We often see our principals as distant authority figures—strict, unshakeable, and intimidating. I certainly did. But that changed the moment I sat down with Mrs. Ma. Theresa Ladrido, our Xavier High School principal, and listened to her incredible story.
Last summer, she embarked on the Camino de Santiago, an ancient pilgrimage that stretches across Europe and leads to the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral, believed to house the remains of St. James the Apostle. Her journey revealed a side of her I hadn’t seen, one marked by human vulnerability, quiet courage, and deep faith.
On the Camino trail: Carrying less, she found more. (Courtesy of Ma. Theresa Ladrido)
It all began on a stormy day when with nothing but a backpack, a Spotify playlist, and a rosary, Mrs. Ladrido took her first step on a journey that would test far more than her endurance. Over a grueling six days and 120 km, she walked through muddy Spanish trails not just to reach a destination, but also to discover the power of having to embrace struggles, to surrender control, and to allow faith to lead the way. “You get lost,” she would later reflect, “but you find yourself along the way.”
Carrying less, she found more—more clarity, more strength, and more peace, a metaphor for how we should lead our lives.
For over a thousand years, people from all over the world have taken to the Camino, seeking healing, renewal, and a deeper connection with their faith. As for Mrs. Ladrido, it was a journey of thanksgiving after recovering from cancer, and a meaningful prelude to her 50th year milestone.
Part of her bucket list, walking the Camino was inspired by her uncle, a Jesuit who walked the 800-km route, and by her two sisters, who completed it in 2023. Having missed that chance due to her chemotherapy treatment, she told herself, “When I could, I would—and I did.”
Mrs. Ladrido didn’t physically train for the Camino. “The only preparation I had for it was that I bought shoes—Hoka (trail) shoes are the best, zero blisters,” she added with a laugh. Everything was done last minute—visa on April 1, plane tickets on April 3, and departure on April 7. Instead, she prepared in a way that she knew mattered most. “It was more of emotional and spiritual, rather than physical,” she said, describing how faith, not fitness, would be her foundation.
To center herself before the walk, she asked her priest friend for prompts to reflect on. She chose the Ignatian Examen as her daily companion. Each day on the trail, she would begin with the rosary and end with a prayerful reflection. She also created a playlist of religious songs, alternative music, and ’80s New Wave to keep her going. At the end of the day, she would share her experiences and insights through text messages with her family and best friend, her support system from a thousand miles away.
The experience became even more profound as she walked during Holy Week. Soaked from the cold rain and battling exhaustion, she felt like she “was commiserating with the suffering of Christ.” In those moments of pain and solitude, it was “just the faith, the belief that I could do it…I could do it alone” that kept her going, emphasizing how faith was not just her anchor, but her fuel.
The signs to guide the way and reveal the path (Courtesy of Ma. Theresa Ladrido)
For six days, Mrs. Ladrido walked alone, untrained and under skies that seemed to pour without pause. For an extrovert who “needs friends, needs family around,” the silence was a trial in itself. Along the way, she also hit her head, misplaced her passport, slept in a 130-bed mixed dorm, lost her precious white gold earring, and wandered for nearly an hour after losing her data signal. In more ways than one, she felt lost literally and figuratively. Help came in the form of a kind innkeeper who cleaned her head wound, a local woman who gave her directions, and every so often, a warm cup of café con leche that brought unexpected comfort, a small pleasure Spain is known for.
Along the way, she hit her head, misplaced her passport, slept in 130-bed mixed dorm, lost her precious white gold earring, and wandered for nearly an hour after losing her data signal
Despite often questioning the “why” behind the pilgrimage, not once did she think of giving up. Every setback became a prompt to pray rather than a reason to stop. “Despite all the suffering,” she later reflected, “I received the graces I prayed for.” Those graces arrived quietly—courage to keep walking, strength to endure the elements, and clarity to see what really matters.
By the time she reached Santiago, the skies remained stormy, but her spirit had cleared, proof that the hardest miles often carry the richest gifts. As pilgrims say to encourage one another along the way, Ultreia et Suseia—onward and upward—not just across rough roads and hills, but into grace itself.
The Camino had its own rhythm, one that was unpredictable and impossible to perfectly plan. “I was not in control,” Mrs. Ladrido realized. “The rain was not part of the plan, but it happened—and so did my misadventures.”
That moment of feeling powerless became her aha moment, when she understood that surrendering control wasn’t weakness but wisdom. Letting go allowed her to stop resisting and instead find peace in simply being present: from the sound of her footsteps, the feel of the cold air, the quiet routine of prayer, to the stillness where she could finally hear what God was saying.
Her 8-kg backpack held only essentials: two pairs of pants, three pairs of socks, an extra pair of shoes, four shirts, a poncho, a sunhat, and toiletries. Yet, this small load came with profound clarity. “The less you carry, the lighter your journey will be,” she reflected. Letting go of excess, both physical and emotional, allowed her to walk more freely and appreciate the beauty of the journey itself.
Mrs. Ladrido came home to a clearer, lighter version of herself. The Camino had stripped away noise, clutter, and the illusion of control. “There were just so many things going on inside of me, like the many difficult student cases and unresolved issues,” she shared.
“The walk really helped enlighten many things.” It reminded her that by letting go of what burdens us, we make space for blessings to enter.
“You don’t need a lot to be able to live; less is more,” she said, not just on the Camino, but in life. This, she explained, is where the Camino becomes a metaphor for how we are called to live. We don’t need much–not in material things and certainly not in the emotional weight we often hold onto. Trust in the journey and trust in God.
The author with Mrs. Ladrido holding the proof of her passion and perseverance (Courtesy of Ma. Theresa Ladrido)
As we wrapped up the interview, she showed me her certificate of completion—a single sheet of paper that carried the weight of 120 kms’ worth of prayer, pain, and perseverance. “Ang tapang ko pala (I am brave, I realize),” she added with a proud smile. “It’s true what they say that the person who arrives in Santiago is no longer the same person who set out for it, days or weeks before.”
That moment, I realized the same was true for how I saw her. The principal I once found intimidating had become someone I now admired deeply, not just for her leadership, but also for her humility, quiet strength, enduring faith, and the hope she carried with every step. And she wasn’t quite done—she leaned in with a gleam in her eyes to offer these parting words of wisdom: “Ultreia et Suseia. The Camino begins after the walking ends; the Camino never ends. Buen Camino!”
