three volcanoes in three days

Can you tell I like hiking? Canada, 2022

Some days, just getting out of bed feels like the first mountain I have to climb. It’s not just exhaustion—it’s the strange, silent resistance of a body that no longer listens the way it used to. My brain sends the signal: move, but my limbs hesitate or simply refuse to cooperate. Before the day has even started, I’ve already fought a battle. It’s really hard to wake up to that battle, every…single…day.

That is Parkinson’s disease.

What people often don’t see is how it impacts the tiny, constant moments of life, the day-to-day. They don’t see the background tasks that most people barely notice because they just happen. For me, nothing just happens anymore. Everything requires attention, effort, and adaptation. Getting dressed can feel overwhelming. Buttoning a shirt can feel like a puzzle. Tying shoes requires strategy. Chopping vegetables, brushing my teeth, writing a text, speaking clearly in a conversation—it all takes more out of me than anyone would think or probably understand.

I used to pride myself on moving through the world quickly and confidently. I traveled often, worked full-time, stayed active, kept up with friends, and got sh*t done…a lot of sh*t done. But now, even saying yes to dinner with friends can feel like a leap. Will I be able to move? Will I freeze up when I walk into the room? Will my voice work tonight? Will I be able to use the utensils? Will I look tired or flat or unwell? Parkinson’s isn’t just a physical condition—it messes with your identity, your confidence, and your relationships. It’s a constant exercise in humility.

Yet still, I push myself.

Because while even the smallest things are difficult, I continue to say yes to bigger things. I still want to stretch beyond the confines of this disease. In fact, I need to. I crave challenge. It reminds me that I’m still here, still moving, and still me. So even as I struggle with the basics, I also deliberately take on things that seem unreasonable, things that demand more of me than is comfortable.

Like climbing volcanoes in Guatemala.

So…this November, I’m taking on a challenge with the Michael J. Fox Foundation to hike three volcanoes: Pacaya, Acatenango, and Fuego. These are steep, rugged climbs at relatively high elevation. While I’m pretty sure they would have been easy enough for me a few years ago, I know they won’t be easy now. But doing this will be meaningful. This trek is about showing what’s still possible. It’s about reclaiming my identity as someone who keeps going, even when the going gets impossibly hard.

And despite having traveled all over the world for work and adventure, I’ve never been to Guatemala. In many ways, this trip is about reconnecting with a part of myself I’ve put on hold. 2025 has been a strange year; it feels like everything in my life has been paused. I’ve held back on travel, on decisions, and on moving forward with a lot of things. I have been sad and dejected. I have felt isolated and pretty alone. I’ve been waiting for clarity about my job and my health and my relationship, which has never really come, certainly not in the ways I have wanted. But I’m tired of waiting. It’s time to move again.

And what better way to shake loose the stagnation than to climb something steep?

I have lived quietly with Parkinson’s for a long time. I didn’t talk about it much. I didn’t want to be seen through the lens of my diagnosis. I didn’t want sympathy. I just wanted to hold on to my old life for as long as I could. And in some ways, I did. I kept working. I kept hiking. I showed up.

But pretending I was fine didn’t make me fine. It just made me feel isolated.

Eventually, I got tired of hiding and my symptoms made it so that I really couldn’t anymore. So, I have started opening up by writing, talking, and sharing what it actually feels like to live with this disease. Not in the abstract, not in medical terms. But in real life: the frustrations, the fear, and the slow loss of things I used to take for granted. I’m also trying to share the moments of strength, too, the small victories that come from simply trying.

Being open really hasn’t made anything easier. But it has made me more determined to live fully in whatever time I’ve got. There is no cure right now and Parkinson’s is progressive; it only goes in one direction. So it’s up to me to find meaning, purpose, and community along the way.

That’s why this trip matters.

Yes, it’s a physical challenge, but it’s also a statement. It’s a way of showing myself that I am still here. And just because my health is constantly moving backwards, I somehow still need to move forward. It is telling myself that I am still worthy of investment and care. That’s what the Michael J. Fox Foundation stands for and why I’m proud to be supporting their work. They’re the largest nonprofit funder of Parkinson’s research in the world, and they’re not just hoping for change, they’re driving it.

This trip is about raising money, yes. But it’s also about visibility. It’s about putting Parkinson’s in the spotlight, not as a quiet, invisible disease that people hide as they try to hold on to their “normal” selves. But as a reality that affects millions of people who still want full, rich lives.

I absolutely hate asking for money. It makes me deeply uncomfortable, and honestly, I’m not really doing that here. What I do want though is for you to know that as part of this experience, I’ve committed to raising $7,500 for the Michael J. Fox Foundation and if you want to check out my fundraising page it is here:

 👉 https://give.michaeljfox.org/fundraiser/6515020 👈

So, whether you donate, share the link, or simply read this post, you’re helping bring hope to people like me who are facing something incredibly hard, day after day, year after year.

And if you’re someone who’s living with Parkinson’s, or loves someone who is: you are not alone. This disease is brutal. It’s slow and sneaky and cruel. But we still have agency; we still have voice; and we still have mountains to climb, or in this case volcanoes:)🌋