I forgot what it felt like to be in my element. To be on the edge of the unknown, far from home, relying on my own effort to get there (although this time it was the dogs covering the distance). I forgot what it felt like to be challenged and to be a vital part of a team, to effortlessly connect with other adults who share my love for nature—to swap stories, to laugh, to just be together. I forgot the feeling of strength, pride, empowerment, and support that presents itself while in the harshest, most unforgiving environments. But when I started to feel it again deep in the Arctic, it was like I was finally coming up for air after swimming a little too deep. You know that feeling when you’re swimming towards the surface, but you’re unsure if you’ll reach it in time? When you’re fighting harder and harder to stay calm despite the sense of panic forcing its weight on you … and then the relief of a gasp of fresh air! Fjallraven Polar was that gasp of fresh air I so desperately needed!
Those positive effects from time in nature used to be familiar. I first felt them on Mt. Kilimanjaro and on Mt. Elbrus, surrounded by women from all over the world hoping to summit, though not exactly sure of what that would entail. What we all found were some brutally hard days of hiking through captivating landscapes and a type of community that only shared suffering can bring together. In just a few days on those mountains, some of those women became lifelong friends. Friends where “TMI” doesn’t exist and conversations pick-up where they left off despite the amount of time that passes. These friendships are indescribable, but if you have them in your life, I guarantee you’ll know what I'm talking about. I’ll forever cherish how uniquely special these relationships are- fast-tracked by being built on raw vulnerable moments.
This was the period of my life where I truly fell in love with the outdoors. My calendar was filled with climbing trips, backpacking adventures, training hikes, and I filled all the days in between with time in the climbing gym. I was even hired by the travel company that I had used for my Kilimanjaro and Elbrus trips, WHOA Travel, so that I can help inspire other women to find the outdoors. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had found myself. I found my tribe. I found strength and confidence, and I felt an excitement for life that I’d never experienced before.
But then 6 months later, I found out I was pregnant. Although I was in a very committed relationship and knew I wanted to be a mother, I wasn’t so sure that this was the right time to start a family. I became a hormonal mess. Overjoyed, but also heartbroken- afraid that this meant the end of all my adventures. I still remember the first moment where I felt the now familiar “push and pull” of motherhood, when I sent my email to WHOA letting them know that I wouldn’t be able to lead my first hike as a GAL to Peru because of the pregnancy. I burst into tears right after.
It may seem selfish or immature that I was worried about my adventures when discovering my pregnancy, but you have to understand that I had spent so long trying to find this missing puzzle piece of my life. I didn’t grow up with adventures or travels, or any exposure to nature, but for as long as I could remember, I had always felt a longing to see beautiful natural places, to explore places beyond my community. I never understood how to get there, or even where “there” was, but I felt drawn to these places that I had only seen in magazines. Then as I slowly discovered the outdoors, I started to feel like I was growing into the person I wanted to be- the person I needed to be. I finally found what it was that made life exciting not just in a fun leisurely way, but in a way that made life fulfilling. These jaunts into nature helped me create a life I was eager to wake up to. I was scared that motherhood would end the adventures, that somehow I would feel empty, and the days would darken again. I was scared knowing that if this were to happen, it would be because of my child. I didn’t want any resentment towards them, so that day I promised myself that I wouldn’t let it happen. I wouldn’t lose myself in the process of becoming a mother.
But then life happened.
I had my first daughter during the peak of the pandemic, and nothing could’ve prepared me for how lonely that would feel. Seeing that there wasn’t much for us in LA at that point, we moved back to the East Coast to be closer to family. We used that time to build more of our savings and fix our credit. After a year, we decided we were ready to buy our first home out west, grow our family, and be closer to nature! This was going to be the move to our forever home- close to rock climbing, mountains and hot springs! We envisioned each of us carrying a child on hikes, or having them play with each other while we were at the crag bouldering. We were so excited at the thought of sharing our love for nature with our kids and moving somewhere where we could easily do that.
