I recently visited Sedona, Arizona for the first time in over 10 years. I only had one free day during my time there and decided to hike around the spiritually infused red rocks. Considering I was 7 months pregnant the last time I attempted one of the many climbs of the area, I did not anticipate it would be an especially strenuous day.

The ascent up to the Cathedral Rock summit was .7 miles straight up. It could not actually be called a trail, more like up a bramble up sandy, slippery, seriously daunting rock faces.

I spent much of the climb, and nearly all of the descent, with my body flat against the rocks, scrambling for any hand- or foot-hold, with a stream of prayers constantly on my lips. To say I was scared would be a gross understatement. Even when reaching a relatively flat area, I could hardly stand, as my body was shaking so badly. During several moments I questioned my intention. And my sanity.

I have been making major changes in my life. Perhaps that is what I’ve always been doing. These days, I am specifically trying to rekindle the discipline that had fueled my youth. I am working very hard to get back into shape after a 3 or 4 year lapse. I am finding the way to stay true to my art and run a business at the same time. My most difficult task, however, has been around trust.

I stopped believing my own word, for good reason. There was growing disparity between what I knew needed to be done, what I told myself I would do, and what would actually get done. Over time, I began to distrust myself just as much as one would distrust a friend or lover who never kept their word. The steps of rebuilding that relationship crossed my mind with each precarious step of my climb.

Did I trust that my foothold would support me, that I would make the required reach, that the ground below would support me? Would each step prove me more trustworthy or foolhardy?

As I carefully moved my body upward, despite my fears, I realized how the gathering of evidence supports any case, be it success or failure. Would falling become proof that I shouldn’t be there or that I could get up again?

Living a life requires such an enormous amount of trust in everything from the people we rely on, to the safety of our food and water, and the reliability of the systems we use. Where does our self-trust fall in that long list? Is it the foundation or the final frontier?

The work of re-building that lost trust, in myself, has been an immense undertaking, even compared to my harrowing climb. It has required an unwavering commitment, combined with the compassion of a saint. I must constantly keep pushing, while having a store of forgiveness at the ready.

I ended up continuing my hike for several more hours with a loop around the base of this magnificent rock. I noticed how easy it felt, compared to the ascent and descent I had just completed. What would normally have been a challenging trek had been transformed into a simple walk. It’s remarkable how pushing though limits, and proving to ourselves our ability to trust the ground beneath us, can make the rest of the path nearly effortless.

It was a glorious day. I returned sore and dehydrated, with a handful of bumps and bruises to prove my adventure. I also had one more piece of data in my quest to know myself better.