The Weight of the Pack
Every hiker learns the same lesson the hard way: what you carry matters.
As a young Boy Scout, I often overpacked. Layers for every forecast, food for an army, and gear that promised security. As each mile passed, my shoulders ached, my breath shortened, and I realized the pack wasn’t protecting me; it was punishing me.
Life works the same way. We fill our emotional backpacks with things we think we need. Approval, performance, perfectionism, control. We carry wounds that aren’t even ours: the generational fears, unspoken expectations, and quiet traumas handed down like family heirlooms.
Psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk reminds us that “the body keeps the score” that trauma, whether personal or collective, embeds itself in our nervous systems, tightening our breath and shortening our stride. We may keep walking, but the weight shapes us.
We live in a culture that rewards endurance but rarely invites reflection. A culture that celebrates the summit photo more than the soul that made it there. And somewhere along the way, we forget to ask the simplest, most freeing question: Is all this weight worth carrying?
Necessary Gear: What Belongs in the Pack
Every backcountry traveler knows the “Ten Essentials.” Without them, you’re unprepared. Too much, and you’re overburdened. The same is true of the inner journey.
1. Courage
Courage is the first essential. The willingness to take the next step even when the trail disappears. Brené Brown writes, “You can’t get to courage without walking through vulnerability.” Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the act of carrying fear honestly.
In my own hikes (and my own heart) I’ve found that courage rarely feels like boldness. It feels like trembling faith. It’s lacing up your boots again after loss, or choosing forgiveness when bitterness feels safer.
(Related reading: Between the Ridges: Building Resilience in Ourselves and Our Children)
2. Curiosity
Curiosity keeps the map open. It asks questions instead of building walls. Psychologist Marc Brackett calls emotional awareness “permission to feel.” The practice of naming emotions accurately so we can respond rather than react.
When we stay curious about our triggers, our partners, and our children, we interrupt cycles of judgment and shame. Curiosity is what transforms conflict into connection, confusion into learning.
(Read more in Curiosity: The Spark That Builds Better Learners, Leaders, and Neighbors)
3. Resilience
Resilience is less about toughness and more about flexibility. Dr. Dan Siegel’s concept of the window of tolerance describes our ability to stay regulated under stress. Resilience widens that window. It allows us to breathe through difficulty rather than bolt from it.
Like pacing yourself at altitude, resilience is rhythm. Inhale, exhale, adapt. It’s faith practiced slowly.
4. Connection
Sue Johnson’s research on attachment shows that secure connection (being seen and safe with others) literally regulates the nervous system. When it comes to healing, we need witnesses, not judges; companions, not critics.
Connection is the rope between climbers, the steady hand that says, I’ve got you.
(Explore this theme in Thin Air and Turning Points: The Power of Presence)
5. Faith and Purpose
Finally, we pack faith. The quiet compass that orients us when the path vanishes. As Viktor Frankl observed, those who have a why can endure almost any how. Faith, whether in God, goodness, or growth, reminds us that every climb shapes the soul.
(For spiritual grounding, see Anchor Points: The Quiet Practice That Grounds a Restless Soul)
Unnecessary Weight: What We’re Better Off Leaving Behind
When I coach new hikers, I ask them to empty their packs before the trip. Remove the extras: three flashlights, two jackets, a full cast-iron skillet. They laugh….until they hit the incline.
We carry emotional weight the same way.
1. Fear
Fear is the “just-in-case” gear of the soul. Just in case I’m rejected. Just in case I fail. Fear convinces us that control equals safety. But Stephen Porges‘ Polyvagal Theory reveals that safety is not created through control but through connection and calm. Fear narrows our window; faith and curiosity widen it.
2. Shame
If fear is over-preparation, shame is hidden baggage. The soaked clothes stuffed at the bottom of the pack. Brown calls shame “the intensely painful feeling of believing we are unworthy of love.” It’s heavy because it isolates.
Shame thrives in secrecy; it evaporates in empathy. Speaking our stories aloud; whether to a therapist, a trusted friend, or God lightens the load.
3. Pride and Ego
Pride is like carrying flashy but useless gear. It looks impressive until the storm hits. Ego resists asking for help, and isolation always increases the weight. As Carl Rogers wrote, “The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change.”
Humility isn’t self-deprecation; it’s alignment. Standing tall without the excess.
4. Cultural and Generational Trauma
Many of us are hiking with packs packed by someone else. Family secrets, societal messages, and generational pain travel quietly. Research on intergenerational trauma (Yehuda et al., 2016) shows that stress patterns and emotional suppression can be biologically passed down.