But just as we were about to look at homes, I found out I was pregnant again- but with twins. Twins! We planned on trying for one more baby, not immediately becoming pregnant with two! Our plans immediately changed as we realized that moving would mean raising two newborns and a toddler with no support. It didn’t seem possible with a high risk pregnancy, and it definitely wouldn’t be fair for our oldest, who I couldn’t imagine being left with a nanny. Long story short, we ended up making the biggest impulse buy of our lives and closing on a home relatively close to family within the week. Thankfully we did, because not only was I unable to be physically active while pregnant, once the twins arrived, things became even more intense. We were outnumbered. Three girls under two demanded everything of us.
My twins are 3 now and my oldest is about to turn 5, but life hasn’t gotten any easier. We’ve been dealing with unknown medical issues with the twins resulting in 10 or so hospitalizations between the both of them in the past 1.5 years. My husband works hard to provide for the family while also handling as many dad duties as he can manage, and I am a stay at home mom. We both have very little, if any, time to ourselves. So the idea of doing anything for myself, especially something like an expedition, would be irresponsible. We’re barely surviving as is. Not only would it strain our finances, but the logistics of coordinating child care and managing the girl’s rapidly fluctuating health seemed impossible.
But without expecting much of an outcome, this past October I applied for Fjallraven Polar once again. This was my 4th year applying for the annual event providing 20 participants the opportunity to dogsled 300km through the Arctic. Fjallraven not only hosts the event, but they also provide all the gear, and cover the cost of accommodations and airfare. I figured it was such a longshot that if I was selected, it would be a sign that it was meant to be. That despite how much my family needed me, me being selected was equivalent to the universe granting me permission because I deserved it.
And somehow, I was selected! It felt better than winning the lottery! Better than anything I could’ve dreamed up. And the best part of it is, I felt like I could finally do something for myself while being completely absolved of the mommy guilt. Anyone could see that this opportunity of a lifetime to explore the Arctic was so good that of course I had to say ‘yes!’ I’d be crazy not to go!
But still the expedition came at a horrible time. I was scared to get my hopes up as both twins were hospitalized the weeks leading up to the expedition. Like with everything I try to do just for myself, the guilt was still there. How can I leave my husband to care for sick kids who might end up in the hospital? How can I feel excited when I know my children are struggling to breathe? I spent the days leading up to the expedition taking them to see specialists and trying to boost their health with steroids to get them back to 100%. We put them in a social bubble to try to minimize the chances of them getting more sick, and I just kept hoping that they would turn a corner. Literally a few days before I was set to leave, they started to show signs of improvement. It was only then that I allowed myself to pack. But then the morning I was set to depart, my oldest daughter started coughing. It felt like there was no end to constantly living in this heightened anxiety state. I felt torn leaving my family with so much uncertainty, but I was also sad that I had been given this amazing opportunity that I couldn’t even celebrate. All of the other participants were sharing their excitement as I was still running through every worst case scenario that could happen while I was away.
But with the support of my amazing husband who provided me reassurance, I still made my way to Sweden and everything ended up working out. Being able to take part in this expedition was everything I didn’t know I needed. Traveling solo, meeting strangers who felt like different versions of myself, feeling free amongst an ever changing landscape... As cheesy as it is, the further I am from civilization, the more alive I feel. For the first time in years, I was surrounded by snow capped mountains, my breath taken away (figurative and literally) by the landscape around me. I had time to sit in my own thoughts, to slow down and really reflect. I didn’t think 100 steps ahead or worry about the what ifs. I didn’t have to anticipate the needs of my children or walk on eggshells anticipating the next tantrum. I lived in the moment in a way that has somehow become so foreign to me. I felt reacquainted with my true self again. Truly, it felt like a breath of fresh air!
I’m not much of a crier in everyday life. I don’t cry when my kids need to go to the hospital or need IVs. I have to be their strength. But being in those mountains, being on that sled, I found myself constantly holding back tears. Even now writing this, I feel them well up! It’s hard for me to look at photos or look at other participants' social media posts. I’ve written one heartfelt post to show my gratitude to Fjallraven for giving me the opportunity, but for everything else that I feel, I’m still making sense of it all.
