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Why Why Why (And Then I Let Go)
Standing on that platform 200 meters above the rainforest floor, I clenched my fists and looked out at the vastness before me. My brother had just soared away, laughing. It was my turn. Every part of me wanted to climb back down.
Let me back up.
In 2014, my dad and stepmom gifted our family a trip to Punta Cana. When it came time to choose an excursion, everyone agreed on ziplining. I thought it sounded like a fun experience. I don’t even love heights, but something in me wanted to try it at least once.
About a month before the trip, a friend posted a video of himself ziplining in Costa Rica. I watched him careening high above open canyons and messaged him: Was it actually fun? His response: Yeah, but not gonna lie—terrifying at first.
Terrifying at first. I filed that away.
The Bus Ride of Doubt
I enjoyed the bus ride out to the course. Rolling green hills. Small country communities. And of course, the promise of adventure. But as our guide explained what to expect, a part of me started to panic.
Where to place our hands so they wouldn’t get cut by the line. Wait, cut hands?
How to pull ourselves in if we got stuck. You can actually get stuck on a zipline?
What would happen if we leaned the wrong way.
By the time he finished, a part of me was screaming danger, not fun.
We arrived and they strapped me into the gear. My heart was racing. My palms were sweaty. Parts of me wanted to back out. But a quieter voice whispered: You can do this.
Why Why Why
We climbed high into the rainforest, up to the first platform. The line stretched out in front of me, 200 meters above the ground. My stepmom had soared away first, then my niece and sister-in-law. My brother went just before me, laughing as he disappeared into the canopy.
Now it was my turn.
I brought every ounce of courage I had and let go.
The first seconds were pure panic. I was so high up, the vastness of the space beneath me overwhelming. Why why why am I doing this. This is outrageous. I could die. One wrong move, some glitch with the equipment, and I would freefall into the canyons.
And then something shifted.
I couldn’t control the line. I couldn’t control the speed. I couldn’t control anything. So I stopped trying. I let go. Not just of the platform, but of the grip I had on the outcome.
For a few moments, everything went quiet. Nothing else in the world mattered. I was just observing. The openness around me, the beauty of the rainforest below, the vastness that had terrified me moments before now just… there. Still. Not threatening anymore.
Near the end of the line, fear gripped me again. Would I stop in time, or crash into the guide? But I landed safely on the second platform, shaky but relieved.
One by one, I faced each line. The fear didn’t vanish, but it softened. By the end of the course, my shoulders dropped. I unclipped the harness, legs still shaking, and laughed. Part relief, part disbelief.
“Wow. That was wild. I can’t believe I did that.”
Everyone was talking a mile a minute about their experience, the adrenaline still buzzing. Someone joked they were glad they made it to the platform without needing to be pulled in. “That would be my luck,” they said. We laughed.
Courage Isn’t the Absence of Fear
That day taught me something I carry into my healing work now: courage isn’t waiting until the fear is gone. It’s choosing to step forward with it.
In Internal Family Systems, courage is one of the 8 Cs of Self. It’s the quality that allows us to move forward even when our protector parts are activated. On that platform, a terrified part of me was screaming to turn back. But Self, that calm center we all have access to, whispered You can do this.
The moment everything went quiet on the line? That was Self. Not the absence of fear, but the willingness to stop white-knuckling and let something steadier lead. My fearful parts didn’t disappear. I just stopped letting them drive.
Courage in IFS means acknowledging those fearful parts, thanking them for trying to keep us safe, and gently asking them to trust us as we move forward. It’s feeling the sweat on your palms and the racing of your heart. And taking the leap anyway.
A Reflection for Your Journey
Healing asks the same thing of us. The willingness to keep showing up even when parts of us want to turn back.
- When has fear tried to talk you out of something you actually wanted to experience?
- What does your “why why why” sound like—the voice that panics before you’ve even started?
- Have you ever had a moment where you stopped fighting and let go? What happened?
This post is part of my monthly series exploring the 8 Cs of Internal Family Systems, a framework that shapes how I teach, write, and support healing. The 8 Cs are qualities described by Dr. Richard Schwartz, founder of the Internal Family Systems (IFS) model.