Lessons Learnt on Superlatives

by Louise Truman (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

I didn't expect to find Tanzania

Mount Kilimanjaro inspires transformation. Uhuru Peak stands for freedom, boldly named when Tanzania gained independence from colonial powers in 1961. A symbol of transformation for an entire nation, even decades later this piece of history remains firmly in our present as Kilimanjaro continues to inspire the growth of those who flock to its formidable slopes. For me, climbing Kilimanjaro taught me how I could fall back in love with living. Panic attacks had come to dictate my life in the months before my trip. Taking me by surprise as I drove to college, a friend's house or to work, the skyline suddenly blurring as I pulled over my car to try and remember how to breathe. Each time a panic forced me to physically stop like this, I felt restricted as life overtook me, discarding me to the side lines. Dissociated and isolated, the irony was far from lost on me that my anxiety had essentially taken on the form of a passion I define myself by: Travelling. In hindsight, I realise I should not have been so surprised that my anxiety followed me halfway across the globe to Tanzania, as unwelcome as an overweight baggage charge, not to be silenced by even the most impressive of surroundings. Feeling that telling pit in my stomach, irregular breathing and shaking limbs impinge upon my façade of an over-excited, under prepared tourist on day one of the climb, I finally accepted that if I was to stand a chance of summiting Kilimanjaro, I had to address my panics. It was the trek, therefore, that propelled me to seek the support of my teammates. One walked with me on that first day, opened up about her own mental health and the personal ways in she worked through her struggles. Struck by how open she was about it, how far removed this was from the taboo that is mental health at home, I began to feel a little less alone. As I slowly started to let myself embrace mountain life, it became less about racing against altitude sickness to the summit, and more about enjoying the climb itself. Retreating into my headspace a little in the raw, stark beauty of Kilimanjaro's landscapes, I grounded myself in what matters, and detached from what does not. Forgetting all normal social constructs, I had candid discussions about bowel movements at the dinner table and revelled in the deteriorating state of my unwashed hair. I loved how, by day two, I could look down to the cloud level whilst standing on solid ground. Our crew of porters never failed to boost morale even after the most exhausting of days. Singing "hakuna matata" in defiance of the lack of available oxygen in the air, their spirit was captivating. My consciousness of the extent to which Kilimanjaro pushed me to own my emotions peaked on summit night. The air became so thin as we surpassed five thousand metres that I felt like I was barely breathing, a brutally unnerving feeling not too different to a panic attack. When we finally reached the summit at 9am, I found myself in a state of disbelief that, after everything, I had actually managed to reach the summit of Kilimanjaro, the world's tallest freestanding mountain. In their iconic glory, I admired the views of the equatorial glaciers lining the crater rim from the incredible vantage point that is Uhuru Peak. For all of this though, our obsession with superlatives seemed insignificant, laughable. The tallest, the biggest, the best. In realising that the summit, however beautiful, was no more transformative than the rest of the climb, I gained a new sense of emotional maturity that allows me to disconnect from all of the absurd social pressures and prejudices that continue to bombard me back at home. It might have been superlatives that first drew my attention to Kilimanjaro, but I'm happy to now throw my ego away so that I can better prioritise and sustain my mental health. Coping with panic attacks is still such an evolving process, but the lessons that I ended up learning on superlatives means that, although anxiety may somewhat shape me, I will not let it be a defining feature.