Today was the first time I’ve put on a pair of waders in a year.
A year since I stepped away from the hunt and outdoor industry — and from a version of myself that lived there fully. I didn’t expect it to hit me the way it did, but the moment they were on, everything came rushing back.
Pride.
Anger.
Nostalgia.
Grief.
Relief.
All of it (and these were just the offroad waders😂).
The pride came from remembering how capable I was. How strong. How much knowledge lived in my hands and bones. I built a life in that world. I belonged there.
The anger came from how much that strength was expected, extracted, and rarely protected. From how endurance was praised, even when it came at a personal cost. From how giving more was always normalized — and resting, stepping back, or questioning the system wasn’t.
And the grief?
That came from realizing I didn’t just leave a job.
I left an identity.
I didn’t leave because I stopped loving the outdoors. I didn’t leave because I wasn’t tough enough. I didn’t leave because I failed.
I left because loving it cost me parts of myself I wasn’t willing to lose anymore.
That’s a hard truth to sit with — especially in an industry that ties worth to grit, sacrifice, and how much you can carry without breaking. Walking away can look like weakness from the outside. From the inside, it’s often survival.
Putting those waders on today reminded me of who I was — but it also reminded me of why I chose differently.
I’m learning that you can honor a chapter without reopening it.
You can miss who you were without wanting to be her again.
You can feel grateful and angry at the same time.
Those emotions don’t cancel each other out. They coexist.
Today, the waders didn’t swallow me. They didn’t pull me backward. They simply reminded me.
I’m not who I was — and that doesn’t mean I lost her.
It means she carried me here.
And for now, that’s enough.