About Me: Why I Made Beta for Being

Hey! For those who don’t know me – I’m Amanda. I like to say I’m from Chicago, because that’s where I spent the longest chunk of my adolesence (7 years), but truth is, until finding my people very recently, I’ve always felt displaced.

I grew up wildly creative and terrified of the outdoors.

Though I loved pretending I was an Olympic gymnast on the horizontal bars at recess and swimming in chlorinated pools, I wasn’t a super athletic or outdoorsy kid. Little me would have been flabbergasted to find out how important rock climbing would be to me at 40 years old.

Here’s the story, though. I started climbing at a grungy local rock gym in 2013 because of a guy. A few months later, when I was veritably addicted, the climbing gym closed. I remember hearing echoes of “see you in Arkansas!” but I wasn’t a “real” rock climber, so this felt impossible to me.

Besides, I didn’t have the gear or the knowledge, and I believed I had to humble myself to the gatekeeper dudebros who had experience (pro tip for young women who feel this way: you don’t have to do this. Take a class. Get the gear cheap on marketplace. Talk to a variety of people. You don’t need a dudebro to tell you what to do.)

But I didn’t have that kind of confidence at 28. And I needed climbing. It had become a coping mechanism. I was in the middle of a harrowing divorce with my daughter’s dad, and subsequent identity crisis. So it seemed like the perfect moment to sell everything and move to Colorado with my young daughter and the new guy.

I didn’t realize I was entering into an abusive relationship. At first it was great. He took me on adventures. He even seemed to love my daughter like his own.

But then came the hits to my self-esteem. The criticism for wearing certain clothes. The restrictions on who I could talk to, and how. The withholding of affection and attention. The constant rubber-banding between extreme adoration and coldness.

The gravitational pull of abuse is hard to break free from and harder to describe. If you know, you know.

The relationship got worse over the course of years. I remember telling my sister I didn’t want to leave because I “didn’t want him as my ex,” meaning I knew he’d be worse. And while I was right, and things did get worse when I left, it was ultimately the right decision.

My family helped me get an Airbnb to temporarily live in. I took up running and climbing again, desperate to have some agency over my life. I started to remember who I was.

But it wasn’t enough. We were 99% divorced, but he convinced me to move back in at the last minute.

Returning to that house was the lowest I’ve ever been. Every day felt like moving through quicksand. My family didn’t trust me anymore and my friends were gone. I wound up in the hospital from self-harm before realizing my life depended on me leaving for good.

So I made a plan. I signed a lease on an apartment. Quietly started moving my essentials into a friend’s garage while I waited for the apartment move-in day.

I got a job at the climbing gym and began laying a foundation of friendships again. It was like emerging from a cult: I had no idea how to exist around people, let alone how to be myself. I felt incredibly fragile. I remember constantly feeling cold and dizzy. I’d get hit with random crying spells. Thankfully, I had supportive coworkers who loved on me fiercely and became my best friends.

My world began expanding. I started regularly climbing with my new friends, particularly women. It was so joyful and different from any climbing experience I’d had before.

I went to Hawaii alone. I visited my parents in North Carolina. I met my current partner, the most kind and thoughtful man I’ve ever known, through the climbing community.

Now, I’m bringing my stories to you. As a freelance writer and author, I’m eager to merge my writing world with my climbing world. I’m here to spread the fire of love and empowerment that was so essential to my survival and the life I have now. Thank you for joining me!