Kayaking Saved My Life, but Quitting It Made Me Whole
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Time to read 10 min
FLOW is not just about extreme sports; it’s about the people who are shaping them. It’s about empowerment, breaking down barriers, and embracing a more inclusive vision of outdoor adventure.
The People Behind the Words
Ken Kullby is a passionate soul-searcher who dedicated the last 10 years of their life to kayaking. They were raised in Evergreen, CO and pursued Adventure Education at Fort Lewis College where they fell in love with the Animas River. Ken continued to push themselves in the sport of kayaking while teaching elementary school in Teach for America and in Oregon. Moving to the Northwest, they were captivated by waterfalls and fun class 4 races like the Upper Wind race. After embracing their own identity as nonbinary and queer, they were inspired to host the first ever White Salmon Pride Paddle down the lower White Salmon and the first ever community Pride event in White Salmon. Their pursuit in discovering who they are and helping others have the opportunity to do the same has become their driving force in life and they hope to continue that pursuit for years to come.
After reading Flow: Women's Counternarratives from Rivers, Rock, and Sky, Ken was inspired to write an essay reflecting on their own experience as a kayaker. In this honest and personal essay Ken writes from the heart, and we're grateful to have been given permission to share it with you here!
Kayaking Saved My Life, but Quitting It Made Me Whole
I want to tell you the story about the day I stopped kayaking.
On June 8, 2024, I accomplished a feat I had dreamed of for years: kayaking the Green Truss in Washington – a challenging, class V run with two waterfalls and a notorious “double drop” – without flipping over. After that day, I put my kayak away and haven’t picked it back up again. I didn’t consciously decide I wasn’t going to kayak again. I didn’t even know that would be the last time I would kayak. I just woke up every day after that and didn’t want to go again.
I began kayaking on February 10, 2014, on a cold winter day in Durango, Colorado. I consider kayaking to have saved my life as a young adult – receiving empowerment and pride from overcoming many failures and surprising myself with many successes within the sport. I proved to myself and others that I was capable of hard things, both physically, like class IV rapids, and metaphorically, like telling my dad he wasn’t welcome at my college graduation. Kayaking was both an escape from the pain I carried from my trauma and a processing tool for navigating life’s constant challenges with courage. So believe me when I say kayaking was everything to me. It was shocking to me that I quit the sport.
There were multiple factors at play when I ultimately decided to stop kayaking, but the primary reason was that I came to a major realization about myself. I realized I had no fucking idea who I was.
"...There were multiple factors at play when I ultimately decided to stop kayaking, but the primary reason was that I came to a major realization about myself. I realized I had no fucking idea who I was."
I realized this at two in the morning during a quiet moment I had with my friend Gemma after we had successfully organized and threw the first ever Pride event in White Salmon, Washington. We were lying down, reflecting on the night and basking in the accomplishment of throwing a rage party in the name of Pride.
I felt a knowing shiver up my spine that made the hairs on my entire body stand up, ready for the hyper-absorption of what was to come. Little did I know what was to come would be the hardest journey I would embark on solely for myself and by myself. The knowing that shot through my body that night was that I was not my authentic self, and I was not living my values. I was so proud of my queerness and ready to embrace the gay community and spread Pride all around, but I was dating someone I had to secretly make out with at my own Pride event. The irony in that sentence was palpable early in the morning after the event, which left a lingering, sour taste in my mouth.
It was the classic case of being able to talk all day about values, about how others should live their lives, about how everyone deserves to be treated with love and respect. Yet I was perpetuating myself to be treated in a way I didn’t like, and I was not being honest with anyone about what I wanted or needed, subconsciously choosing to accommodate others at my own expense. I was what many people love and hate: a people-pleaser. I only had one gear in my metaphorical car and that was to accommodate and make others happy at all costs. My people-pleasing was so integral to my being that it was impossible to recognize it as a behavior pattern rather than who I actually was.
During that Pride event, I abandoned my co-organizer to spend time with the woman I was absolutely infatuated with. She was not out to anyone but her closest friends. I was very opposite, to say the least, having come out to 50 strangers on a stage that day. Sneaking away from my own Pride event to spend some private time with her left me feeling ashamed of myself, when the whole point of the evening was to feel proud. And this was all my own doing. I wasn’t honest about what I wanted or needed, subconsciously choosing to accommodate others at my own expense.
My inauthentic relationship with her, which ultimately left us both hurt, was a symptom of a deeply rooted belief that I needed to be liked more than be myself – something that was instilled in me at a very young age.
With this new understanding of the guilt I felt for people-pleasing at this extreme level, and the motivation to learn how to act authentically, I began my journey.
In order to stop people-pleasing, I felt I needed to stop interacting with others. I had no idea how not to people-please. Every time I socialized, I felt ashamed of myself. It made me feel really discouraged to now be so hyper-aware of my people-pleasing but not have any control over it.
Kayaking is naturally a social sport, so if I were to go kayaking, I would fall back into the same behavior patterns I was so desperately trying to change. I stopped making plans to kayak and told people I was taking a break. I needed to completely stop everything in my life because the life I had built was based on a version of myself that was using coping mechanisms learned during childhood. Borrowing the sentiment from author and activist Glennon Doyle, I was letting my 12-year-old self drive the car, putting myself and others in danger.