It’s been a complex mix of emotions since the finish line. I remember feeling the biggest sense of accomplishment having completed the expedition. As soon as I could, I called home excited to share this elation with my family. I was immediately greeted by all three of my children fighting over the phone to talk about their coloring pages. I wasn’t ready to switch back into mom mode and make them the center of my universe again. There was such a huge disconnect between the life I had just lived those past few days on the expedition and the life I had back home. I chose to disconnect from my usual reality and enjoy the alternate reality in Norway a few hours longer.
But it was a matter of time before I had to go home, and don’t get me wrong, I love my kids more than anything, and I truly missed them the entire time I was gone. But I had just lived the polar opposite experience than the life I was living back home. Not only did I have to process all the emotions of saying goodbye to my teammates and mourn the end of this chapter of expedition excitement, but I had to jump into the role of motherhood with kids who couldn’t care less that I just had a life defining experience. They just wanted me to play hide and seek and babies with them. It felt like whiplash!
I couldn’t help but come home and feel disconnected. I wasn’t ready to be touched or nurturing. I looked at my kids and I felt awkward not knowing or not wanting to do anything with them. This was not me. I have always been so in sync with my kids that I can look at them and know what they're thinking. I know them better than they know themselves! I figured it was jetlag and post travel blues, so I just took it slow and allowed myself to feel all the feels. I took my time processing my emotions and looking through my photos. I shared what I felt like sharing on social media and I’ve been writing a lot for myself.
I’ve realized that my experience on Polar was one of the highest of highs in terms of my personal growth. I learned to be self-sufficient and survived the Arctic using the skills I had just learned, along with the teamwork that came so naturally with my polar family. I put myself out there beyond my comfort zone on social media to be selected for the event, and pushed myself beyond my comfort zone in the Arctic to truly experience it all. I jumped into the life of a musher, and I did the damn thing and completed the expedition from Sweden to Norway!
In contrast, it came at a time where I had been feeling the lowest of lows in terms of personal growth. For the past 5 years, I haven’t been living for myself. I pushed my career and my hobbies aside. Every minute of every day revolved around my kids- their schedules, their needs, their wants. And while being able to do so is a blessing, I spend every day on repeat carrying out a predictable schedule of basic mundane tasks. I’m exhausted by the end of every day and have nothing to show for it. (Yes, I have my kids thriving to show for it, but motherhood is such a thankless job). I haven’t taken any time for myself, and if I do, it's typically planned at a time where all of their needs are already taken care of, and my me-time is squeezed into naptime, school drop-offs, or late-night hours where I choose between sleep or solitude.
This wasn’t the person I had intended on being. Sure, I want to be a mother, and I do feel like I’m living a dream as a stay at home mom, but I didn’t want to give up everything else I love in the process. I know that I come from a place of extreme privilege. Especially in the US where there is no federal law mandating paid maternity leave, most moms would kill for the opportunity to be with their children all day. But if I’m grateful for the opportunity I have, does that not allow any space for me to feel anything other than happiness in giving my every minute to my children? Am I not allowed to feel burnt out? Do I not deserve to do things that challenge me and make me feel alive? There’s that push and pull again, because I am grateful. I truly am grateful…
But I also literally dream about climbing. Seriously, the only recurring dreams I have are of me climbing with my husband. I crave it so much that when we went on a road trip and stayed with friends, our one date night after the girls were asleep was to a climbing gym. Although I try to combine my love of hiking or climbing with motherhood, every time we try to take the girls, it has created more stress than it's worth. I love exposing them to my passions in hopes that one day we will share the love for these hobbies together, but right now these outings don’t fill my cup. It’s more for them than it is for me.
