Hiking Journal: Cuyahoga Valley National Park and Nelson’s Ledges State Park. Rocks, Trails, Laughs, and a Sunset Swim
Today I hiked Cuyahoga Valley National Park… starting with the shorter trail to Brandywine Falls. The waterfall had a lot less water than typical I think but it was still a pleasure to see… The trail was lined with a boat load of fossils as a lot in Ohio are.
Next, I explored the ledges area inside Cuyahoga Valley, where massive, moss-draped rock formations rose like ancient towers around us. I ran my hands over the rough stone… feeling the weight of time pressed into every crack and crevice
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I yelled the classic line “Jack, paint me like your French girls” at my buddy Jack… exactly like in Titanic… sprawled out on a rock under a ledge. It was ridiculous and hilarious… so I did it again… on a tree limb at Nelson’s Ledges State Park. My friends Jack Trisha and I laughed so hard at those moments… pure, wild fun that cut through the whole day.
We drove to Nelson’s Ledges State Park next and took the loop trail… exploring Devil’s Hole and Devil’s Icebox. The cave was cold and dark… a welcome break from the sun. Moss covered the giant rocks thickly here as well … and webs sliced across the surfaces like delicate art. One web even contained a mushroom it was too cute. Oh yea I spotted a frog in Devil’s Icebox… well it actually scared the shit out of me diving into the water in the dark. I
The waterfall there was anticlimactic… we ended up on the top and we walked across it, which i had gotten amped about the sound must have echoed through the rocks. When we got to the bottom I was searching for a view or the bottom everywhere but all I found was a giant rock to perch on. Far above, I spotted a tiny trickle of water… so small it felt like nature was trolling me.
After the hike, we ended up driving to Euclid beach to rockhound and finish the day swimming in Erie… the water cool and cleansing after the long day on the trails. We watched the sunset paint the sky in fiery colors… a perfect close to an intense day of exploration and laughter.
All day long I kept filling my pockets with rocks… smooth ones, jagged ones, colorful ones… little trophies from the wild. I even twerked on a ledge because sometimes you just have to own your weirdness in the woods.
Honestly the whole day felt like natural therapy for body and soul.
The day started with wild joy. You know the kind that fills your lungs and makes your chest ache with laughter. I was yelling and joking with Jack, doing dumb poses like my usual goofy self sprawling out on rocks and trees. Those moments were pure freedom… a break from everything weighing on me. The trails, the waterfalls, the smoke drifting through my lungs… all felt like a balm. For a while, I was untouchable… fully alive in the moment.
But living with BPD means the pendulum swings fast and hard. Just as I felt that raw joy, a wave of grief would crash in without warning as usual. On the drive home, the joy shattered. I cried for nearly half the trip. I wanted so badly to tell my mom about the day… about every rock I picked up, every waterfall I saw, every ridiculous pose I pulled. She’s been gone almost four years. She loved the outdoors as fiercely as I do. I could almost feel her walking beside me on those trails, but I couldn’t tell her any of it. That silence hit harder than any fall.
The grief wasn’t just sadness… it was a stabbing loneliness wrapped in frustration and helplessness. It tangled with memories of her voice, her laughter, her love for nature. I replayed moments in my head, wishing I could share the day’s wildness with her, the funny moments, the stunning views, the tiny frog in the Devil’s Icebox. Instead, I had to carry it all alone.
That’s the cruel edge of BPD… the intensity of feeling everything all at once. The joy and pain live side by side, sometimes so close you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I laugh out loud and then dissolve into tears minutes later. It’s exhausting and relentless but also part of what makes me who I am. I just know she would have ate the ledges up. And that makes me feel as if I’m losing her all over again each time. Instead of just whatever grief is I feel the entire weight repeating itself again and again each time I go through these “waves.”
Even with the crushing grief, there’s a stubborn hope. Hiking those trails, swimming in Erie’s water, watching the sunset… it all grounded me. It reminded me that life keeps moving… that moments of wild joy and deep sorrow can coexist. That I can survive the rollercoaster, even when it feels like I’m drowning.
I carry my mom with me on every hike… in every rock, every ledge, every waterfall. She’s the silent witness to my wildness and my pain. Not being able to tell her feels like a wound that never will heal. But maybe that’s why I keep going back to the trails… to feel close to her again, to live out loud, to be unapologetically myself.
This day was everything. It was loud laughter, sharp grief, and a fierce refusal to stop moving forward. That’s the truth of living with BPD and loss. It’s messy and raw and brutally beautiful.