Our culture prizes performance and productivity. We are taught to “power through” rather than pause. Yet, as van der Kolk reminds us, “Trauma is not the story of something that happened back then; it’s the residue that lives on in our bodies now.”
To heal, we must acknowledge what we inherited and choose what we’ll hand forward.
(Related: The Soft Heart: Living Whole in a Numb World)
Joy in the Pack: What We Carry for Beauty’s Sake
Not all weight is a burden. Some things are ballast.
When I open my pack before a climb, there are a few non-essentials I refuse to leave: my journal, a photo of my kids, and a small carved cross. None are strictly necessary for survival, but they remind me why I’m climbing.
1. Creative Expression
Psychologists note that creativity helps integrate trauma by giving it shape and color. Journaling, painting, or music transforms pain into meaning. As I wrote in Paper Trails: The Art of Mapping Your Journey, “Some entries are messy rants; others are prayers. Together they form a map of grace.”
James Pennebaker’s studies on expressive writing show that translating emotion into language improves both mental and physical health. Art isn’t just decoration, it’s medicine.
2. Gratitude and Ritual
Like cairns marking the trail, gratitude rituals remind us where grace met us. The Israelites called them “memory stones” (Joshua 4). Modern psychology calls them “positive emotion practices.” Either way, they strengthen neural pathways of hope.
3. Relationships That Nourish
We carry each other. Genuine friendship, mentorship, and community redistribute the load. In Thin Air and Turning Points, I wrote of a mentor who asked a single question that changed my life. That’s the power of companionship; one good question can lighten miles of burden.
4. Purpose
Purpose doesn’t remove pain; it redeems it. Every scar becomes a signpost. Frankl called this tragic optimism: the belief that meaning can emerge even from suffering.
When you know your “why,” even the steepest trail becomes sacred ground.
The Mid-Trail Decision: Learning to Repack
Halfway up a mountain, I like to stop where the view widens. I drop my pack, unbuckle every strap, and spread everything on the ground. What stays? What goes?
Healing requires the same pause.
1. The Nervous System Checkpoint
Before we can release emotional weight, we have to feel safe enough to do so. Siegel teaches that integration begins with awareness. Tracking sensations in the body, noticing breath, grounding in the present. It’s not a mental exercise; it’s embodied honesty.
Try this: Feel the ground beneath your feet. Name what feels heavy. Exhale.
2. The Role of Guides
Some gear requires help to remove. Therapists, pastors, and mentors act as trail guides, helping us unpack trauma without re-injury. Deb Dana, building on Porges’ work, describes co-regulation as “the science of safety.” Healing that happens in trusted relationships.
Healing isn’t heroic solitude. It’s shared surrender.
3. Self-Compassion
Researcher Kristin Neff defines self-compassion as treating yourself with the same kindness you’d offer a friend. It’s the gentle repacking of your soul. Instead of berating yourself for the past, you acknowledge, forgive, and adjust.
Self-compassion transforms guilt into growth. It’s how we travel light without pretending the past never happened.
4. Forgiveness and Boundaries
Forgiveness isn’t a one-time unload; it’s a rhythm. And it doesn’t mean carrying everyone else’s baggage. As I wrote recently, “Forgiveness without boundaries leaves me vulnerable. Boundaries without forgiveness make me rigid and stuck.” The two rails together carry resilience forward.
5. Reclaiming Agency
Trauma steals choice. Healing restores it. Each decision to release resentment, to seek help, and to rest is a declaration of freedom. The repacking process says: I choose what belongs in my story now.
(For deeper reflection, see The Shadow and the Summit: The Courage of Self-Reflection)
Traveling Light
As the sun dips behind the ridge, I shoulder my pack again. It’s lighter now. Not empty, but balanced. Every item inside has purpose.
The same is true for our souls. We can’t walk this world weightless, but we can walk wisely. We can learn to discern between the gear that grounds us and the baggage that buries us.
When we lighten our personal load, we make room for others. Our healing becomes communal. Our children, our students, our communities feel the difference. As Dan Siegel notes, “Integration leads to kindness.” The more whole we become, the more compassionate we become.
Maybe traveling light isn’t about having less. Maybe it’s about trusting more.
So before you take another step, pause on the trail and ask:
- What am I still carrying that no longer serves me?
- What might I need to add to keep me steady?
- Who might need me to walk beside them awhile?
The trail ahead doesn’t demand that we carry everything; only that we carry what’s true.
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