Overcoming Fear
By Jo Eberhardt | January 2, 2016 |
Photo supplied by Jo Eberhardt
Welcome to 2016! It’s time to brush off the cobwebs of last year, make some new writing resolutions, and feel smug and confident about your future achievements. At least, until the reality of the year sets in and, suddenly, those goals you were so confident of achieving take on an aspect of hitherto unimagined terror. What if you fail?
That’s fear talking. We all know the touch of its icy fingers. Now, fear isn’t good or bad, it just is. Fear is only a problem when you let it control you. Easier said than done? Perhaps. But I stopped letting fear control my life on the day I threw myself off a cliff.
Let me explain.
Many years ago, I went on a business retreat that culminated in a full-day team building exercise. My boss, an athletic 30-something man named Rick, wouldn’t tell us anything about it. The only thing we knew was that we needed to show up at 8am wearing clothes suitable for physical activity. When we arrived, Rick introduced us to two guides who would be accompanying us on some “light canyoning”.
Light canyoning. That sounded all right.
Even to a group of women whose only regular exercise involved running into the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine.
We started by following a track into the bush for half an hour, joking and singing, and generally having a good time. After a while, the track started heading up on an incline. Then it turned rocky and the path all but disappeared. Nothing too extreme. Just a bit of gentle rock climbing. When someone grazed her knee, Rick told her not to worry. “This is the worst part.”
The downward trip was much harder. Pebbles rolled under our feet and sent us skidding. Some of the drops were six or eight foot high, and we had to help each other clamber down. We arrived at the bottom of the ravine, next to a pool of dark water. Rick pointed across the lake. “See that rock over there? That’s where we’re going. We’ll swim across.” At the looks on our faces, he added, “This is the worst part.”
I’m not going to lie. I did not want to swim through the cold, dark water. But at this point, there was no other choice. One by one, we swam through the icy water. By the time we got to the other side, we were shivering, and many of them women were silently crying.
From our new position, we looked over a series of waterfalls, all the way along a gorgeous winding river, with untouched bushland spread out before us. I barely noticed. I had scrapes over all my exposed skin, and my shoes were full of freezing water.
“Okay,” Rick said, his voice full of excitement. “Now we rappel down the waterfall.”
None of us, barring Rick, had ever rappelled before. None of us were physically or mentally prepared for this. So we sat there on that rock, tears running down our faces, as the guides set up ropes and harnesses. And then, one by one, we prepared to go over the edge.
There was no other choice. Not really. We were strapped into the harness and given a quick rundown on what to do, while Rick stood there watching. “This is the worst part.”
The drop was only three or four yards. And we didn’t so much rappel as sit in the harness while we were lowered down. But we were in the middle of a waterfall. The water was cold, and the rocks were slippery.
At the bottom, we were deposited into another pool of cold water. We waded to another rock and sat there in abject misery, quietly sobbing to ourselves. When Rick joined us, he grinned. “Great work! Now that you’ve had some practice, the real rapelling will be a piece of cake!”
We weren’t finished. That rock we were sitting on was not the end; it was the next staging ground. We were cold and wet and tired and miserable. The only way forward was to rappel down a cliff face that looked at least three hundred yards high. Okay, it’s possible my eyes were exaggerating, but however high it was in yards, it was insurmountable in my mind. The only positive was that we’d be rapelling down a cliff face, rather than a waterfall. But it wasn’t much of a positive.
I sat with the other women, desperately trying to pull myself together. Rick asked for a volunteer to go first. I looked around. I was the youngest person there. I was one of the fittest. And everyone else looked even more terrified than I felt. So I volunteered.
The guide hooked me into the harness and checked all the knots and clips. He tried to give me some last minute instructions, but I couldn’t see or hear him. I was shaking and sobbing and terrified. Rick gave me a quick hug. “This is the worst part.”
It was time. All I needed to do was lean backwards over the edge. I took a deep breath. And another. I tried, and failed, to stop crying. I counted to three. And then to ten. And then…
I couldn’t do it.
