This journey began in 2016. I completed my basic mountaineering training and set myself a goal: to climb Mount Everest. But as I was preparing for the next step, an operation forced me to take a break. I watch as others carry on whilst I stand still. I cry a lot during those days and promise myself: one day I’ll be up there too. So I throw myself into it. But nothing can truly prepare you for Everest.
When I set off on the night of 19 April 2025 to fulfil that promise, I have weeks of mental and physical challenges behind me. Now it’s finally time to go. I carry all my own kit, making my way step by step. At the Khumbu Icefall, menstrual cramps suddenly strike – it won’t be the only time on this trek. There is fear. There is beauty. There are moments when I think I’ll never make it back. I encounter the darkest sides of myself, and the most beautiful too. And I just keep walking. So close to the finish line, I’m not giving up. Because it’s been a long journey to get here.
I was a little girl when we moved from our very remote Himalayan village to the capital, Kathmandu, and I discovered trekking. I quickly realised that this could be more than just an adventure for me – it could become a career. My relatives wanted me to get married. But I wanted to climb mountains. In many regions, mountaineering is still considered a man’s profession; I still feel that stigma to this day. Then there are the doubts from clients who don’t think I’m up to it, and from colleagues in this male-dominated world. Sometimes I asked myself: Am I good enough? And yet I kept going.
I’ve only told two family members about my plan to climb Everest. I didn’t want other people’s doubts to cloud the journey. This journey is mine, even if it was a struggle from the start. As an introvert, even asking for sponsorship felt like climbing Everest.
I think of all these hardships as I climb. And eventually, I actually reach the summit. 8,848 metres above sea level.
It is strangely quiet up there. No breathtaking views, no tears. Just clouds, wind and silence. One man is praying, gazing towards Tibet; another is doing push-ups. But I stand there still, taking in the moment. Eventually, it becomes something greater: peace, pride, my very own, quiet triumph.
When I return home a few days later, I am a different person – not just because of the mountain, but because of everything it took to conquer it. It took me almost ten years to realise my dream. Consistently, without rushing anything. The journey was just as important as the summit.