Recently, I came across the term matrescence. It’s defined as the transition into motherhood- like adolescence, a liminal space of hormones, identity shifts, and emotional tug-of-war. I’ve been living in this state for years, battling this loss of identity and longing to be my old adventurous self with the role of being a fully present mother. Trying to find something for me without seeming ungrateful for the life I’m privileged to have. Trying to unscramble my new set of values, but never succeeding in fitting them all within my life. It’s a hard space to live in.
I realize now that by depriving myself of doing the things that made me feel most alive, I was slowly losing myself in the process. I used to take pride in defining myself as an adventurer, a climber, a hiker. For the past 5 years, I’ve only been a mother. And there’s nothing wrong with that, because frankly that’s what was needed during this period. My kids needed me, and I’m so proud of the way that I’ve been able to show up for them. But while I don’t regret it, it’s also not sustainable.
It’s unfair to myself and to my family to suppress the parts of me that bring out the best version of who I am. I deserve to feel strong, to chase dreams, to have joy that exists outside of motherhood. And my kids deserve a mom who is whole, not one who has lost herself in the process of caring for everyone else. I want them to know that they push me to be a better version of myself and will never be the reason why I gave up on what I love in life. If anything, they are the reason that I will continue to push to find the right balance. Because I want them to see their mother being strong and courageous. I want them to see me take on challenges. I want to lead by example, and I want them to always live life in a way that feels authentic and fulfilling to them regardless of what phase of life they may be in.
I say all of this as the grief of leaving Polar is still heavy. I’m learning to accept it though. It’s impossible to go through such an uplifting and epic experience and not leave profoundly moved. Not one person left that expedition unchanged. Even if we aren’t sure what those changes are at the moment, we were all deeply affected in some way. To return home and expect to pick up exactly where I left off is unrealistic, because I’m definitely not who I was before I left for this expedition. I’m still just as loving of a mother, but now I’m a mother who is trying to be more intentional and present with her children. At the same time, I’m a mother who is going to start to prioritize being in nature and her own personal goals and ambitions. I now know that it is okay to fill my own cup even if that means putting my children aside for a bit. That just because I need a little break from them, it doesn't mean I love them any less.
As for my personal goals and ambitions, I am trying to use the grief from Polar to fuel something bigger. I want to take my experience and recreate a similar experience of self rediscovery for other mothers. I want them to reconnect with who they are outside of their family roles, to shed the notion of being “just a mother” and embrace the confidence that comes with recognizing motherhood as one of the most powerful and transformative journeys you can take. That motherhood can be tough and isolating, but there is also a community of others who relate and are also seeking a village. And even in postpartum bodies that may now feel unfamiliar, strength isn’t in a number or a PR, it’s in what we’ve survived and in how we keep showing up. I hope then, that all of these mothers will feel as badass as they truly are.
I’m grieving the experience that I had on those mountains, but I’m chasing providing that experience to other women. That's what’s filling my cup right now. Because it shouldn’t take winning an opportunity of a lifetime for you to prioritize self care. Because yes, while motherhood is challenging, it should never challenge your self-worth or self-esteem. So if you’re a parent who’s reading this and feeling a little lost in motherhood, I hope you’ll consider letting nature and a supportive community help you in the way that it has helped me!
Because if I’ve learned anything from this journey, it’s this:
We as mothers can do hard things.
We are more capable than we give ourselves credit for.
And we deserve to feel alive, too.
Oh and yeah, your kids are ALWAYS watching, so go do the damn thing and make them proud!
About the author
Tiffany is a pediatric nurse turned postpartum doula and stay-at-home mom. Despite never stepping foot into the wild as a kid, she discovered her deep love for nature in college and has been making up for lost time ever since. From rock climbing in Joshua Tree, to mountaineering on Mt. Elbrus, and dog sledding through the Arctic, Tiffany has a fearless spirit and a thirst for adventure. These days, her biggest mission is sharing that passion with her daughters and helping other women feel confident venturing into the outdoors. Whether it’s a weekend hike or a wild expedition, Tiffany believes every woman deserves to experience the kind of magic that only nature can offer.
