The Day I Climbed Over Fear

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been terrified of heights. Mortified. Even the thought of standing near a ledge makes my knees do that weird wobble thing. If heaven and hell really are in the sky and underground, I think I know which one I’d rather be closer to—and it’s not because of fire or damnation.

I later Googled the word for my fear: acrophobia. It’s a decent name for something that makes my stomach drop with just the thought of a high place.

The first time I really confronted this fear was in Year Five (Grade Four if you’re from across the pond). A friend was having a birthday party in June, and we all went rock climbing. There were five of us, and it started with an instructor giving us the usual prep talk. He asked if anyone had a fear of heights.

I didn’t raise my hand.

And I have no idea why.

What followed was the most predictable panic spiral in the history of childhood misjudgments. The wall was twelve metres high (about forty feet). I was the first to climb. Halfway up, I froze. Completely. Clinging to the wall like a koala on Red Bull. The instructor cheered me on with the usual motivational one-liners, but my body wasn’t having it. My brain had abandoned ship. I had to come back down.

The rest of the kids made it to the top, no problem. I didn’t. And it stuck with me—like that embarrassing memory you randomly remember at 2 a.m. for no reason.

The next wall was sixty feet high. I barely got five feet off the ground before I waved the white flag. There was a third wall too, something with a bulge at the top (the horror), but I never even attempted it.

One Year Later

Flash forward a year. We’re on a weeklong camping trip for school. And guess what’s on the activity list? Yep. Rock climbing. Again. And yes—it was the same place in Crawley.

This time, though, it was different.

We were put in smaller groups. No hovering teachers. No large crowd watching. Just me and three friends. That smaller, quieter environment made a world of difference. I climbed the forty-foot wall again. First in the group, strangely.

And I made it.

I actually made it.

When I reached the top, I thumped the wall with my fist like it had personally wronged me. It was raw instinct. A victorious release. No one asked why. No one had to.

For the first time in a long time, I felt alive. That sense of pride, adrenaline, and defiance all wrapped into one moment. I’d never felt it before. I haven’t felt it since, not in the same way. That single minute at the top of a wall I once feared with my whole body became a core memory.

I kicked fear’s teeth in—and it felt brilliant.

Reflection

Fear isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it looks like a ten-year-old clinging to a wall and pretending not to cry. Sometimes it’s quiet, creeping in when no one’s watching. But sometimes, just sometimes, you climb past it. Even if it takes a second try, a smaller group, and a bit of emotional yelling.

And when you do—it’s unforgettable.

Author's Note

This story has been sitting in my brain for years. I decided to finally write it down—not just to entertain, but to remind anyone else who's ever frozen in fear that you’re not alone. And more importantly, that one day, with the right timing and the right people around you, you might just climb right over it.

Thank you for reading.

Anyway, no one watch this (don't you dare!), unless you’re the Vocal Team.