The shocking part of not kayaking anymore was that I didn’t miss it. Not even a little. I was relieved to free myself from it. I was relieved to not have to socialize. I was relieved to be safe and alone.
I hired a life coach to help me become embodied. She taught me how to feel sadness, happiness, love, and anger. Each emotion came with so much surprise – I had been so cut off from each of them that it truly was the first time I felt them.
I then hired a chiropractor who did energy work. Through each “adjustment,” I relived every traumatic experience that was held in my body. Needless to say, each session with him was some of the hardest work I’d ever done. I felt everything. I suffered greatly. Thanks to my life coach, I knew how to cycle the emotions all the way to completion so my body could be free of them.
Last, I signed up for improv classes. Improv allows adults to be kids again. It got my body into a state of play and allowed me to process the traumas I was reliving at the chiro through acting. By playing characters, I was able to express myself in an extremely vulnerable yet authentic way, surrounded by a buffer of safety.
Once my nervous system got out of fight or flight, I realized I didn’t want to get back into kayaking. The playful fight or flight response it gave me in the past is something that would harm me now.
My summer weekends morphed from taking trips to Cooper River, in Washington, where I would courageously navigate class IV–V rapids, to taking trips to the beach and connecting with friends. On Orcas Island, Washington, one morning this summer, I realized I was able to eat breakfast with pleasure. In the past, on my weekends away, I wouldn’t be able to eat at all until the kayak run was over. My stomach in a knot, I would be worried about the day ahead and that I would feel nauseous or have “the runs.”
Most of my 20s were spent with intense digestive issues from being in an abusive relationship with a man that reminded me of my relationship with my father. I spent years going to doctors, getting exploratory surgeries, eating every diet imaginable, only to find my body continuing to decay regardless of my healthy diagnosis by doctors. The feeling before kayaking – not being able to eat, or having “the runs” – was the exact feeling I had daily from being in an abusive relationship. It was all I knew: digestive issues all day from the abuse, and then digestive issues from kayaking.
When I was on Orcas Island, eating my yogurt, eggs, and fruit with such peace, I realized I had made it. I was fully enjoying life and feeling alive and healthy. Had I been at Cooper River that weekend instead, I would be back in that traumatic state I knew so well from childhood through to my 20s.
Taking this “break” from kayaking has allowed me the freedom to really focus on my healing journey – to peel back the hundred layers that eventually uncovered who I am. I am honestly still learning about who I am and plan to continue to prioritize activities that allow for safe self-expression. Since the day I put my kayak down, I have cut my hair into a boy style, bought the clothes that make me feel cozy and authentic, came out to my grandma against my mother’s wishes, and cultivated relationships with friends and family that make me feel whole and inspired. Quitting kayaking has been equally as impactful to my self-improvement as the year I started kayaking.
Do I think I will kayak again? Yes, but not on anything more than class III. I have no interest in going back into fight or flight. I have no interest in forcing myself to do anything that is inauthentic to me. I sold five out of six of my kayaks. The one I am keeping is my red Jackson Nirvana. It has plenty of room for my camping gear so I can take it down gentle rivers that meander through desert landscapes, because that is my
favorite thing to do in the entire world! I love and honor myself so much that, as I grow and change, I navigate and adapt to what I need. In the past, I needed turbulent rapids and tall waterfalls. Now I need calm, meandering rivers to bask in the glory that is my peaceful life.
Perhaps my story doesn’t resonate with you specifically. My belief, however, is that all people are on a self-love journey of some sort, and it’s important to listen when that journey needs attention. Perhaps you are a kayaker who is running 20-foot waterfalls instead of putting in the work that is needed to be a good life partner. Perhaps you are a kayaker who is running local class III rivers every day instead of facing the need for a divorce. Perhaps you are a kayaker who is chasing remote, multiday river trips instead of facing the fact that you have many friends but not one who knows you deeply. All of which are totally valid and part of the journey to reaching wholeness. That was part of my journey for many years.
I hope this topic can be included in the conversations surrounding all outdoor adventure sports. I personally haven’t heard about “quitting an adventure sport” except when it’s about a person going to med school, having children, or getting severely injured. It makes me wonder: Am I the only one with this experience? I know I can’t be the only one!
I want to be clear: I’m not saying everyone needs to stop kayaking. I just want to share my story of how kayaking saved my life, but also how quitting kayaking is what finally made me whole.
So here are two questions for you: Why do you kayak? And what is it that you might be avoiding?
"So here are two questions for you: Why do you kayak? And what is it that you might be avoiding?"
Flow takes readers on an inspiring journey through the world of women in adventure sports, challenging stereotypes and celebrating the strength, resilience, and unity of women across the globe. This unique collection highlights the powerful, diverse voices of women who are redefining what’s possible in outdoor sports like whitewater kayaking, climbing, mountaineering, and highlining.
With photography and stories from around the world, Flow captures the personal narratives of women from a wide range of countries, including Ecuador, India, México, Poland, the Czech Republic, Germany, the United States, and Canada. These women share their unique experiences, whether as newcomers or seasoned professionals, offering insights into their journeys and the challenges they face.
➤ Purchase Flow: Women’s Counternarratives from Rivers, Rock, and Sky
