I was incredibly shy as a kid—always in my own world. I was the one picking flowers in the middle of a soccer game while everyone else chased the ball, and drawing all over myself instead of participating in class. But being in nature, and being in motion, always brought me a kind of joy that made the world feel safe enough to step into.
I wanted to climb most of my life. I’d show up at the gym in the early hours when it was empty, only to leave the moment someone else walked into the corner I was hiding in. I’d go home overwhelmed and in tears. I tried again and again, each attempt lasting a week or two, spaced out over years. Throughout this whole process, I couldn’t stop consuming all the climbing media I got my hands on.
Then one of my older sisters moved back to Austin, and we started bouldering together. To be with her, and to feel supported, changed everything. Then I dislocated my elbow three weeks later. (Whomp whomp.)
By the time I could climb again, she was over it. I tried going solo, but I was at the peak of training for an IRONMAN and strained my hip flexor a week or two in. I threw in the towel and promised myself I’d pick it up again.
Then I moved to Colorado—drawn by my love for trail running and a dream of setting FKTs on thru-hikes—and I started climbing again. Honestly, it’s been more fulfilling than I can put into words. 
From a difficult family dynamic, to being queer in largely conservative spaces, I’ve always felt like I was on the outside of things. That deep-seated fear has kept me from so much. So when I say I want people to feel loved and like they belong, I mean it. I know how much it means to be met with kindness—to be welcomed without needing to prove yourself. That is what I want to help create.
Pursuing the things that make us feel full—movement, nature, adventure, connection—makes us softer, kinder. For me, athletics became a powerful way to navigate my life and mental health. It isn’t the answer for everyone, but for those it resonates with, I hope this space provides the encouragement and support to keep going, or to try for the first time.
Our dependence on each other—our need for community—is one of the most beautiful parts of being human. The friendships and community I’ve found have saved my life. To know and be known that deeply is something I wouldn’t trade for the world.  That’s why I want to help create a community where people are valued not for what they accomplish, but simply for who they are. If you’re here, I hope you feel encouraged. I hope you find something that helps you heal, grow, or take your next step—whatever that looks like for you.
And most of all, I hope it helps you feel a little less alone.