Fear on the Wall: A Childhood Battle with Heights

Climbing Past Fear

A childhood encounter with heights taught me more about courage, failure, and second chances than I ever expected.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid of heights. Not just nervous—genuinely terrified. Even watching someone else stand on a high ledge in a movie makes my stomach tighten. It doesn’t matter if I’m safe and grounded. My body reacts on instinct. I get sweaty palms, a racing heart, and a deep sense that something could go very, very wrong.

I once looked up the technical name for this fear—acrophobia. It’s not a word I say out loud often, but it stuck with me. Finally, there was a name for something that made me feel different from the rest of my friends growing up. They would run across rope bridges or climb trees for fun. Me? I was happiest when my feet were planted firmly on the ground.

The First Challenge: A Party to Remember

One summer, when I was about ten years old, I went to a birthday party that I’ll never forget. One of my classmates invited a few of us to a rock-climbing center. It was supposed to be fun, adventurous, and a great way to celebrate.

We arrived, got our safety harnesses, and listened to a short introduction by the instructor. He asked if anyone was afraid of heights. I hesitated. My gut told me to raise my hand. But I didn’t. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be brave. And maybe I hoped that somehow I’d be okay.

Then came the moment of truth. I was chosen to go first.

The wall wasn’t even the tallest one in the facility—twelve meters high, just under forty feet. But to me, it might as well have been Mount Everest. I climbed slowly at first, my heart thudding in my chest. But halfway up, fear hit me like a wall.

My muscles stiffened. My hands gripped the holds tightly. I couldn’t move. I was frozen.

The instructor shouted encouragement from below, but I couldn’t hear much over the sound of my own panic. Eventually, I called down and asked to be lowered. I felt embarrassed. My friends tried to cheer me up, but I saw the looks—the silent understanding that I had “chickened out.”

Everyone else made it to the top. Then we moved on to an even taller wall—around sixty feet. This time I only got a few feet off the ground before asking to come down. I didn’t even try the third wall. I couldn’t. I felt defeated.

But not everything about the day was a loss. I still remember laughing with friends during lunch, eating too much cake, and the sense of friendship that softened the disappointment. Even though I was shaken, I wasn’t entirely broken.

The Turning Point: A Year Later

About a year later, our school organized a camping trip. It was a full week of outdoor activities—hiking, games, storytelling by a campfire. And, yes, rock climbing.

To my surprise (and low-key horror), we returned to the same facility.

This time, though, something had shifted. We weren’t in a large group. We were placed in smaller teams of three or four, and we were mostly left on our own to explore under instructor supervision.

I don’t know what pushed me to volunteer first again. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was unfinished business.

As I placed my foot on the first hold, the fear was still there. But it was different. It wasn’t paralyzing—it was familiar. I knew what it felt like to freeze, and I didn’t want to feel that again. Slowly and steadily, I climbed. I didn’t rush. I didn’t look down.

And I made it.

When I reached the top, I slapped the flat part of the wall above the last hold. It wasn’t planned. It was instinct. A release. I didn’t shout or celebrate loudly, but inside, I was roaring. I had done it.

I didn’t just defeat the wall—I defeated a piece of fear that had been sitting in my chest for years.

Final Thoughts: Fear Isn’t the Enemy

That moment didn’t erase my fear of heights. I’m still the kind of person who avoids glass elevators and cliffside viewpoints. But it taught me something far more valuable:

Fear doesn’t have to stop us. It can teach us, shape us, and challenge us to grow.

Courage doesn’t always look like boldness. Sometimes, it’s quiet and shaky and slow. Sometimes, courage is just trying again.

I haven’t climbed many walls since then, but the lesson from that day remains one of the strongest in my life. If you’ve ever faced fear—of heights, failure, rejection, or anything else—I hope this story reminds you: You don’t have to be fearless. You just have to try.