Climb every mountain

Sa Foradada

“I’m not going. I’m NOT!” My daughter, La Gidg, has determinedly set out her stall over the last weeks  after we announced our plan to go for a walk en famille to the “hole in the rock restaurant” at Sa Foradada in Deia. Completely understandable really: last time she went on a big walk involving a steep hill climb and descent (January 2015, Sa Trapa) she slipped and fell, slicing her leg open. We ended up in hospital having her knee stitched up to the tune of fifteen external and god knows how many (official statistics were hard to come by) internal stitches. This incident was then followed by several weeks of outpatient appointments to the paediatric department and a as yet pending plastic surgery operation for this winter coming. She could get away with saying that a shark attacked her the scar is that big and scary. Accompanying the scar came a fear of repeating the incident and hurting herself again. She was extraordinarily brave when we made our way down after she fell, keeping going through extreme pain and in very difficult circumstances, but her courage seemed to have given way to what some might say was a sensible approach, but my husband and I thought was overly cautious to the point of avoidance. We’re not the most “outward bound” type of family, although we do try, so her new approach to going for a walk on a Sunday didn’t really go down that well. We tried a variety of arguments to get her to change her mind: rationalising that it was a fluke accident that was unlikely to repeat, playing it cool and waiting for her to change her mind through the sheer amount of time that had passed, and most recently, blackmail. That good old fashioned parenting tool which has to be got out of the box now and again. Really we needed to get her “back on the horse” and back on the trail as we knew that the fear could be overcome, and we knew that the fear had to be overcome. So, last Sunday, following a couple of quite difficult ultimatums, we finally got on the track. My husband went ahead of us and we were left to make our way down on our own, just as we had when we descended from Sa Trapa in January. Walking slowly down to the sea, and to lunch, my daughter and I had the time of our lives. We gossiped about boys, we talked about funny things that she had done when she was a baby, and we spoke about the future. We looked after each other going down the steep path, and then back up it again, and don’t be mistaken, it’s a tough hot, breathless climb back up. But that’s to be expected isn’t it, and facing your fears, whatever they are, has to be done, whatever age you are.  www.familymattersmallorca.com

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