I jumped forward, scrabbling at the buckles and clips that tied me to the rope. My fingers were numb. I couldn’t breathe. The guide unbuckled me and helped me to a place to sit down, where I proceeded to hyperventilate. Someone else went over the cliff first. I don’t remember who. I didn’t care. I had failed.
Slowly, my fear turned to fury. Damn it, I was cold and wet and terrified, but I was not going to let a pile of rocks and a fancy rope beat me. Out loud, I said, “I can do this.”
I said it over and over and over again, until I almost believed it. When the guide asked for a second victim – uh, volunteer – I was the first one there. I wasn’t even crying. I was well beyond terror by that point.
The guide attached my harness, and told me I was good to go.
I stepped backwards off the cliff.
I didn’t think about it, I just did it. Because no matter how terrified I was that I would fall, or the ropes would break, or the knots would come undone, or that I would get stuck, or, or, or a million other ors, I was more terrified of sitting up there on that rock forever, knowing in my heart that my fear had bested me.
I rapelled down that cliff.
I waded across the pool at the bottom.
And then I sat on the bank of the river and ate an apple.
I was triumphant. I was mighty. I had conquered the mountain and, more importantly, my own fear. I could do anything.
When my colleagues made it down, we celebrated with lunch and a few photos (that’s us at the top of this post), then began the hour-long trek back to the hotel. As we walked, tired and proud, Rick grinned. “This is the worst part.”
On Being Mighty
If I’d known what that day was going to entail, I wouldn’t have agreed to go “light canyoning”. But the experience changed my life in ways I could never have imagined.
I learned many things that day. I learned that courage is not an absence of fear, but the strength to acknowledge fear and then confront it. I learned that failing once doesn’t mean failing always. And I learned that I can do anything, regardless of how terrifying it feels.
If I can throw myself backwards over a ravine, trusting in a few knotted ropes and a canvas harness to stop me falling to my death, I can take the next step on my writing journey.
And so can you.
When the resolutions you’ve made for 2016 sit there in the back of your head mocking you, and you know with absolute certainty that you can’t take another step – you can’t face the blank page, or submit your work and risk rejection , or do more marketing, or whatever else seems impossible right now – just remember:
This is the worst part.
What’s your most terrifying writing resolution this year?
[coffee]
Jo Eberhardt is a writer of speculative fiction, mother to two adorable boys, and lover of words and stories. She lives in rural Queensland, Australia, and spends her non-writing time worrying that the neighbor’s cows will one day succeed in sneaking into her yard and eating everything in her veggie garden.
Great writing with a good analogy…though I must say,, rappelling down a cliff seems easier to me than facing a blank page. Thanks Jo for a compelling story about fear. It’s just what I needed to jump-start this year of writing.
Thanks, Sally. It’s all relative. There are still times when I find myself staring at a blank page, and thinking this writing thing is WAY harder than rapelling down a cliff. But I certainly didn’t think that at the time. But it really does work to remind myself that this is the worst part. Happy writing!
Jo, thanks for sharing that story. I would have been terrified. It took a lot of courage for you to rappel that cliff. Writing seems like child’s play after that. My biggest fear regarding writing resolutions is that I won’t have the resolve and determination to achieve my goals in 2016, but that is not going to stop me from trying. Best wishes to you for a happy and healthy year.
Thanks for reading! I can no longer say this was the most terrifying experience of my life (two near-fatal childbirths pushed cliff-jumping down to the third rung on the terror-ladder), but it’s the experience I go back to every time I’m worried I won’t have the resolve or determination to achieve my goals. Every time. Because in the most extreme of circumstances, the difference between terror and courage is suprisingly slim.
You can do it. You can achieve your goals. This is the worst part.
Great post. Not sure I would have that courage but admire yours. Good image though for going forward into the new year–when fears of a different sort tend to assail me. Thanks.
Thank you. When push comes to shove, it’s amazing what we can find the courage to achieve. If I’d been told up front I was going to be rapelling down a cliff, I would have responded by saying: “There’s no way I could do that!” Funny how we can find the courage when we need it.
Best wishes for your writing this year. You got this.
