For our third annual mom’s trip, our small group of mom’s chose the destination of Colorado Springs, CO. The gorgeous mountain views made me second guess my life choice of flatland Nebraska living.
I don’t know how other mom groups do it, but I feel like after three years, we’ve kinda got a system, even down to the way in which we split up the bill. (If you haven’t heard of the app Splitwise, you should totally look into it.)
I imagine our group of moms walking through the airport comparative to the opening scene of Reservoir Dogs, only not in black suits or smoking cigarettes, but between us, we were, in fact, carrying a slew of drugs; mostly for allergies though, Dramamine, of course Tylenol and some tubes of hemorrhoidal cream.
One of our incredibly talented moms loves to meal prep and cook, so we look to her, as our resident chef, to provide us with delicious cuisine anywhere we travel.
Now, most would assume that mom trips are full of self care regimens and pampering, because, what mom doesn’t deserve that, right? However, this mom’s trip was shaping up to be a bit different. You see, we have some kick ass moms in this group that don’t mess around when it comes to getting away. In addition to some pretty intense boozing, you should see this group of moms when they play pitch and poker. It’s a good thing that kids aren’t around, because you could have mistaken these moms for a group of foul mouthed sailors. The laughter too, oh my the laughter. One of the moms has this incredible snort when she gets going and it is one of my absolute favorite things.
Aside from all this and also on the agenda was a Level 4 white water rafting trip down the Arkansas River. (In case you are wondering, there are Levels 1-5 in terms of risk and yes, that was one of the questions that I asked.) Of all the moms on the trip, only a few had rafted before, but that wasn’t stopping anyone. Personally, I was nervous, but I had full confidence in my mom crew.
Now, I’m “rapid”ly approaching some metaphor heavy content to further detail our day on the river, a day that will live long in my traumatized memory. I’m no stranger to talking through the trauma of others as a mental health therapist, but it has been interesting to talk through a bit of my own.
Our day started like any other rafting trip. We were assigned our gear that consisted of wet suits, life jackets and a helmet. At the time, as a completely naive newbie, I thought the helmets seemed like an extreme precaution. We loaded onto the bus while the cute, young, surfer-esque guide talked through some potential “what if scenarios” and how we would manage if we ended up in the water. We all playfully half-listened and joked about the possibility. I also noticed some funny messages and signatures that lined the ceiling of the bus.
Interestingly enough, we weren’t even deterred when the very gusty wind forcefully blew one of our rafts off the trailer while we were driving. It took all four of our guides to retrieve it. They indicated to us that this had never happened before. The raft was retrieved, re- secured and we were once again on our way.
At the launch site, the guides went through a few more “what if scenarios” that I mostly missed because I took a last minute potty break. I took a bit longer than expected due to maneuvering a wetsuit in an outhouse, which is definitely something I do not recommend.
Onward.
Our crew was split into two rafts, one that had three along with their guide and our raft that had four along with our guide. We’ll call him “Drew.”
Drew gave us directions as we started down the river. He told us when to paddle and which side to paddle. How many times. Forward or back. In total, there were 14 sets of rapids.
Drew was young, a total thrill seeker, you could tell. River guide by summer, ski instructor by winter. He told us he lived in a tent and used a solar powered battery to use a stove and to charge his phone. It’s hard for me to imagine a life like that, but then again, I bet it is hard for him to imagine the life of a mom.
I actually started to feel a bit more confidence as Drew guided us. The scenery was magnificent. I laughed when Drew joked about how we liked the view from “his office.”
The wind was still very intense and Drew mentioned that he had never seen it so windy in the canyon. As I write this, I’m wondering why we didn’t expect something bad to happen. The windy conditions were ripe with rafting trauma.
We approached a rapid and quickly gained speed. Drew’s directions were louder and more aggressive and rightfully so. I knew this was one of the biggest rapids we would face because this was the one where one of the guides (who was in a kayak and went ahead of us) was up on a towering rock to take pictures, certain to get some good action shots.
Now, I’ll try to remember this in as much detail as I can, but a lot of it happened so fast, that it truly is a blur (both literally and figuratively.)
The rapids grew and the wind picked up and our crew was unable to navigate around a large rock and we, in fact, went right up on top of it causing our raft to turn on its side and threw the four of us into the water. My head came up above water and I was initially grateful that I wasn’t underneath the raft, but immediately realized the precarious situation I was in. To give you a bit of context, I am close to being legally blind and the intensity in which we hit the water caused my contacts to roll into the back of my eyelids and when I opened my eyes, I could see nothing but blur.
