Thank You All

62 Days

To my students, to the women I’ve had the privilege of serving, and to the millions of people who have faced adversity and been told they’re too emotional, too different, too much, or simply not enough, I see you. And I dedicate my Alone journey to you.

I had to grow up quickly when I was young. The world stopped feeling like a safe place, but through nature, I began to see that the world could still be bright. In the Arctic, I didn’t just get brief glimpses of that feeling. I got to live inside it. There were moments of agony, pain, fear, and failure, but when those moments came, I deliberately tried to lean toward what made me happy. I prayed. I talked to the universe. I asked myself how I wanted to feel that day, who I wanted to be, what I wanted to give, and what I wanted to receive. I stopped living by other people’s expectations of who I should be and started leaning into who I really was.

I went into this experience wanting to prove to myself and others that I was capable, and I believe I did that. I was fed. I was warm. I was safe. I learned to hunt. I adapted. I built. I crafted. I persevered. But out there, I also learned that when you constantly lead with the need to prove something, you are still allowing something outside of yourself to determine your worth. The one thing I hadn’t proven was that I was capable of caring for myself. It took leaving to finally prove that. If I stayed, I would be leaning into harm. If I left, I could walk away with integrity. To me, that was worth far more than half a million dollars.

I learned that resilience isn’t the absence of emotion. Courage isn’t always continuing. Strength isn’t measured solely by how much pain you can endure. Survival isn’t about staying in the game at any cost. To be a survivor is also to be of service and to lead by example. I would rather leave with honor and dignity, knowing I made the right decision in an act of self love, than stay in self harm simply to feed my ego and risk losing my eyesight or, worse, my life. Sometimes survival means protecting the person you fought so hard to become. For me, that meant choosing eyes over ego and myself over money. So I chose me.

My goal was to stay at least 77 days. That would have been my 41st birthday, and I wanted to give myself that accomplishment as a gift. Instead, I gave myself the greatest gift I could possibly give myself out there: love. I gave it hell, but more importantly, I gave it heart.

In the Arctic, another spirit inside me took over. She got to play. She got to be curious. She got excited about nature. She built and crafted. She reconnected with this curious, joyful, wounded part of herself. There wasn’t an ego driven persona out there. There was someone who got to play in the biggest backyard she could ever ask for. Someone who got to be seen and heard. Someone who could be vulnerable, kick, scream, cry, laugh, and discover that all of it was okay. I learned to hunt. I learned to adapt. I learned to trust myself. I cried, laughed, grieved, failed, succeeded, prayed, persevered, and experienced what it meant to feel completely alive.

Somewhere in that wilderness, I realized something even bigger: I am the author of my own story. I spent half my life leaning into self harm and living as a version of myself dictated by what I thought others wanted me to be. For too long, I allowed other people to have a hand in writing my narrative through their expectations, their judgments, and their definitions of strength, success, femininity, resilience, and worth. Out there, I took the pen back. I realized I didn’t have to be who somebody else decided I was. I didn’t have to become the character an audience wanted me to be. And I didn’t have to sacrifice myself to prove I was worthy of anyone’s respect.

Neither do you. Be brave enough to lean into who you are. Take up space. Use your voice. Tell your story. When someone else tries to dictate who you are, take your power back and remind yourself: I get to decide who I am.

I made an informed decision not to compromise my vision any further. Having grit and being brave doesn’t always mean pushing forward and continuing to fight. Sometimes bravery is recognizing when continuing no longer serves you. I have had my agency taken from me before, and rebuilding it took a long time. This experience challenged that agency again, but this time I had the power to hold on to it. I had the power to walk away. Staying simply to satisfy someone else’s definition of strength would have meant surrendering my autonomy all over again. Walking away wasn’t surrendering my power. Walking away was my power.

I chose my heart over someone else’s definition of winning. I chose my health over ego. I chose myself over money. I chose my agency, my autonomy, my integrity, and the person I had fought so hard to become. I went from someone who armored herself in toughness to protect what was inside to someone willing to become courageously vulnerable and experience all of it. I chose survival. I chose to protect my life. I chose love.

I may not have won the competition, but I went into it wanting the adventure of a lifetime and wanting to learn whatever the wilderness was willing to show me. And I did. I broke myself and rebuilt myself many times out there. I walked away having won more than half a million dollars could ever give me. I walked away with myself. So, in that sense, I did win.

I also want to thank every person who has reached out to tell me that some part of my journey helped them. To those who saw themselves in my vulnerability, who found hope in my story, who felt a little less alone watching me struggle, cry, persevere, choose myself, or simply be unapologetically human, your messages have meant more to me than I can express. They have reminded me why I chose to share the difficult parts instead of hiding them. If my journey has helped you find the courage to keep going, reclaim your story, feel what you need to feel, or believe in yourself again, then sharing mine was worth it. I see you. I hear you. And I am here for you. You are welcome at my fire.

I came home understanding that you can have skills and you can have grit, but they mean nothing without heart. This journey is dedicated to everyone who helped me find mine and to everyone still searching for theirs. Take control of your narrative. Take your power back. Be brave enough to lean into who you really are, and be brave enough to become who you already know you are.

Be a wildcard.