Mountains, Motherhood, and Finding Myself Somewhere Between Frisco and Dillon

This weekend I found myself winding through the mountains of Frisco, Breckenridge, and Dillon, Colorado. The views were incredible. The air was crisp. The lakes sparkled. And for a brief moment, I remembered what it feels like to exist as something other than someone's mom.

Now before anyone comes for me—being a mom is my greatest privilege. My kids are my world. But if you're a mother, especially a single mother, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Motherhood isn't just a role. It's a full-time identity.

For years, if someone asked me who I was, my answer would've started with "I'm a mom."

Not "I'm Melissa."

Not "I love adventure."

Not "I enjoy marathons, traveling, writing, and getting entirely too excited about coffee with a mountain view."

Just mom.

Because somewhere between school pickups, sports schedules, work, laundry, permission slips, doctor appointments, and wondering why there are seventeen cups in every bedroom, I lost track of the woman underneath all of it.

And honestly? I think a lot of us do.

As I drove through Summit County this weekend, I kept catching myself looking out at the mountains and thinking how strange life is.

One minute you're twenty-five, convinced you have it all figured out and your life will be like this forever.

The next minute you're in your thirties, standing in a brewery overlooking a lake, questioning every life decision you've ever made while simultaneously Googling your way through a random mountain town on a solo adventure.

It's a wild ride.

There was something therapeutic about wandering around Frisco and Dillon alone. No one needed a snack. No one was asking where their charger was. No one was arguing with a sibling about whose turn it was to sit in the front seat.

Just ME.

And let me tell you—when you've spent years carrying everyone else's needs, being alone can feel surprisingly uncomfortable. I've never gone out of town and wandered alone. Without a romantic partner or 3 kids in tow.

At first, I kept reaching for my phone. Checking messages. Looking for something to do.

Then slowly, I started to settle into the quiet.

I walked.

I explored.

I sat by the water.

I watched paddle boarders glide across the lake while I contemplated whether my back hurts because I'm getting older or because I slept wrong.

The answer is probably yes.

What struck me most was how much courage life requires.

Not the dramatic movie kind of courage.

The everyday kind.

The courage to start over.

The courage to leave situations that no longer serve you.

The courage to trust yourself when the future feels uncertain.

The courage to build a life you love, even when it doesn't look anything like the one you originally planned.

If there's one thing motherhood has taught me, it's that life rarely follows the script.

There have been seasons that nearly broke me.

Seasons filled with fear, uncertainty, heartbreak, financial stress, loneliness, and wondering if I was doing any of this right.

There have been moments I felt strong.

Moments I felt completely lost.

And sometimes both at the exact same time.

Because that's the thing nobody tells you about adulthood.

You don't magically arrive.

You don't wake up one day with all the answers.

You just keep going.

You keep learning.

You keep adjusting.

You keep becoming.

And somewhere along the way, you realize growth doesn't stop at thirty.

Or forty.

Or fifty.

We're all still figuring it out.

As I looked out over Dillon Reservoir with the mountains reflected in the water, I realized something.

Maybe discovering who I am isn't a destination.

Maybe it's the journey.

Maybe the woman I'm becoming is still unfolding.

Maybe every challenge, every mistake, every heartbreak, every mountain climbed, every mile run, and every lesson learned is shaping her.

And maybe that's enough.

So here's to the moms who are carrying everything.

The women rebuilding after life knocked them down.

The ones rediscovering themselves after years of putting everyone else first.

The ones brave enough to start over.

The ones learning that they can be an incredible mother and still be a whole person outside of motherhood.

This weekend reminded me that both can exist.

I can love being a mom with my whole heart.

And I can still be me.

A woman who loves mountain towns.

Adventure.

Writing.

Paddle boards.

Half marathons.

Good conversations.

And figuring out life one beautiful, messy day at a time.

The mountains have a way of putting things into perspective.

They remind you how small your worries are.

How resilient you've been.

How far you've come.

And how much beauty still lies ahead.

Even if you have absolutely no idea what you're doing.

Which, let's be honest, is probably most of us.

-Melissa