My heart was pounding, my hands clammy, my legs trembling, my entire body was crippled by fear. I was scared If I took one more step I would stumble on this stony narrow path and slide towards the ravine, plummeting to my death. This is how I felt one early morning in the spring of 2003, hiking Grove Creek trail, which has a narrow walkway and straight down drop off. It brings me comfort to know that psychology has a name for my irrational fear: acrophobia. I never used to be so terrified of heights. As a child I remember climbing the trees surrounding my home, taking defying leaps off the couch, and even hopping from rooftop to rooftop with my cousins, growing up in Morocco.
On Mother’s day, seventeen years later, I was revisiting the same hike with my daughter and her boyfriend, when I started to reflect and piece together where my fear of heights began.
Most of my childhood we lived in a traditional Moroccan style home called a Riad. This style of home was popular in Morocco, and a great example of Arab and Andulusian architecture. The Riad is featured in a lot of Hollywood movies, and you may notice these beautiful flat roof buildings in movies set in the Middle East or North Africa. It was centered around an open air courtyard with rooms facing inward, tall strong trees bordered the courtyard creating a forest of green around the home, while a beautiful fountain fixed in the center attracted all sorts of colorful birds. The trees my parents had planted were native- lots of fruit trees and palm trees, as well as jasmine, provided shade during the extremely hot summer months and perfumed the air with an extra sweet scent. The trees, lively birds, and the burbling of the fountain created a space that felt much like an oasis. We often enjoyed our daily afternoon tea in this courtyard, paired with Moroccan almond treats. Even the rooftop of the Riad is an amazing place for hanging out and things like stargazing, looking out towards the mountains, and it was even the perfect viewpoint into your neighbors’ courtyard. Next door to us lived a mysterious family that kept to themselves— neighborhood kids would start rumors claiming the family’s house was cursed. It was eluding and fascinating to a bored youngster such as myself, and often I would sit on the roof looking down into their courtyard wondering what was going on inside of their possibly haunted home.
Example of Moroccan Riad (Photo by Federico Gutierrez on Unsplash)
As a child I was driven by curiosity and often ended up being the brains’ behind mischievous adventures when my siblings and I got together with our cousins. But to my parents, I was the child with the voice of reason and I was intent on maintaining that appearance. However, I desperately wanted to earn neighborhood credit and be the first to discover if the home was truly haunted or not, so I began to formulate a plan. I would need my cousins— they were absolutely fearless, nimble, adept at climbing up any tree or wall, and they conveniently lived nearby. The next time they came over I would have them investigate. The day finally came when they stopped by with their mother for tea, and while we were playing, I dared them to hop from our roof and go down the tree to the neighbors courtyard, to solve the mystery behind the house, once and for all. Without any hesitation, one of them went for it and just as he had made it down the tree, we heard the neighbor yelling at him. While climbing back up the tree, my cousin froze completely, as if he were a deer caught in headlights. I could see the terrified look in his eyes as I tried to reason with him and calm his anxiety, while his brother went to get help for us. As he began climbing up again, he fell off the tree and landed on the ground. Ultimately, he ended up breaking an arm and a leg, and I felt responsible for his pain. After all, the idea to spy on the neighbors was my own. My dad was furious and made me tend to my cousin until he was fully healed. After that day I grew terrified of heights. While I was not the one falling from the tree, I saw how painful it was to fall from a great height and felt paralyzed by my cousin's trauma. I lived for years with my fear, doing whatever it took to avoid any confrontation with heights no matter how insignificant they seemed to be. I would take elevators over escalators and avoid steep hikes. If it had anything to do with a ladder, a bridge or a look out point- even window seats on a plane? You could count me out.
I didn't realize how debilitating my fear of heights could be, until I stood on a mountain, early in spring of 2003 with my friend Linda. She was (and still is!) a very experienced hiker and outdoors-woman, and I felt I could trust her when we came to a massive drop-off. She walked across to show me how to safely traverse the narrow trail. Frozen on that rock ledge, I knew the only step I was going to take was to go back down towards the car. When returning to the trail head, I felt disappointment wash over me, and I was afraid I would never be able to look up at these mountains with joy. It was then I realized I had been feeding this irrational fear of heights for many years, and it had grown much stronger than I had guessed, causing me unnecessary anxiety. I thought about my two small children, who would watch and learn from me-- I felt that if I were to not face my fear, I would be teaching my kids to let fear rule their lives. Everything I taught them about courage would be words rendered useless, not backed by action.
The beginning of many drop-offs.
I could not sleep that night, realizing how much I had let my fear of heights overcome me, so I called Linda and asked her if we could attempt the steep hike again. Lucky for me Linda was willing to help me face my fears. This time, in preparation, I decided to research the trail and find out what I was getting myself into; I realized it would not be an easy thing to accomplish for an acrophobic like me. In this case I felt exposure would be the best therapy. I told myself: in order to complete this hike, I would have to embrace my discomfort. After all, nobody was asking me to walk across the grand canyon on a tightrope. It was just a hike with some cliffs, right?
I woke up at night from graphic nightmares of falling off the mountains, which had me convinced that I should call Linda and make up some excuse about not going on the hike. I knew if I did, I would resent myself and feel overwhelmed with disappointment. That morning, I convinced myself that I must do the hike, and ultimately conquer my fear of heights. As we began the hike, we made a few stops along the way- by the creek that is tucked away between the small scrub oaks, and picking up a few rocks from the scree field. After crossing the scree field (a path that is made of broken rocks usually at a cliff’s edge), I knew I was getting closer to the towering peaks that were awaiting me and I decided it was best to keep my focus on the trail. I dug my nails into my hands as I was crying behind my sunglasses, and after a few calculated steps, I finally made it past the first narrow cliffs. Throughout the hike there were certain times I felt I had to hang onto Linda’s backpack to scamper up a steep section. I have to admit, the entire time my mind was jostling with fear and anxiety, but a few encouraging words from my friend Linda helped put my mind at ease. Continuing on, the trail opens to the upper waterfall. It was breathtaking and exhilarating. At that moment I felt the sheer beauty and the majesty of it all. I knew nature was not there to hurt me, but to amaze me. I felt accomplished and empowered by facing my fears, and began looking forward to the next challenge. Indeed after that, I conquered a few other mountains and discovered my passion for hiking.
I once read a quote by Nelson Mandela: “courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.” Hiking up winding trails is like life: whatever we are facing, we have to embrace the discomfort, in order to grow and reach our greatest potential. We often become stagnant and afraid to press beyond our comfort, and in this, we lose our vision of the future because we have no faith in the unknown. As I learned those many years ago, with a bit of courage and support from a friend who won’t give up on you-- the impossible becomes very possible.
Today, I would not say my fear of heights is completely gone, I often feel anxious before a hike I know will be steep, however it does not stop me from climbing to the top. Revisiting the hike on Mother’s Day this year I was able to push further than I had with Linda those years ago. And this time we were able to make it past the water to a beautiful natural spring. The view was humbling and beautiful. I am most grateful to be able to share the sights, sounds, and colors of the mountains with my daughter. Something, I would have never imagined having the courage to do in a past life.