I actually like the part of the story where someone else goes first, and that fires your rage/courage in order to proceed. When I was a boy, I had a buddy like that. All of the most dangerous stunts of my youth were done in his wake. I was often terrified, but following seemed less painful than facing the (likely enduring) treatment of not. Now that all of us in my old gang are (sort of) adults, we’re all sure of two things: first, that we’re lucky to be alive, second, that the friend in question is full-on nutters. Certifiable, actually (so maybe it’s good that you went second – a good sign of sanity). All of us from that group have mostly fallen out of touch with our nutty inspiration, but I’m pretty certain we’re all glad to have known him (and survived).
My point is, overcoming fear is much easier when we don’t face it alone. It’s one of the many reasons I’m so grateful for my writerly tribe of fellow WUers. Happy New Year, Jo! Thanks for the (mostly sane) inspiration! ;-)
That’s my favourite part of the story, too. At the time of living it, it wasn’t. But in retrospect, failing on my first try was a hugely motivating and instructional moment. I’m glad I had it.
You know, it’s funny. It was only as I was writing about this experience that I realised how nicely it follows a narrative arc. The point where I tried and failed to go over the edge is the mid-point reversal, followed by the black mobeen ment, and the gaining of a “weapon” to confront my arch-nemesis — the cliff.
I absolutely agree about how much easier it i to confront your fears when you’re not doing it alone. If I’d been up there on that mountain on my own, there is no way I’d have gone over the edge. Encouragement, a sense of belonging, accountability and pride do wonders for pushing people out of their comfort zones. (Even if, sometimes, the peple involved are nutters like your friend.) Here’s to a brave new year!
Who is this Rick guy? He sounds like my novel. “This chapter you’re sweating?” it whispers in my ear, “this is the worst part. After this…” Yeah, yeah. I love this post, and I love your fear stopping you, then being the very thing that gets you over the edge. Wonderful inspiration for the New Year. Thank you!!
Thanks, Susan. Hahaha. Sounds like you have everything well in hand, with your novel whispering encouragement as you go. Good for you! Happy writing!
A great, fun and memorable story.
I can’t help thinking, “this is the worst part” has an extra layer to it. I like the idea that in the times we’re afraid, it’s always the *same* worst part–the fear itself is the same, separate from whatever the problem is. So I’ll try remembering that fear is going to be a part of any challenge, and it’s coping with that again and again that’s the real trick.
(It fits with how I call writing the “Scary Bicycle.” We never forget how to ride, but every day we start up again is still intimidating.)
Thanks, Rick. And you, Jo.
I love that, Ken. The worst part is always the same — it’s fear. Now that’s a conclusion I hadn’t actually drawn from my story, but I’m going to adopt that as a catchphrase. Thank you!
I long ago realized that I couldn’t get rid of my fear, so I learned to use it. My fear is one of the biggest ingredients in my courage. Here’s to a courageous new year.
Same to you, Bee! <3
I enjoyed the story.
Thank you.
Interesting that your photograph is one thing–there aren’t many–I fear.
The woods. I am writing a series about an inactive U.S. Marine who gets involved in adventures involving certain kinds of paranormal phenomena.
I have done some pretty extensive reading on the disappearances of hundreds of men, women, and children in the national forests and parks of our country. I have also read about bigfoots (some of which are not the friendly hail-bigfoot-well-met creatures that Matt wants us to believe they are). I have read about the angry and aggressive dogmen spotted and encountered in the forests and surrounds of a number of our states. I have run across frightening things that have appeared in our woodlands, such as stairways that do not seem to have ever had any buildings attached to them.
Thanks for your encouragment about pushing ahead despite our fears. But I’m staying out of the woods. I’d suggest you be very careful yourself if you go there.
(And no, I don’t know whether there is a connection between the creatures I’ve mentioned and the the disappearances. There could be. But the most prominent researcher I know of has not seemed willing to make such a connection, and neither will I.)
Thanks for reading, Jim.
