days because it’s Father’s Day. My Dad is not only the one who helped me come up with the title of this blog but also helped me get to this point and become the woman I am today. 

I am even more fortunate today for my father as I recently heard a group of dads concerned about each of their daughters becoming too much of a tomboy. The concern sadly wasn’t that they might engage in more dangerous and risky behavior like most boys tend to do (An interesting article on male risk taking and women’s attraction to it). Instead, their concern was how those tomboy behaviors like wanting to ride a dirt bike will affect their chances of getting married off. It pains me to even write that and breaks my heart for their daughters. I can't even figure out where to start other than a forever grateful “thank you” to not only my father but my mother as well. Thank you for never making me feel less than. Thank you for supporting my tomboy activities. Thank you for letting me know its ok to fall and get bruises, but one day my scarred legs might require me to wear panty hose to work. Thank you for giving me the courage to get back up after those falls instead of instilling fear in me that I would get hurt again. Thank you for never making me feel my worthiness and ability to be loved has to come from another person. Thank you for teaching me to be a strong independent woman. And this list goes on. 

The ironic part of the thinking of those dads is that I know plenty of men who are single and would love to marry a woman who loves to do the same “boyish” activities they love.  Those dads also might never know what kind of joy those activities might not only bring their daughters but themselves as well. Being able to share those activities with my father provides such great opportunities for us to spend time together. At the end of the day spending time with those you love and being able to take joy and happiness out of your days should be some of the most important things in life. 

If being single or never getting married ends up being the worst thing that happens to me in this life, I'll be grateful. There are worse things in life. Being single doesn't mean I’m alone. And being a tomboy doesn't make me unmarriable. Thank you mom and dad for never letting me think otherwise.