The Mountain That Changed How I Understand Strength
- Val Blair
- Mar 7
- 4 min read
Today I was featured in an article in Fast Company exploring the hidden downside of discipline among high performers.
The article touched on a moment that happened years ago in Sedona.
But like many moments that change us, the real story is deeper than what fits in a few paragraphs.
It started on a mountain.
The Mountain
It was April 2017, just before my birthday.
Five years had passed since Derek died, but grief doesn’t follow a calendar. Every year between February, when his birthday came around, and June, when he passed away, I found myself reliving the months that led up to losing him.
To get through that season, I started creating small rituals for myself. Something healing for Derek’s birthday. Something grounding for mine. Something meaningful for the anniversary.
That year I went to Sedona for a retreat.
One afternoon we hiked to Boynton Canyon, a place known for its contrasting energies. One side of the mountain is often described as “warrior energy.” The other is associated with the feminine.
Before the hike we had been talking about masculine and feminine energy.
At that point in my life, I was living almost entirely in my masculine energy.
Move faster.
Work harder. Lead. Solve the problem.
And I was good at it.
We reached the top of the mountain easily enough. The sun was bright, the air was warm, and the climb felt empowering.
But when I crossed to the other side of the mountain, something shifted.
Suddenly, the world started spinning.
My vision blurred. My stomach dropped. I felt dizzy and nauseous.
I walked back toward the other side of the ridge, hoping it would pass.
It didn’t.
That’s when I realized something I didn’t want to admit:
I couldn’t get down the mountain.
The Reflex to Do It Alone
Instead of telling anyone, I sat down.
I told myself I would figure it out.
That’s what I had always done.
Handle it. Push through. Solve the problem.
For nearly an hour, I sat there hoping the vertigo would pass.
Two women from the retreat eventually approached me.
“Do you need help?” they asked.
“Nope. I’m good.”
The response came out of me instantly.
Automatic.
They looked at me for a moment.
“You don’t look good,” one of them said.
They started walking down the trail, then turned around.
“Are you coming?”
I shook my head.
Finally, one of them said gently, “We’re helping you down.”
At some point, my resistance softened, and I said yes.
They helped me stand and supported me down the mountain.
And somewhere along that descent, the tears started.
The Moment I Realized Something Had to Change
I wasn’t crying because I felt weak.
I was crying because I suddenly saw how hard I had made life for myself.
I had built a life around discipline and independence.
Those traits had helped me succeed.
But they had also quietly turned into something else.
Hyper-independence.
Overcontrol.
The belief that strength meant doing everything alone.
And my body had finally had enough.
When I returned from that trip, doctors confirmed what my body already knew.
I was exhausted. My system was depleted. My stress levels were affecting my health in ways I couldn’t ignore anymore.
For years, I had been pushing forward, carrying grief, responsibility, and a demanding career without stopping long enough to ask whether the way I was living was sustainable.
The mountain moment didn’t magically fix everything.
But it forced me to ask a different question:
What if discipline isn’t about pushing harder?
What if real discipline includes knowing when to stop?
What Changed in My Leadership
When I returned to work, I started doing things differently.
Not dramatically. Just intentionally.
I left my phone at work.
When I walked out of the office at night, I let the workday end.
I started taking small breaks during the day. A walk around the block. A cup of coffee. A moment to breathe.
And I encouraged my team to do the same.
Not because we were lowering our standards.
But because sustainable performance requires space.
Discipline isn’t just about output.
It’s about stewardship of your energy.
That was a leadership lesson I had to learn the hard way.
A Simple Pause Practice for High Performers
If you are someone who prides yourself on discipline and reliability, try this small practice the next time you feel yourself pushing too hard.
Pause for sixty seconds and ask yourself three questions:
1. What is driving me right now, fear or intention?
2. What does my body need in this moment, effort or recovery?
3. Is there someone who could support me if I allowed it?
These questions don’t eliminate ambition.
They help anchor it in awareness.
And awareness is what turns discipline into something sustainable instead of destructive.
Strength Looks Different Than We Think
The lesson I learned on that mountain still stays with me.
Strength isn’t about carrying everything alone.
Strength is knowing when to keep climbing, and when to let someone walk beside you.
Closing Note
A shorter version of this story was recently shared in Fast Company in an article exploring the hidden costs of excessive self-discipline among high performers.
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