No holding hands allowed.
If you want to participate in this strength-building activity, you must follow the leader’s rules.
When my daughter, Emmy, was only about 7 or 8 years old, she found herself determined to go on the night walk at our annual family camp. We waited until the late summer hour of total darkness, anticipation building as we sat in the field with a group of twelve, a few adults, several teens and only one youngster. Mine. The leader advised my husband & me not to go along so that Emmy would not seek her mother’s or father’s help.
No holding hands allowed.
The idea was for a single file line to follow the leader’s voice deep into the woods, over swamps on log bridges, between twisting trails cutting through tall trees and thick brush.
No flashlights.
The moon was not bright that night, but the stars always shown brighter at camp, away from the electric noise of the city.
Emmy was scared, but she didn’t want to quit.
I gave her plenty of opportunity to back out, for she was the youngest of the group, and I thought perhaps I shouldn’t even allow her to go. But she was committed. I could see the wheels turning in her head; she was gearing herself up. Almost talking to herself aloud as tiny pools of tears threatened to spill over her bottom eyelids.
I am going to do this! I am not giving up.
The Guide began leading the group away from our gathering spot on the open field while we sat watching them go.
“Your eyes will adjust,” he said.
He did break his own rule by just a fraction, and I saw him pull Emmy to the front of the line near him. He was holding her hand as they approached the edge of the woods. She was so young after all.
My husband & I sat and waited, trying to distract ourselves during the hour we couldn’t see our little girl. Trying not to picture her slipping off a log into the swamp.
Does she need such a strength-building activity at such a young age?
Truth is, she did. She was born with some fears. Some about which we can identify the source. Others, not so much.
Dark-nighttime-woods-walks are probably good for everyone.
Seeing the exuberant joy emanating from Emmy’s face as she emerged first from the woods was a great reward. We heard her laughter and excitement as she bantered with the guide and the older participants. A new-found confidence wrapped around this little girl like fresh, new apparel. Triumphant as she conquered the fear.
[Emmy’s night walk is a good example for life. I just walked through a dark forest of my own as I published my book. I have kept my story hidden for so long, as if I were sitting at the edge of the woods, afraid to step into the strength-building activity. Denying myself the growth I would experience if I just talked to myself, stood up and conquered that fear. Now that I have embarked on this trek, I feel lighter in my steps, and instead of tears flowing at my first Book Launch party, laughter spilled everywhere.]
Our stories matter. If you are holding back, afraid of walking through the darkness, remember, your eyes will adjust.
Read about my walk in My Father’s Daughter.
🔗🔗Available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
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This is a beautiful piece of work. Thank you for sharing.
Hi Shell,
I just wanted to say how much your story about Emmy — and your own walk through the "dark woods" of publishing — resonated with me.
There’s something timeless and universal about that image: standing at the edge, knowing the only way forward is through the darkness, no shortcuts allowed. It’s not that fear disappears — it’s that we decide to keep moving anyway, trusting that eventually, our eyes (and hearts) will adjust.
What struck me most is how you captured that pivotal moment right before courage kicks in — the hesitation, the trembling resolve, the almost-whispered self-talk: “I am going to do this. I am not giving up.”
It’s the same voice inside every person who finally stops waiting for permission to live, to create, to speak.
Your story is a beautiful reminder that fear isn’t a stop sign — it’s a starting line.
Congratulations again on your book launch — and thank you for the reminder that the dark woods are not something to avoid, but something to walk through.
I’m grateful you shared this.
– Matt