From 75 Hard to the 12-Hour Walk — A Journey Through Fear, Motherhood, and Healing
Learning to Walk Alone
When I first started the Mom & Co. Podcast, I thought I’d need Sully beside me every time. But over time, I learned that some parts of my story — the quiet, raw, inward parts — needed my voice alone.
In Episode 4, I shared what it meant to do hard things on my own. Not for anyone else. Not to prove something. But to finally build trust within myself.
That journey began with two challenges: 75 Hard and the 12-Hour Walk.
Facing the Fear of Starting Again
I’d tried 75 Hard before and failed on Day 1 — because I skipped the smallest step: taking a daily photo.
I told myself it didn’t matter. But when I began again in 2024, I realized that the small things do matter.
They reveal what we’re avoiding.
That skipped photo became a mirror for everything I’d hidden: my fears, my body image, my unprocessed pain.
This time, I chose to show up fully — every single day.
Silence, Solitude, and the 12-Hour Walk
On my 41st birthday, I decided to walk for twelve hours alone — no music, no podcasts, no distractions. Just me, the cold air, and my thoughts.
I began before sunrise and ended after sunset.
In those twelve hours, I saw my life replay — the things I’d overcome, the ones I still feared, and the gratitude that connected it all.
I remembered my ectopic pregnancy in 2004, my daughter Penelope’s loss in 2008, and every child I’ve carried since.
I remembered the doctor who once saved my life — the same one who later delivered my daughter Valentina.
Full-circle moments that remind me how pain and purpose often walk hand-in-hand.
Walking Through My Family’s Story
As I sat on a bench in the dark, I thought about my parents’ journey — walking for survival during the Cambodian genocide.
My mother, 43, and father, 48, had just arrived in America a little over a year when I was born. Doctors told her to abort me. She refused.
During my walk, I felt their resilience running through me.
I thought about the sons she lost — ages 2, 8, and 10 — and how her pain shaped her strength.
My 12-hour walk was nothing compared to the miles my family walked to live — but it connected me to their footsteps, their courage, and their love.
Unpacking What Was Buried
There was a time when I thought discipline meant pushing harder.
But through walking, I learned that discipline is also about listening — to your body, to your memories, to your fears.
Each layer I shed — physical and emotional — helped me feel again.
The cold reminded me I was alive. The silence reminded me I was safe.
And when fear whispered, I answered back, I’m still walking.
Lessons from the Road
Fear loses power when you face it.
Every hard thing I did prepared me for life’s real hardships — grief, uncertainty, and the courage to begin again.
Small steps matter.
The skipped photo taught me that ignoring the smallest truth delays the biggest growth.
Outside noise can’t guide your inner journey.
When I stopped asking for advice on Facebook and started trusting myself, I found strength that wasn’t validation-based.
Comfort is a warning sign.
When I felt too warm, too layered, too comfortable — I took something off. Growth lives in the chill.
Healing happens through honesty.
Speaking my losses out loud — after years of silence — released the shame I’d carried alone.
The Angel Named Dory
During the beginning of my 12 hour walk, I met a woman named Dory.
She’d been walking the same trail for eight years before sunrise.
When I asked if she was scared, she smiled and said, “No — this is where I reset.”
Now, Dory and I are friends — two women, two generations, finding calm in the dark.
Sometimes, the right people appear when you’re brave enough to walk alone.
A New Kind of Strength
The 75 Hard and 12-Hour Walk weren’t about fitness. They were about faith — faith that I could face the storms, walk through the cold, and still find beauty.
I thought I was building discipline.
But what I was really building was trust — in myself, in my story, and in the path that’s still unfolding.
🌸 Reflection Prompt
Think about something small you’ve been avoiding — a conversation, a photo, a promise to yourself.
How would it feel to take one step toward it today?
You don’t have to run. Just walk.
Even in the dark, you’ll find light.
