I always say that I’m really good at facing my fears, and I know this because with the adventurous life I live, I have the opportunity to do so somewhat often. I keep thinking that the braver I am, the more I try, the stronger I will get in overcoming these fears, particularly of heights and water. Sometimes it works, and sometimes I get kicked while I’m down.

So I wonder, at what point should I just call it quits and stop trying? What is the reward if I’m not even having fun attempting to accomplish something? Do I ever get a break from being brave?

I’ve improved greatly in the arena of dangling high in the air, usually faced with some sort of obstacle, whether it be on a via ferrata or a high ropes course. I’ve done two of each of these in the last year, and while it’s been scary every time, I’ve grown stronger from each decision to participate.

Water, on the other hand, is a different story. I had tried time and again to overcome this fear, snorkeling in the deep ocean and even swimming with whale sharks, but then one day in Ecuador, I flipped in a white water raft.

I faced my fear, but it viciously defeated me. It threw me into a black hole of gritty water that rag-dolled my body back and forth deep below the surface, where I helplessly wondered which way was up and if I would ever get there to breathe again.

That felt like a slap in the face and ten steps backwards on my progress chart. How much braver can I really get before I earn the right to just say no? I decided that the time had come.

That was the end of white water rafting for me. I swore it off. I built mental walls to protect myself from water. As far as I was concerned, if the opportunity to face that fear came knocking again, I would ignore it, happy inside my box, safe.

That was a year and a half ago, and I haven’t snorkeled, rafted, or even swam in wild water since.

And then I heard a knock.

The Challenge

I showed up to a river in San Luis Potosí, Mexico, thinking I was going to get into a canoe and paddle up to a beautiful waterfall. They said it would be calm and relaxing. They said it’s the biggest and most beautiful waterfall in the region.

I still haven’t seen that famous waterfall, because that is not what I ended up doing.

Only two people out of our group of eight wanted to canoe, the others all wanted to go white water rafting. The two of us were given the “choice” of navigating a massive, 25-person canoe up stream for 4km by ourselves (seriously?), or joining the rest of the group to face “class III” white water rapids. Lunch awaited at the end of the rafting, but there was no mention of lunch on the canoe trip.

My stomach grumbled, but I wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or my impending doom.

I tried to laugh in their faces. I tried to stand up for myself and my decision to remain safe inside my box, I tried to calm myself down when I could feel my hands starting to shake, my voice quivering, and tears forming just at the thought of facing those God-forsaken rapids again.

The problem is, I had heard it all before. “I promise these are class III rapids… I promise you will be fine… I promise you this boat is just as safe as the bigger boats…”

Lies. They had all lied to me. All of the guides that had promised me these things in the past were wrong.

I flipped on a class IV rapid in Ecuador. I faced several class IV and IV+ rapids on a “class III” river in Costa Rica. On that same trip, the guide pushed me over the edge into the water to “demonstrate a rescue” without so much as asking or warning me first, even though he “knew” I was afraid of the water. My blood absolutely BOILS with rage, panic, and complete betrayal at the mere thought of his doing this to me.

How can I ever trust a river guide again? Why should I believe they are telling the truth when they probably don’t take my fear seriously anyway? They might push me into the water again, or try to impress the group by getting a little too daring with the rapids, until, “oops!” we go end-over backwards into the murky depths.

Why is peer pressure so strong? Why oh why didn’t anyone else want to go canoeing to the beautiful, peaceful waterfall?

The Decision

I entertained the idea that perhaps if I gave it a shot, I could redeem myself from the defeating river in Ecuador, similar to how I completely redeemed myself doing my second via ferrata. Lesson learned: every experience is different… right?

I made the guides promise me again (even though I didn’t believe them for one second) that the rapids really were class III. They promised me that the safety kayaker would pay special attention me. I teamed up with boat mates who promised to help me if I needed it.

With all of these “promises,” I kicked myself on the inside as I applied sunscreen with shaking hands, listening to the safety instructions and picturing myself flipping, again and again and again.

When we finally got into the rafts, the same small rafts I cursed last year in Ecuador, I was so stiff, nervous, and scared that tears actually came to my eyes. The walls of my safety box had been completely shattered. I felt exposed, vulnerable and helpless.

Phobias are so real.

On one hand, this was a chance for me to be strong, and on the other, it was a chance to be completely defeated all over again. The outcome would be decided by the river.

The River

The Río Tampaón is rated among the top 10 most beautiful rivers to raft in the world. The water is a brilliant jade green that glistens in the sunlight…

While it was indeed beautiful, the best part of the river for me was not the scenery. It was the fact that our guides (Martín 1 and Martín 2) from MS Expediciones had told me the truth. These were class III rapids, and both Martíns knew how to handle them safely. Imagine that.

After we rocked our way through the first one, I looked back at Martín 2 in desperate disbelief and asked him, “Was that a class III? So the rapids won’t get any worse than that?” He assured me that yes, it was a class III, and no, there wouldn’t be anything worse than that.

My nerves began to disappear as we rode through rapid after rapid that truly were no worse than that. What was happening? Was I actually beginning to enjoy this? My brain was confused, yet open to the idea.

The sun suddenly felt warm on my skin, I started noticing butterflies everywhere, I heard birds singing from the trees. The beautiful jade-colored water was comforting, not menacing, as it meandered through slices of sedimentary rock, which formed canyon walls that towered over our heads. The sky was blue and cloudless.

Before I knew it, we were through the last rapid, still upright, still in the boat, still more or less dry, and I was smiling.

This was unprecedented.

I have never experienced a white water rafting trip that was so successful. And I have never felt that the guides were actually concerned for me or told the truth about the water levels like the Martíns from MS Expediciones.

The True Reward

By stepping into that raft, I stepped out of the powerful box that I had let fear create in my mind.

As much as it may seem comfortable and safe to put up walls so my fears can’t reach me, I know that I can’t grow in that confining space. I would like to be strong and courageous, but I will never gain strength and courage by hiding inside of fear, in any part of my life. No one can.

Remember Baby? In a corner, the world doesn’t see who we really are. But the hard truth and the biggest risk is that we lose sight of ourselves there as well. News flash: Patrick Swayze ain’t showin’ up to rescue us.

Apparently, and as intimidating as this truth is, being brave has no expiration date. It doesn’t look the same for everyone, as our fears and challenges are different. White water rafting might be a breeze for you.

These challenges, whether big or small, are merely opportunities for growth, knocking, waiting to see how we will respond. And every time, we have a new choice. It doesn’t matter what we chose last time; each knock is a fresh opportunity to find out what awaits us on the other side of the experience.

Whenever I can find the strength, I hope I choose to be brave, to live and learn, with sacrifice, to grow and harness courage and reap the rewards, in a way that only I can. This is truly living.