Women Deserve to Feel They Belong in Outdoor Spaces.

As I clipped into my touring skis in the Pinkham Notch Visitor Center parking lot, the wind whipped at the few strands of hair that had weaseled their way out of my braid. The sun hovered low on the horizon, temperatures dropping fast — classic markers of a winter evening on Mount Washington.

Solo hiking, skiing, and, more recently, skinning have become an outlet for me — a place where I let my mind wander in the quiet embrace of nature. Typically, my solo adventures don’t happen after dark. That night was the exception, and it made me pause. Why? Because I passed plenty of men skiing and hiking down from higher on the mountain, yet I was the only woman among everyone I encountered.

I felt proud to be that representation — but I also felt upset.

Every athlete on the mountain that evening understood the same objective risks: severe weather, the possibility of injury, and the unpredictability of nature. What many men don’t carry at the forefront of their minds is the fear of encountering other people on the trail.

Transitioning for the downhill in the dark on Mount Washington.

As recent research suggests, and my personal experience bears out, that fear is the reason many women hesitate to adventure alone. It’s not the mountain we’re afraid of — it’s the possibility of crossing paths with someone, most often a man, who could be dangerous. From a young age, girls are taught that the wilderness is not safe for us. Society conditions us to exist in a constant state of vigilance, especially when we’re alone — and even more so in the dark. Boys, meanwhile, are encouraged to explore. Men’s outdoor adventures are often framed as impressive feats of grit and danger, celebrated with admiration. Women attempting the same are asked, “But how did you feel safe doing that alone?”

The truth is, I don’t always feel safe. Sometimes my anxiety flares up, but I’ve learned that listening to my gut matters. Even with self-defense skills and a handy-dandy knife, there’s an art to knowing when not to go or when to turn back. Other times, though, I'll stop on trail to take in the scent of pines, gaze at constellations, or appreciate Mount Washington in all her glory.

I’ve noticed that women are more likely to feel the need to prove themselves on trail — whether to others or to themselves. Men and women at similar skill levels often describe themselves very differently. Two intermediate skiers of different genders may assess their abilities in opposite ways — men tending to overestimate or confidently claim parity, women more likely to undersell themselves or give in to doubt. In fact, researchers have found that women, more than men, are prone to imposter syndrome, the sense that we haven’t earned our place or our achievements. 

There are moments when my mind undersells my own skill level, and I can hear my self-talk slipping from positive to negative. This shift not only affects the overall experience, but can also directly influence how we execute decisions, apply skills, and manage other safety-oriented factors.

I want to encourage women to take up more space in their everyday lives, especially outdoors. Wear the glitter, rock the cute gear (I’ve got hot-pink ski bindings!), and let your voice be heard. Don’t let someone else define you or your skill level. Don’t shrink yourself to fit a perceived standard. If you’re having fun and doing what you can to stay safe, that’s what matters.

The hardest part of my journey in outdoor spaces hasn’t been physical — it’s been mental. It’s been difficult to feel like I truly belong in the places I occupy, or qualified enough to ski certain lines, climb certain mountains, or — most recently — lead something like Chicks on Cliffs. 

I’m a self-taught skier, four seasons into downhill skiing and one season into backcountry skiing. It’s easy to convince myself I’m not strong enough, not fast enough, not smooth enough — that my powder turns aren’t sharp, that I move too slowly on the skin track. But life isn’t a race, and I’m not competing with anyone.

In these moments of doubt, I slow down, take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves, and switch up the language I use to speak to myself:

“I’ve got this.” 

“I’ve been here before.” 

“I’m doing great.”

Other times, I’ll even stop to have a snack or a sugary treat. Eating activates the parasympathetic nervous system, and carbohydrates increase serotonin — producing an overall calming effect on the body. 

If any of this resonates with you, know this: You’re not alone. If you’re putting yourself out there at all, you have something tremendous to be proud of, and I’m certainly proud of you. So put on some glitter, and let’s go for a night tour together. Under the starlight, it’s easy to remember just how magical you are. 

Tuckerman Ravine, Mt. Washington, N.H.