Facing Fear on the West Highland Way: A Journey into the Wild (and Myself)

“Some dreams wait patiently. Others push until you’re ready. The West Highland Way was both.”

‘The Dream That Sat on a Shelf‘

For years, I had romanticized the idea of walking the West Highland Way — a legendary long-distance trail stretching through the Scottish Highlands. During the pandemic, like many others, I started dreaming bigger while stuck indoors. I made a list of long-distance hikes, and at the top sat the West Highland Way. I even planned it out in detail… and then left it sitting on a shelf for two years.

Finally came the time I could make this dream a reality.

From Planning to Panic: When It Got Real

I had a freer week, the courage to commit, and a growing need to reconnect with something raw and real. I started planning seriously: mapping out the trail, calculating daily distances, booking time off work, and reserving campsites. The more tangible the plan became, the more real the challenge felt.

Suddenly, it wasn’t just a romantic idea. I was going to walk over 100 kilometers alone, carrying all my gear on my back. That realization hit hard. What would I pack? Could I handle the weight? Would I be safe on my own?

And there it was — the fear. Quiet, creeping, and relentless.

‘Wild Camping… Or Not Quite Yet‘

I had originally wanted to wild camp along the route. But the more I researched, the more unsure I became. Would I find a safe, discreet spot? Would I feel vulnerable alone in the wild? In the end, I filled even the final “let’s see what happens” night with a pre-booked campsite. I wasn’t ready to fully embrace wild camping — not yet.

Once I was actually on the trail, though, I quickly realized how many of those fears had been unnecessary. Still, facing the exposed landscape and unpredictable Scottish weather was no small thing. At the time, even staying in a tent at a site felt like a huge leap. But I also learned something important: it’s okay to take it step by step. Next time, wild camping will be part of my journey — I know that now.

‘Fear, Gear, and What-Ifs‘

The night before I left was the hardest part of the whole trip. My nerves were very present. Scotland might be my home now, but it’s still a land filled with unfamiliar corners — and I was about to walk through many of them, alone, for days.

I hadn’t pitched my tent before. I hadn’t tested sleeping in it. I had never hiked so far alone. And those questions started running wild:

What if something goes wrong?
What if I meet the wrong person?
What if I can’t handle the weather?
What if I just… can’t do it?

All the conditioning we carry — especially as women moving through the world alone — came rushing up. It wasn’t just fear of the unknown. It was the burden of a lifetime of “what ifs.”

It is not to say one shouldn’t be careful, but I realized something else that night: my mind tends to swing between extremes. I either overthink every single detail, or I leap in with barely a plan. With time, I’ve learned to find a middle ground — to prepare mindfully without letting fear take the wheel.

“I’ve learned that fear doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go — it means the journey matters.”

‘How I Deal with Fear (And Still Go Anyway)‘

So how do we move forward when fear shows up?

I’ve always felt deeply afraid before taking a leap. But I’ve also always jumped. That fear never fully goes away, but I’ve learned to listen to the quieter voice beneath it — the adventurous one, the curious one, the one who still believes in possibilities.

That night before my journey, I chose to listen to her.

Because she deserves to be heard.
Because she’s the part of me — and of all of us — that knows freedom.

And so, I went.