My daughter Erin, 15, and daughter Megan, 12, and I are hiking 6 miles up Mt. Rainier through switchbacks of colorful wildflowers causing my heart to beat with beauty, until we reach a 360-degree view of the valley below, dressed in lakes, rivers, flowers, and piercing mountain ranges. Tears race to my eyes unexpectedly. A rare moment. Of confusion. Of wonder. Feelings I walked out with in 1986, emblazoned in my memory like the days my daughters were born.

Their dad walked out when they were 4 and 1 coming out as gay; choosing to see them every third weekend. I did my best to have my daughters see their dad’s musical performances as a high school music teacher, being only 30-40 minutes from where we lived in Ithaca, NY.

It was the late 1980s when we were entranced by their dad singing, The Impossible Dream from the musical Man of LA Mancha – when tears flooded my eyes, nose, and throat, so I couldn’t help but sob like a baby. At the time, I was a budding Marriage and Family Therapist, hearing the words in my head, vowing, “I will never be ashamed again for crying in public,” resounding like the liberty bell.

When we walked out of the auditorium, a man I’d never met came to me, saying, “You’re stunning!” I was taken aback, stunned, while feeling proud.  Even when my eyes are reddened like a sunburst?

It wasn’t until the late 90s, after beginning primal therapy that my heart and mind clicked together as to why I sprung tears on Mt.Rainier – then I had not felt beautiful.