Blind Stubbornness (and Other Reasons I Cried on Space Mountain)

The year 2024 rocked my world. I won’t go into details, but I can tell you this: by the end of the year, I was on a nearly two-month work hiatus and had a fresh diagnosis of complex PTSD.

For those of you who don’t know, PTSD lives in the body — not just the mind. And when the new year began, I still wasn’t strong enough to take a shower and blow-dry my hair in the same day. I couldn’t stand long enough to do a load of dishes. My hair was falling out. I couldn’t sleep more than a couple hours at a time. I had night terrors. PTSD literally took me to my knees.

I started being quite honest with those around me during this time — about why I missed Halloween, why I missed my kids’ musical performances, and why I had vanished for weeks on end. And where I thought there would be judgment from my community, there was love.

Which brings me to my main point: how I started 2025 versus how I ended it. I started it weak and broken — but full of hope.

I had goals going into 2025. Big ones.

• Hike El Capitan.

• Maybe publish my novel.

• Get back on track at work.

• EL. CAP.

  
  

I know what you’re thinking: You can’t stand long enough to shower and blow-dry your hair… how the hell are you going to climb a mountain? Publish a book? Show up at work?

My body was broken.

The answer is this: blind stubbornness. That’s it. That’s the whole answer.

Was my body ready when I did it? Absolutely not.

Did I injure myself? Yes. Yes, I did.

But I DID IT.

I roped a few people into hiking with me. We trained. We hiked small hikes until we could hike bigger hikes. We traded off watching kids. We took them sometimes and traded who would “make up the next big hill.” We made it work.

And in May of 2025, five of us made the trip to Yosemite National Park. Four of us made it all the way up the mountain… and four of us hobbled back down.

But we made it.

Each of us wanted to quit at different moments. But we hiked those 18 miles in 12.5 hours. We kept going when it felt like we would break.

(Some of us kind of did. I sprained my ankle on mile 3.)

And still — here we are. At the top.

And while I was training for El Cap, I was also fighting my way back to writing.

Hanged by Fate was released in October 2025. I’ll save another blog post for that journey. But I will tell you about something that happened not long after…

At the end of November, I stood with my family in line for Space Mountain. My phone buzzed. It was my editor and friend, June Visosky. Three awards had been given from AWA — one of which had my name on it. It had Hanged by Fate on it.

I honestly didn’t believe it.

She wrote it there in the text, and it wasn’t that I didn’t believe her, but perhaps she’d read the wrong list? I needed to actually SEE it — the email, the website… SOMETHING.

As I struggled to find it, the line moved forward. People kept speaking to me. They asked where I’d sit on the ride, who would ride with who, and it was all going too fast for a quick moment.

I had won an award?

Now I needed to move down my lap bar and get it together.

With some tears welling in my eyes, I sat down next to a stranger who introduced herself to me, while the four members of my family sat in front of us.

I tried to make small talk. She was there with her girlfriends, and no one else liked that ride. (And what?! How do you NOT like Space Mountain?) Anyways, I didn’t want to tell her. I told my family, but I needed a moment in this — a moment to soak it in, hold it as my own. And to tell you I was smiling the entire time would be an understatement.

The ride whipped around through the darkness while I sat there like a stunned idiot.

The next ride? My family wanted to discuss the next ride. I… was not there… but everyone else was there.

I told them I would skip Star Tours. It makes me nauseous anyway. I stood beside a pole under the monorail.

What do I do now?

I texted my two best friends. One was out of town on a cruise. They showered me with all the fanfare and love one could ever hope for.

I clutched my phone, wanting desperately to tell the mother with her baby sleeping in a stroller at my side. I refrained. But I did say it loudly into my voice-to-text.

To say I was shocked, honored, bewildered — all of the words — would be an understatement.

And on top of all that, the anthology featuring my short story, “Remedy,” had also won an AWA award.

My journey has not been linear by any means, and I will share more in the blog posts to come. But when I think of how 2025 started — weak and broken — and how it ended, I cannot be more grateful. For those who showed up for me. For those who joined me on my painful adventures. And for the readers who still want to dive into my crazy worlds.

THANK YOU for being there.

Until next time,

— Rowan