I’ve been doing a lot of research lately into Skinwalkers for a story I’m writing, and I’m right there with you in terms of scary things seen in the wilderness. I’m all the over in Australia, though, so they seem very far away. And since I live in the country, surrounded on all sides by the bush, it’s a bit hard to avoid. But over here, I mostly have to watch out for bunyips and drop-bears. :)
Best wishes for your writing (and avoiding woods) in 2016!
Mighty Jo, what a fantastic and inspiring story! That second picture terrifies me … but you had faith in the harness. I, too, aim to take some leaps this year and trust in God — my rock, my harness.
Thanks, Vijaya. Trusting the harness is always a difficult thing, but so worth it — no matter what the harness represents to individuals. Wishing you courage in 2016!
Love this post and the repelling story. I’ve been to that place of exhaustion and weeping, where you think you can’t do anymore and then because you have to, you do more. It’s an amazing confidence builder.
And you make a good point about applying those lessons to facing the writing life. Thank you.
It is definitely an amazing confidence boost. Once you’ve been there — pushed beyond anything you thought you could accomplish and then found the strength to keep going — those things that were previously “too hard” take on a brand new insignificance in the fear-stakes. Sounds like you have plenty of experiences of your own to apply to your writing life. Wishing you much confidence and fear-slaying this year.
What you learned from this experience is inspiring. However, I still think it was a cruel and abusive thing for your boss to do to the group of you, especially given that he was your boss, so your performance could affect your job. From misleading you all about what you were signing up for to reducing everyone to tears and trembling, these are the actions of a bully IMHO. I’m glad you got something positive out of it.
Thanks for reading, Barbara.
Honestly, you’re not the first person to have that reaction. And it’s actually one of the reasons I’ve never written about the experience before. Knowing Rick in contexts beyond this single episode, I wouldn’t describe him as a bully. I think he had a vision of what he wanted everyone to get out of the experience, and massively overestimated the physical aptitudes and experiences of the group. (Or just didn’t think about them.) I learned later that he regularly did that course on weekends as a form of relaxation. I honestly think it took him by surprise that we struggled so much — although we all came away with the lesson he was trying to impart. (And I also learned that, as a leader myself, I need to take into account the abilities of my team when I plan training exercises. :) )
Ah. That is good additional information.
Jo,
I’ll try this again! I’m using “town” wi-fi and my comment didn’t go through the first time.
You’ve written another inspiring article. Sure, it may not cover the technical or business side of writing, but is just as important, nonetheless. That’s why I love WU so much. Sometimes we need a hug or a shoulder to lean on or a kick in the pants that says, “I’ve been there, done that, got the t-shirt — and here’s how I overcame it.”
For the past year, I’ve been going through my own series of “This is the worst part.” Heck, for the past couple of years. And each time I abseiled down the cliff and thought the worst was over, there was another, even worse “worst part” staring me in the face.
Thanks for the uplifting words. <3 11
Don’t worry, Mike. This part you’re in right now? This is the worst part.
Thanks for reading — and for using the word ‘abseilling’. ;)
To write Book 2 in the Pride’s Children trilogy – even when sales of Book 1 haven’t yet taken off.
It’s all you can do, and what ‘they’ tell you to do, but it is still a huge leap of faith to rappel down the rock face, and find you’ve merely gotten to the next cliff.
Mountaineers prepare themselves. They study the mountain, and the path, and their equipment. But when they’re up on the peak, they have to go forward often not being able to see more than a few steps in front. Writing – and publishing are like that: educate yourself as much as you can, but it’s still going to be a hugely scary and unknown path.
Writers do it anyway – when up on the mountain, there are no other choices, and it’s a long way down (“Didn’t you used to write?”).
But the view is glorious.
The view is, indeed, glorious. Beautifully said. Sending wishes of courage your way for 2016.
“This is the worst part.” Jo, you are a wonderful storyteller and I will not forget this one!
Thanks, Kathryn. That means a lot, coming from you. Wishing you great things for 2016.
Impressive, Jo. I’m not sure I’d have had your courage in the face of fear, but you’ve presented an excellent analogy. Thank you!
