The Night I Ran Away to The Big Rock

The Big Rock in Albion, Maine (Photo taken in 2022)

There are certain moments in our childhoods that we never forget. I bet as soon as you read that sentence, something came to mind. It’s never something that, in the moment, we tell ourselves as kids: “I’m going to remember this forever.” But it happens all on its own.

I’m not quite sure if these moments happen because of who we already were, or if we are who we are now because of them. Maybe it’s a bit of both. In either case, I periodically check in with who I am currently and reflect back on those same moments to see how their meaning has or has not changed. I like to use this as a reminder and encouragement of my own growth. And I’d encourage you to try it if you haven’t.

One of the biggest moments for me is what I like to refer to as “The Big Rock.”

I was 14 years old. My family had uprooted and moved to New Brunswick, Canada for three years previously, but now we had moved back to Maine and were in a “holding pattern,” raising money to move to Ecuador as missionaries. It was a weird time.

Now I was back in my hometown. Back at school with the kids I had grown up with. Back in familiar territory. But everything had changed inside me.

I had spent the past three years as “The Yank” in New Brunswick. I was a foreigner there. An outsider. That identity stuck with me even after coming home to Maine, and I felt it deeply at school.

I remember feeling afraid of the other kids. I was shy, reserved, too scared to try out for the soccer team even though I had played on the team in Canada. I signed up to be the scorekeeper after deciding for myself that I wasn’t good enough to play with the local talent.

All the girls at school seemed so pretty and wore trendy clothes. I wore hand-me-downs, and the ones from my best friend from church were my favorites because she had a good sense of style.

I had signed up for Spanish class even though I had just taken three years of French immersion in Canada. It only made sense. We were going to Ecuador. I needed to be able to communicate.

I remember how strange it initially felt switching from French to Spanish. My brain was the most confused it’s probably ever been, even compared to the recent brain fog following my Lyme diagnosis. I would learn Spanish words and pronounce them as if they were French. Or suddenly throw French words into Spanish sentences.

The other kids in the class seemed way more advanced, and I remember feeling so insecure and uncomfortable. Like everyone was staring at me, laughing at me, talking about me.

So you can probably imagine this was a very stressful time for a 14-year-old. Not just being 14. Not just feeling self-conscious about my body and appearance. But feeling like I didn’t belong in any sense of the word.

Things at home naturally were tense. I can’t speak for anyone else in my family, but I bet if you asked, they would remember their own stress and anxiety during that time.

One night my mother asked me to do the dishes.

Now before you go making assumptions, let’s talk about what this looked like. We had a dishwasher, but it never cleaned things very well unless you did a manual “pre-rinse” first. Sometimes the dishwasher was already full of dishes, clean or dirty, and any remaining dishes either had to be loaded after you unloaded it or washed by hand.

Dishes were NEVER ENDING in our household, as I’m sure many of you can relate to. We were a family of six, and we never ordered out. That meant my mom was baking and cooking constantly. Add to that the fact that kids always use more dishes than they need to — getting out a new cup for every glass of water throughout the day — and we had ourselves quite the situation.

This particular evening, I decided that I was NOT doing the dishes.

I can’t remember what my day at school had been like or what other dynamics were at play, but I just remember that I had had enough. I dug in my heels and outright refused to do what my mother asked of me.

This was the first time I had ever locked in like this in true rebellion.

I was raised in a very religious household and instructed at an early age that I needed to obey my parents always. So this moment was especially big. Suddenly I was openly challenging my own value system for the first time.

I suppose I wanted to see what would happen. How far it would go.

But looking back, I can see a frightened little girl who just needed some sense of control in her life.

That night I found myself huddled in the dark on top of “The Big Rock,” a large boulder located about three-tenths of a mile behind our house in the middle of one of the surrounding fields.

The rock had a large crack running straight through it, making it easy and fun to scramble up. My siblings and I often played there during the day. It was a landmark for us. Just a giant rock in the middle of a field. No other rocks around it.

It was an oddity.

It didn’t belong.

And that’s where I fled to after arguing with my mother.

I decided I was going to stay right there forever.

On top of the rock, I could see the stars. It was a warm night, but I had a slight chill from the coolness of the rock’s surface. Pretty soon I became very aware of all the night sounds. Crickets. Rustling in the grass.

And I just kept sitting there, now slightly afraid and unsure of what my next move would be.

Suddenly I saw a light in the distance, bouncing around randomly at first. Then I heard my dad’s voice calling my name.

I didn’t answer right away.

I waited.

The light kept getting closer, and my dad kept calling my name. I finally answered softly, but loud enough for him to know where I was.

As he came into view, I noticed he had on shorts, a t-shirt, and his knee-high rubber farm boots. He looked silly, but I didn’t laugh.

I don’t remember what was said between us that night. I’m not sure that mattered.

I just remember him helping me down off The Big Rock, us walking back home, and then going to bed.

I’m sure I eventually did the dishes. But not that night.

There’s a lot I take away from that moment, and I could write a different reflection on it depending on the day and how I’m feeling.

I think lately life has presented so many challenges that I find myself feeling that same loss of control that I felt when I was 14, and I’m trying to figure out how to navigate it with grace.

I have been hanging onto certain outcomes so tightly that it seems to be creating more harm than good, leaving me with very little flexibility for what actually happens.

It’s got me feeling like running out back to The Big Rock and taking a break from everything.

Imagine if we still listened to our 14-year-old selves when life got scary and overwhelming.

Imagine if life was less about becoming someone entirely new, and more about remembering some of the wisdom we already carried before the world got so loud.

That’s what I’m trying to pay attention to right now.

And it doesn’t mean life suddenly gets easier. It certainly didn’t make mine easier. But that moment on top of The Big Rock carried me to the next moment, and the next one, and the one after that. Eventually, somehow, it carried me here.

And I think there’s probably something important about the fact that when things got overwhelming, my instinct wasn’t to fight harder or solve everything immediately.

It was to pause.

To sit quietly for a minute.

To look at the stars.

To hear the crickets.

To let the noise settle.

I have a feeling that matters more than most of us realize.

-Amanda

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Clear View Advantage exists to help local businesses and organizations show up online in a way that feels honest, human, and easy to trust. Based in Littleton, New Hampshire, founder Amanda McKeen works alongside business owners throughout the North Country to strengthen online reputation, visibility, and connection through review management, local SEO, website strategy, and storytelling rooted in real community.

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