What solo hiking taught me about self trust.

I grew up in a small town & time where trust was second nature.

My sleepy little town only had a population of about 500 people that was made up of open paddocks, bushland that stretched for acres on acres, and a tight-knit community where everyone looked out for each other. It was the kind of place where kids roamed freely, neighbours knew your name and nothing much changed except the seasons. We had a single newsagency that doubled as our bus stop, a family run fish & chip shop & a small grocer that stocked mostly black & gold. It wasn't much but it certainly was home.

After school, when I wasn't playing netball, swimming or dancing, my friends and I would ride to the local park and spend the afternoon throwing water balloons at each other, eating hot chips straight from the paper bag ( covered in chicken salt, of course) and daring the boys to jump off the toilet block. We spent hours there - our laughter & squeals echoing into the evening.

There were no text messages to check in, no phone calls from worried parents - just a simple "make sure you're home by dark" and as long as we were, all was well. Growing up we didn't have mobile phones; we only had the trust that we were as good as our word.

Back then, trust wasn't complicated - it was built into the fabric of life through the people around me, the community, and the unspoken knowing that we looked out for each other.

My uncle lived on a large property in the same town, surrounded by rolling paddocks that horses grazed and trotted in, a couple of dams and a tree house my cousin built in the bush.

I spent a lot of time there as a young girl. My brother and cousins would tear up the dirt on their motor bikes through the trails whilst I wandered off, content to explore in solitude. I'd listen to the birds singing in the distance, the leaves rustling beneath my feet and marvelled at how small I felt amongst the trees. Nature was quiet, still and beautiful in its simplicity. Without realizing it, I found a sense of comfort there that I couldn't put into words.

When we weren't at my uncles, my friends and I would spend weekends along the local fire trail collecting sticks, kicking dirt and playing like kids do. We would ride to and from school together during the week, knowing that if anything were to happen we would have each other's backs. That sense of security was something I took for granted then - it wasn't just about trust in myself, but trust in my people, the familiarity of the surroundings and in the unspoken knowing that I was never truly alone.

And then, as I got older, things started to change.

My friends were all getting into relationships, spending time with their partners, and I wasn't. If I had waited for someone to go with me, I would have waited forever.

So I stopped waiting and started doing the things I wanted to on my own.

Hiking had always been familiar, but solo hiking became something different. It wasn't a grand act of bravery or a way to prove anything - it was simply a decision.

I wanted to go, so I went.

In doing so, I realised how much I truely trusted myself.

Out on the trail I didn't question my instincts, nor did I second guess my decisions. I simply was.

I played. I explored. I scaled rocks. I took the wrong path. I lost my footing a few times, yet with that I quickly learned the only person who was going to save me, was me.

Nature never felt like a place I needed to fear - it was somewhere that always felt safe, somewhere I belonged. It always felt like home.

The same way I had once wandered my uncles property, I wandered new trails, navigating with the same quiet confidence and ease I carried since childhood.

Solo hiking taught me that the trust I once felt from the people around me - the kind that kept me safe as a kid - was something I carried within me the whole time - I just needed to give myself the space to find it.

And out on the trail, with nothing but the sound of my own footsteps and only the stillness of the trees, I finally did.

If you’ve ever thought about hiking alone but held yourself back, let this be your sign. You don’t need to prove anything and you don’t need to wait for someone else.

Just go. Trust yourself. Trust the trail and see what, or who you find along the way.