You Were Always Meant To Climb.

We all have mountains to climb. It's a well-worn phrase — one we often hear when we're in the thick of something hard. But when you're really in it, trudging through the heavy, the unknown, the uphill, it’s easy to forget that the climb won’t last forever. You forget that, at some point, quietly and often without realising, you will reach the top.

Most mountains are deeply felt at the bottom — the beginning is where the weight sits heaviest. The ascent can feel endless, the path unclear. And often, we believe the goal is to reach the peak and stay there. That once we’ve overcome this challenge, made it through this season, we’ll remain on solid, peaceful ground. But nature, in her quiet wisdom, reminds us otherwise.

Rarely does a mountain stand alone. Look at any mountain range — Everest doesn’t rise in solitude. It is surrounded by peaks, some higher, some gentler, some hidden until you’ve already climbed one and begun the next. There are always more. Not in a hopeless way, but in the most deeply human, sacred way.

Growth is not linear. Healing is not a single summit. Life is not a mountain we climb once. It's a range — valleys and peaks, the climb, the rest, the view, the descent, the next rise.

This isn’t meant to dishearten you. It’s meant to free you.

You are not doing life wrong because it feels like one mountain after another. You are not behind. You are not broken. You are climbing — and every single step, every pause, every stumble, every view you stop to admire is part of it. Part of the becoming. Part of the beauty.

For years, I felt like I was endlessly climbing — worn out, wondering if something was wrong with me. It felt relentless, like one long, never-ending ascent. But when I look back with more honesty, I see now: it wasn’t one giant mountain. It was many. Different climbs in different seasons. Some so steep and consuming I questioned whether I’d ever make it to the top, and others gentler — where I could pause partway, catch my breath, and take in how far I’d come.

I used to think I should’ve arrived by now. That there would be one ultimate summit — a final, victorious peak — and once I reached it, I’d stay there forever.

But now I know: the real becoming is in the journey itself. The truth lies in the rhythm — in the slow, committed ascent, in the learning that comes with each step, in the quiet moments where you get to pause and honour what it took to get you there.

And this — this is the truth I offer you gently:

You have already climbed so many mountains. Some nearly broke you. Some built you. Some revealed strength you never knew you had. And still, you climb. Still, you rise.

This is not a life of constant striving — it is a life of becoming. Of gently uncovering your resilience. Of honestly meeting yourself on every new slope. Of consistently returning to your truth, again and again.

And when you find yourself at the top — breathe. Look around. See how far you've come. Honour the strength, the softness, the steady commitment it took to arrive. Let the beauty of that moment settle into your bones. You made it.

And when it is time to climb again — you will. With more wisdom, more grace, more inner beauty than the time before. Because that is what every mountain gives you: a deeper version of yourself.

You don’t have to race to the top. You don’t have to climb alone. And you don’t have to fear the next peak. You are strong. You are able. And you already hold within you everything you need to keep going.

Because every mountain you climb comes with this: strength, beauty, softness, grit, truth. Don’t rush past it. Sit with it. See it. You climbed a mountain. An entire mountain.

Look at you.

And yes — you can do it again.

Final Post on WCL

And when you do — stop. Breathe. Be with it.

Because you, you are not just climbing mountains. You are becoming them.