Mountains We Cannot Decend Alone

What a broken ankle, a broken wrist and a mountain trail taught me about strength.

"And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders..."

Mosiah 24:14

Sometimes the Lord teaches us lessons we could never learn any other way.

For me, one of those lessons came on a mountainside at Big Sky Ski Resort.

After spending so much time in the car, I was grateful for the chance to stretch my legs and enjoy some fresh air. We took the tram to the highest peak, hiked along the ridges and made our way back down. Even though wildfire smoke hung in the distance, the scenery was still beautiful. When the opportunity came to ride the tram up another ski hill and hike down that side as well, I eagerly agreed.

I was enjoying the peaceful surroundings, the beauty of nature and the company when everything changed in an instant.

On a steep section of the trail, I slipped. My leg caught on a rock and I felt my ankle snap. As I looked down and saw my foot pointing in the wrong direction, I immediately knew there was no way I was getting myself down that mountain.

As I sat waiting for help, the reality of the situation began to sink in. The mountain suddenly felt much bigger than it had only moments before. As I fought to stay calm and tried not to pass out from the pain, a sobering thought entered my mind:

Would I make it off this mountain?

My family had no idea where I was.

Wanting them to know how much I loved them, I pulled out my phone and sent a simple text:

"I just broke my ankle. I love you all."

Looking back, that text says a lot about where my mind was in that moment. I didn't know what would happen next and for the first time all day, I felt completely dependent on someone else to get me to safety.

There wasn't much else I could do except wait, pray, and trust that help would come.

A short time later, five men carried me more than a mile down the mountain in a rescue tarp before transferring me to an ATV to get the rest of the way down. As they carried me down a trail I had fully intended to walk on my own, I had no choice but to trust them.

At the time, I was simply grateful someone was coming to help me. Looking back now, I can see the Lord's hand in that experience. He knew exactly where I was, exactly what I needed, and He provided it through the kindness of others.

What I didn't realize then was that the lesson was only beginning.

The very next day, I broke my wrist. and tore the tendon to my thumb. Suddenly, even the simplest tasks became difficult. Things I normally did without a second thought now required help from someone else. I had no idea how much I would rely on family, friends and loved ones in the days, weeks, and months that followed.

I've always valued being independent, so accepting help has been humbling. At times, it's been frustrating. I wanted to do things for myself. I wanted to keep my normal routine. I wanted to maintain some sense of control.

I've spent most of my life trying to be the person others could count on rather than the person who needed help. But this experience reminded me that needing help isn't failure. Sometimes it's exactly how the Savior teaches us to trust Him.

Again and again, He has answered my needs through the people around me. Through family members who stepped in without being asked. Friends who checked in, offered encouragement, and found simple ways to help. Medical professionals who cared for me. Even strangers who helped me when I couldn't help myself.

The Savior didn't take away the mountain, but He has helped me every step of the way down.

As I've reflected on this experience, I've realized that we all face mountains we cannot descend alone. Some are physical. Others are emotional, spiritual, or deeply personal. Whatever the challenge, the Savior never asks us to face it by ourselves.

During my recovery, I've become more aware of how often He answers our needs through other people. Through family, friends, medical professionals, and even strangers, I've felt His love in very personal ways. Simple acts of kindness that might have seemed small to others came exactly when I needed them most.

I've come to realize that one of the ways the Savior ministers to us is through the people He places in our path. Sometimes we are the ones helping to carry a burden. Other times we are the ones being carried. Both require humility. Both require love. And both teach us to rely more fully on Him.

This experience has taught me that true strength isn't found in doing everything ourselves. True strength is found in trusting the Savior, accepting the help He sends, and recognizing His hand in the people who lift us when we can no longer move forward on our own.

The  Savior didn't remove the mountain before me, but He didn't leave me there either.

Looking back, I think about that moment on the trail when I wondered if I would make it down the mountain. At the time, all I could see was the pain, the uncertainty, and my own inability to move forward. What I couldn't see was that help was already on its way.

Isn't that often how the Savior works in our lives?

There are moments when the path ahead feels impossible and we can't see how we're going to make it through. Yet He sees what we cannot. He knows where we are. He knows what we need and in His own way and in His own timing, He sends strength, comfort, and people to help carry us.

I'm still recovering, but one thing I know for certain is this: the Savior was with me on that mountain, and He has been with me every step since.

If there's one lesson I hope to carry with me long after my bones have healed, it's this: when I come to a mountain I cannot descend on my own, I can trust that the Savior already knows the way down.

                           XOXO

                          Tiffanee

One Imperfect Step at a Time

I was having a particularly hard day when my son reminded me of something I needed to hear.

"It's okay to have hard days."

Then he repeated a phrase I've heard for years:

Embrace the suck.

It's easy to say when life is inconvenient. It's much harder when life is genuinely hard.

Recently, I broke my ankle while hiking. The next day, while learning to navigate crutches, I broke my wrist and tore a tendon in my dominant hand. Overnight, simple tasks became complicated. Walking requires a modified walker and everyday activities now take far more time, patience, and energy than they should.

The physical challenges are obvious, but the hardest part hasn't been the pain.

It's been the loss of independence.

I've always been someone who gets things done. These injuries forced me to slow down and rely on others in ways that felt uncomfortable and, at times, heartbreaking.

What no one really prepares you for is the mental side of recovery: the frustration, the isolation, and the constant reminders of what you can't do. By the time I've gotten dressed and navigated the house, I often feel exhausted. Recovery has taught me that healing is work and sometimes simply making it through the day is enough.

One of the biggest lessons has been humility. I've always taken pride in being independent, so asking for help felt uncomfortable at first. But I've learned that humility isn't weakness. It's accepting support when you need it and recognizing that strength and vulnerability can exist at the same time.

On the hardest days, it's easy to focus on frustration, fear, and everything I've lost. But I've learned that what we focus on grows. That doesn't mean pretending everything is okay. Some days simply suck. It means acknowledging those feelings without letting them define the day.

Instead, I try to focus on gratitude, progress, and the reminder that this chapter is temporary.

I couldn't have gotten through this without my mom, my kids, and the people who have checked in, encouraged me, and reminded me I wasn't alone. My mom has been my lifeline through the daily challenges, and my kids have stepped up in ways that have made me incredibly proud.

This experience has taught me that sometimes strength isn't about doing everything yourself. Sometimes it's allowing the people who love you to show up for you.

At first, I spent a lot of energy wishing things were different and replaying the decisions that led me here. Eventually, I realized I had a choice.

I could focus on everything I'd lost, or I could focus on taking the next step forward.

That doesn't mean pretending everything is okay.

It means acknowledging that this situation sucks and moving forward anyway.

I'm still healing. I'm still learning. I'm still having good days and hard days.

But progress is happening.

One day I'll hike again. I'll run again. I'll walk without a walker and use my dominant hand without a second thought.

Until then, I'll keep moving forward.

Not because it's easy.

But because I know this chapter is temporary.

The injuries will heal. The walker will be gone. But the lessons about resilience, humility, gratitude, and strength will remain.

I'm not through this chapter yet.

But healing is happening. Growth is happening. Progress is happening.

It’s one imperfect step at a time and for now,  I need to realize that's enough.

Xoxo

Tiffanee