Thanks, Normandie. I’m sure that, put in the same situation, you’d find the courage to push ahead. You probably have plenty of your own stories of being pushed to the limit and beyond. Best of luck with all your goals this year.
When I started Philangelus Press, I finally found the courage to do it by telling myself it required a willingness to fail in public in a big way. Finally I decided I needed to do one scary thing every day, and I blogged it here: https://querytracker.blogspot.com/2015/07/best-writing-advice-do-one-scary-thing.html
“This is the worse part”–varies for different people in different situations. Your courage and ability to believe in yourself applies to so many aspects of our lives. I repelled once, not the way you did, but I was proud to push away the fear. I remember how good I felt about doing it. Now I need courage to offer my work to agents. Fearful? Yes. Going to let fear control me, No. Great post.
I think being fearful is a positive thing. It shows you’re on the right track. Best of luck with pushing yourself outside your comfort zone this year, and not letting fear control your life.
Thanks for beginning my new writing year with such an inspiring–and thrilling–post. Swimming a dark. cold lake? I’m impressed.
My most terrifying resolution? Although I’ve never thought of it as a resolution, but as just one of the writing devils dancing on the keyboard, it probably should be to stop censoring my “public” writing, and start submitting my writing for critique.
And,it is the second part (seeking feedback/criticism) that is the scariest. Intellectually, I know I need constructive criticism in order to become more competent at the craft, but emotionally (for me), the line between criticism and ridicule is all but nonexistent. However, since I’ve already had many experiences in my life where I’ve told myself, “this is the worst part,” and I’m still here, I’m now thinking maybe I can add one more.
Thanks again, and Happy New Year.
Happy new year to you, too! Oh, that moment of seeking feedback on your work… That’s at least as terrifying as jumping off a cliff. I don’t think it matters where you are on your writing journey, asking for feedback is always scary. It’s always the worst part. But the outcome is absolutely worth it.
Wishing you much courage this year. You can do this.
Thanks for the inspiring story. You are so right about the freezing power of fear. We all deal with it, and I’m glad I have never had to go to the extremes you did.
Thank you so much for reading!
This is where I diverge from the majority of your commenters, Jo, and show my inherent darkness. Yes, this is a great story and inspiring and a hopeful metaphor, but I have two questions for you: Why didn’t you call your boss a liar? And why didn’t you threaten to throat-punch him?
Kidding, of course, though if he went on to offer baked brownies or a mushroom dish, I’d be the last to sample the wares. ;)
Happy New Year
Oh, I assure you, Jan, both of those things happened. More than once. Both during AND after the canyoning experience. But I figured I should edit all the profanity out of this story before I posted it. :)
That was a great article, Jo. Thank you for sharing. I admire your perseverance. I’m not sure I could have done what you did. Rick and I would certainly never been friends again. ;-) But your article arrived in my inbox at the right time. I’m facing the fear of failure as a writer. I’m certain I’ve failed already and seriously considering giving it all up. But maybe, thanks to you, I’ll at least sit and think about quitting for a while longer before I go ahead and do it. So what if I failed this time, right? Maybe next time I’ll propel down that cliff face a winner.
Just remember, Stacey: This part? This part right now when you’re sure you’ve failed already and you may as well give it all up? This is the worst part. You can only truly fail if you let fear beat you. You can do this.
My palms are sweating from reading this. Thank you so much for writing this post — I’m deathly afraid of heights, but were I in your position, I’d probably have done the same: truck on through regardless because there’s no way back.
This makes shipping those first queries so much less daunting by comparison.
Absolutely! Best of luck with your queries. Keep on truckin’!
Thanks for sharing this, Jo. It’s an inspiring story for the new year when many of us are thinking about how we’d like 2016 to pan out.
As well as the importance of facing our fear, what I took away from this is that a big, scary goal can be broken down into smaller goals. Achieving the small, scary thing – ‘this is the worst part’ – will build confidence to approach the next (bigger) scary thing.
Here’s to a year filled with scary goals and the courage to achieve them!
Thanks, Dale. And what a great new year’s wish. I’m absolutely on board with scary goals and courage to achieve them!