The summit lasts a few minutes. The conversations, the reflection and the changes you make on the mountain can last a lifetime.
If you'd told me a few years ago that I was going to climb Kilimanjaro, I would have laughed. I'm a 53-year-old mum of five. Four of my children are my stepchildren, who were all navigating those complicated teenage years at exactly the same time I was entering menopause. Between us, we seemed to have every hormone imaginable under one roof. Add three dogs to the mix and our home was loud, busy, chaotic and, most importantly, full of love.
Three years ago, our family packed up our lives and moved from the UK to Dubai. New home, new school, new friends, a new country and a completely different way of life. Like so many people, I was constantly looking after everyone else, always moving on to the next thing, rarely stopping long enough to think about myself.
Climbing Kilimanjaro was never part of my plan. When the opportunity came along, I simply thought, why not? I expected a physical challenge. I expected tired legs, freezing temperatures, early mornings and a sense of achievement if I made it to the summit. What I didn't expect was that the mountain would quietly change me.
Kilimanjaro gives you something that modern life rarely does. Time.
Time to walk.
Time to think.
Time to listen.
Time to simply be.
As you slowly climb through each changing climate, something else begins to change too. The noise in your head starts to fade. The constant demands of everyday life become quieter with every step. Without even realising it, you begin reflecting on where you've been, where you are now and where you'd like life to take you next.
The pace of the mountain teaches patience. Pole pole, slowly, slowly, isn't just how you climb Kilimanjaro; it's a reminder that not everything in life has to be rushed.
There is something incredibly special about sharing that journey with people who have all chosen to step away from their normal lives. Around the camp, over meals, or simply walking alongside one another, conversations become honest. People open up. They encourage one another. Complete strangers celebrate every small victory together, because everyone understands just how hard the journey can be.
I have never experienced anything quite like it. Surrounded by some of the most breathtaking scenery on earth, I found clarity. I found perspective. I rediscovered gratitude, not only for the life I have lived but for the life still waiting for me.
The summit was unforgettable, but it wasn't the greatest gift the mountain gave me. The greatest gift was coming home knowing that something inside of me had shifted. I left Kilimanjaro stronger than when I arrived. Not only physically but mentally. I had a clearer mind, renewed confidence and a sense of purpose that I hadn't realised I'd been missing.
You don't have to climb Kilimanjaro because you're lost. Sometimes you climb because you simply need the space to remember who you are. For me, that's exactly what the mountain gave me.