My Single Pitch Instructor Journey — Faith, Setbacks, and Climbing Forward
I’ve been working toward becoming a Single Pitch Instructor since 2023. I completed the course that year, excited to step into my dream of guiding and mentoring others — especially women — in the outdoors.
But life had other plans first.
Not long after in April of 2024, I suffered a hip injury that had nothing to do with climbing, taking me off the rock for nearly a year. Physical therapy became my new route. There were days I feared I’d never tie in again. In that quiet fear, I turned toward service, joining the board of Muir Valley became a turning point. It reminded me that climbing isn’t only about sending. It’s about contributing to the spaces and community that make climbing possible.
Day One of the Exam
After training and getting mentorship, this November, I finally returned to The Red in Kentucky after months of preparation culminating in this moment. I walked in nervous but hopeful. What surprised me most was who was there.
I saw familiar faces at Muir Valley — climbers I hadn’t seen in a long time, people from my home gym, and locals from Kentucky. It felt as if the universe had gathered them to stand with me, offering quiet support. Even in the midst of nerves, I wasn’t truly alone.
Day Two of the Exam
Day two was harder technically and emotionally. There were real challenges with top-site systems, transitions, and efficiency. I made some mistakes. I fumbled under pressure. Some issues I knew how to correct, but my performance didn’t fully reflect my knowledge.
Yet the students told a different story. During anchoring exercises and mock teaching, they were engaged, asking questions, and genuinely enjoying the process. Many said things like, “You knew what you were doing” and “Good job,” even as the instructor critiqued me.
What made it even more confusing was the instructor’s behavior. Whenever it was my turn to demonstrate or teach, he would purposely walk away — multiple times during the exam — only to return when other students were presenting. Meanwhile, other students received constant guidance and praise, even when their choices were questionable.
This stark contrast made the feedback feel inconsistent and biased. While the instructor’s evaluation criticized my top-site management, technical skills, and lesson flow, the students’ reactions told a very different story. They were engaged, learning, and confident under my guidance.
It was frustrating, but it also reminded me that teaching isn’t about someone else’s arbitrary measures. It’s about how your students experience learning, feel safe, and leave empowered.
That sting was amplified because teaching has been one of my strongest identities for years. I spent over nine years as one of the top ESL coaches with Rosetta Stone, teaching students of all abilities with patience and clarity. I taught climbers, not just the strong naturals, but those who needed extra guidance and confidence. I’ve managed a rock climbing gym, coached hundreds, and received constant praise for my teaching. I have never been told I wasn’t a good teacher.
So hearing “you can’t teach” especially amidst visible favoritism felt like a punch I didn’t see coming.
The Dream
But something happened before I even received my negative results. A few days after returning home, I had a dream.
In it, I had forgotten my glasses and was about to embark on an outdoor adventure. An older, wise woman appeared. Someone who saw right into me. She even spoke my mother’s name, like she knew the women who shaped me.
She led me to a window overlooking a cliff, as if testing whether I’d turn from fear. But I wasn’t afraid. I turned to her and said, with complete certainty:
“I’m a rock climber. I’m a certified Single Pitch Instructor. My mother wanted to climb with me.”
It wasn’t me trying to be confident — it was me speaking from a place where the journey was already complete.
A close friend listened to the story and said:
“I’ve never met a woman with so much faith and determination as you. I think she was one of your spirit guides, letting you know you’re going to get there.”
Her words reminded me that support often comes in unexpected forms: from dreams, from friends, and from the people we guide.
Receiving the Results
Two weeks later, I received my exam results. I didn’t pass.
I cried. I cried hard. My husband held me close, and my puppy pressed into me, sensing the heartbreak. Their quiet presence didn’t erase the hurt, but it softened it.
I wasn’t crying because I failed. I was crying because I had poured so much of myself into this journey, worked so hard, and wanted to show up at full strength, and I didn’t, at least not in the way the evaluation reflected.
But that dream stayed with me, unwavering.
A Spiritual Journey
Later that week, I saw images online of a chapel in Sedona. A building carved into rock that looked uncannily like the one in my dream, which had felt like a climbing camp. I’ve never been there, but the resemblance felt symbolic.
This journey isn’t just physical for me. It’s spiritual, emotional, and deeply personal.
If I had passed easily, perhaps I wouldn’t have shifted focus to climbing in Utah, exploring new routes and challenges that push me physically, mentally, and spiritually.
Sometimes a “no” isn’t a rejection. It’s a re-route.
And I’m not giving up.
I will retake the course.
I will climb.
I will teach.
Supporting the Journey
I make climbing-inspired gear — plushie chalk bags, rope-inspired cozies, stickers, and other playful items — because creating keeps me grounded and connected.
If my story resonates and you’d like to support my journey toward retaking the course in Utah, that would mean the world.
But even if you just want a fun chalk bag, cozy, or sticker, you can share the love and joy. Every bit counts.
Gratitude.
My Rock Climbing Journey 