The Day I Watched Her Find Herself on Kokoda

4 Aug 2026 2:57 PM

The Day I Watched Her Find Herself on Kokoda

There are moments on the Kokoda Track that stay with you long after you have left the mountains.

This is one of those moments.

I remember walking with a woman who had come to Kokoda carrying something far heavier than the backpack on her shoulders.

She was coming out of a bad relationship.

A relationship that had taken a toll on her confidence, her self-belief and, in many ways, her sense of who she was.

As her guide, I knew I couldn't walk the Track for her.

I could encourage her.

I could walk beside her.

I could remind her to keep moving when the hills became steep and the days became long.

But ultimately, every step had to be hers.

And Kokoda has a way of revealing something very important about life.

You cannot walk yesterday's track again.

You cannot change the hill you have already climbed.

You cannot go back and take a different path.

All you can do is stand where you are and decide what you are going to do next.

I watched her learn that lesson one step at a time.

There were moments when the physical exhaustion took over. Moments when the track seemed endless. Moments when the doubts returned.

But each morning, she got up.

She put on her boots.

She picked up her pack.

And she started walking again.

I remember watching her one day as she moved along the Track, and something had changed.

She wasn't looking back anymore.

She wasn't talking about what had happened to her.

She wasn't worrying about what might happen tomorrow.

She was simply walking.

One step.

Then another.

She had started to understand something that I have seen many people discover on Kokoda:

The only moment you truly have is the one you are living right now.

The mountain doesn't care about your past.

It doesn't care about your mistakes.

It doesn't care about the relationship you have left behind.

It simply asks you one question:

Can you take the next step?

And she did.

Again and again.

Day after day.

With every step, I could see her confidence returning.

Not because the Track was getting easier.

But because she was getting stronger.

And that is the thing about resilience.

Resilience doesn't mean that life stops hurting.

It doesn't mean you suddenly become fearless.

It means you discover that fear doesn't have to stop you.

It means you can be exhausted and still move forward.

You can be hurt and still heal.

You can lose your way and still find yourself again.

I was privileged to walk beside her during that journey.

But the truth is, I didn't make her strong.

Kokoda didn't make her strong.

She was strong all along.

The Track simply gave her the opportunity to remember it.

When she finally reached the end of the journey, I looked at her and saw a different woman to the one who had started.

She had walked into the mountains carrying the weight of a relationship that had broken down her belief in herself.

She walked out carrying something completely different.

Belief.

Belief that she could do hard things.

Belief that she could stand on her own.

Belief that her past did not have to define her future.

And perhaps most importantly, she had learned that she didn't have to have the whole journey figured out.

She only had to take the next step.

I have walked Kokoda many times.

I've seen people arrive carrying grief, fear, trauma, loss and uncertainty.

And I've watched the Track challenge them, strip away the noise and remind them of something they had forgotten.

You are stronger than you think you are.

Sometimes, we don't need someone to rescue us.

Sometimes, we need someone to walk beside us long enough for us to remember that we can walk on our own.

That is what I hope every person who walks the Kokoda Track takes home.

Not just memories of the mountains.

Not just photographs.

But a deeper understanding of themselves.

The courage to leave the past where it belongs.

The resilience to face whatever comes next.

And the wisdom to stop worrying about the entire journey and simply focus on the next step.

Because that's how you cross a mountain.

And, sometimes, that's how you rebuild a life.

**One step.

One moment.

One day at a time.**