I immediately remembered a saying that I heard in the bus, which was, “nose and toes” which referenced, keeping your toes up from the bottom to prevent you from getting them caught in rocks and nose up to keep your head above water. The issue with that, as I flowed downstream, is that I literally could not see where I was going and was slamming into rocks both underneath and above the water. My vision was gone and I was only to rely on the very little that I could hear being screamed at me from offshore. My head was going above and below the water and I became incredibly disoriented. At one point, another mom was next to me, screaming for help. I was able to grab her lifejacket and I somewhat made out that I was next to a rock that I grabbed with my other hand. Her pleas for help scared me to my core. My other hand clung to this rock with the slightest of ledges, but the rapids were too much for me and we went under again. This mom later told me how she watched as my outstretched hand scraped across that slight ledge and with my hand giving away like it did, so did our hope.
I know that it might seem dramatic to anyone reading this, but the loss of my vision throughout this ordeal and my inability to know if I could be helped put me in a mindset of believing that I may not escape. The thought of not surviving actually crossed my mind.
As my head came above water one more time, I heard many people screaming, “grab the rope, grab the rope.” I was panicking, because all that I could think of in that moment was, “I can’t see anything. I couldn’t see a rope if it was right in front of my face.”
What I didn’t know at that time, was that my mom friend who was with me at the rock, who was just a bit further downstream, HAD seen the rope, grabbed it and was being pulled in and it just so happened that my arm, flailing in the air, caught that rope, not because I saw it, but because I felt it in the air as I was just about to go underneath it. Essentially, my flailing arm snagged it by accident.
I held onto that rope as if my life depended on it, err, no pun intended. We were pulled toward another raft offshore where she was lifted into the raft first and I second by our other momma heroes that somehow lifted our soaked, tired bodies out of the water as if we weighed nothing. What an interesting perspective they had, to watch the whole ordeal play out in front of them.
It’s actually kind of hard to articulate in words, the amount of relief that you feel after you experience something like that. That level of fear.
Once the shock subsided, the cold set in. Crisp mountain water in April is no match, even for a thick wetsuit. We were encouraged to take a moment and put some warm clothes on. I was trying to fight tears, but they came anyway. My contacts were somehow still up in my eyelids and eventually made their way down, allowing my vision to return. I was momentarily relieved to be in a raft, out of the water and safe, for the time being. I mean, two minutes earlier I thought that I may not survive.
I looked around. One of my other momma friends was in a different raft, visibly shaken up and bleeding. I learned that she had just been pulled in by rope as well.
I guess I just assumed, stupidly, we were done. As in, okay, fun is over, we can check near death experience off our list and now it’s time to go home, BUT, it indeed, was not done. Not by a long shot.
The guides motioned for me/us to get out of the raft we were in and asked us to return to our raft to complete the trip. Please excuse my language, but my internal dialogue went as such: “There is no (expletive) way I am getting into that mother (expletive) raft.
The problem with being in a river canyon is that there really aren’t any, you know, roads, so the only way to get back safely was to continue down the (expletive) river. Either that or a helicopter and my personal trauma didn’t necessitate that kind of rescue.
In therapeutic terms, the term flooding means to overwhelm someone with emotion. I use this term to describe ways in which you can deal with fear or trauma. For example, if someone is fearful of water you could expose them in one of a couple ways. A. Allow them to slowly walk up to the shallow side of the water and put each of their toes in until they feel comfortable or B. Unknowingly push them into the deep end.. to flood them. I feel like we were forced into option B.
To say that we were skittish, is a complete understatement. Our interactions with Drew were much less playful and each of us were working through our own trauma in different ways.
I remember thinking my one momma friend wasn’t even phased, because she just kept along, with her positive attitude. Little did I know, that was her way of coping.
We very slowly, and I mean slowly, earned Drew’s trust back. I say slowly because that was rapid 1 of 14 and we were only 20 minutes into a nearly three hour trip.
What I thought about though, in the cold, somewhat painful, traumatizing remainder of our trip was where all my metaphors come into play.
Simply put, in this life, you just gotta get back in and keep going. What choice do you have?
This life is going to put you in dangerous situations. Sometimes, you can’t see what is ahead of you and you don’t know what to expect. (In my case, literally.)
It is as though you are dodging rocks in front of you. (Again, literally.)
Sometimes it is as though you are barely keeping your head above water. (You get the point.)
But then, someone throws you a lifeline. (Or, perhaps a rope.)
And even though other people may not understand what you just went through, you put on your big girl pants (and dry clothes) and you move on, because that is what moms do.
Trust that the moms in your life will lift you up. (Lift you up in many ways, but also in this case, it doesn’t hurt to have moms that are literally strong AF.)
As we ended our trip and loaded back on the bus, I began to read the writing that was on the ceiling. It wasn’t just signatures, it was messages from others that had been through what we had and survived. A theme from all of it was that they were thankful for their safety and thankful for the experience. They got through it with a bit of humor and humility. The four of us can now say that we joined the Arkansas River “Swim Team,” as they say and I’ve got to admit, I’m a proud member.
I’m not sure that I’ll go rafting anytime soon, but I too, am thankful, but even more so,
thankful that I have the moms that I have to go on all these adventures with.
Maybe next time though, let's plan to do a little more self-care.
