Between Fear and Sky: What Rock Climbing Taught Me

As we get older, something subtle shifts inside us. Maybe it’s caution. Maybe it’s wisdom. Or maybe it’s simply the weight of tiny hands depending on us. Motherhood changed my entire relationship with risk—it softened the reckless edges of who I used to be and replaced them with awareness, responsibility, and a fierce desire to stick around for my children.

In becoming a mother, I stepped into an unspoken promise: I’ll be here. I’ll keep myself alive. I’ll build the legacy you deserve.

So when I look back at photos from my former life as a rock climber, it feels almost surreal. That brave, scrappy girl who hung from cliffs on weekends? That person who thought nothing of abseiling into the unknown? She feels like a different version of me—one who lived somewhere between fear and sky.

Especially ironic, considering I’ve never been a fan of heights. I get vertigo just watching actors cross bridges in films!



Climbing Into Fear

One of my most vivid memories is climbing somewhere ominously named Devil’s Kitchen in Snowdonia, in the middle of January. I mean… who does that voluntarily?

For context, Devil’s Kitchen (Twll Du) is a steep, rocky scramble in Wales’ Ogwen Valley, known for its scree slopes, boulder fields, and the natural crack that sometimes releases steam, giving it the eerie appearance of a boiling cauldron. Completely comforting, right?

The day we climbed it, conditions were brutal. Ice-coated waterfalls, freezing winds, fingers so numb they felt carved from wood. At one stage, a rescue helicopter flew overhead to retrieve another group in trouble. Not exactly comforting.

What was supposed to be a challenging but manageable climb spiralled into six exhausting hours of cold, discomfort, and real fear. The cliff face was a steep vertical ascent and the rocks were wet and slippery. By the time we reached the top, I was on the verge of tears. I practically ran down the side path, faster than you could say “hallelujah”.
Looking back, I know I shouldn’t have attempted it. My climbing buddies were miles more experienced, and I was determined to keep up. 




Winter’s Lessons

Winter climbing was always my reckoning. My body never loved the cold, and cold is unforgiving—every movement stiffer, every rock sharper.

I still remember a Boxing Day climb in the Scottish Highlands when we misjudged the tides. Instead of receding, the sea surged upward beneath us like an icy beast. The roar of it felt like a warning, snapping at our heels as we scrambled toward the cliff edge before the rising water swallowed our route.

Terrifying? Absolutely. Character building? …Let’s call it that.





Warmth, Summer, and Sky

Yet summer climbing… that was pure magic. Dorset in the sunshine felt like another world—warm rock under my hands, blue sky above, and the glittering aquamarine sea below. Climbing then felt like freedom. Like possibility. Like joy. And leaping into the sea afterwards was the world’s best reward.

I don’t climb much anymore. Life is full, my responsibilities have changed, and I no longer chase the adrenaline of cliff edges. But I carry those climbs with me. They shaped me. They taught me courage, grit, and self-belief. They gave me friendships, confidence, and a deep respect for what my body could do.

And now, I get to tell those stories to my children. 




Would I Recommend Climbing? Absolutely.

If you’ve got the time, the curiosity, and the appetite for adventure, climbing will change you in ways that stay with you forever. You’ll get fit without even realising it. You’ll discover muscles you didn’t know you had. You’ll surprise yourself—again and again.
I’m proud of that woman on those cliffs. Proud of the risks she took, the challenges she embraced, and the lessons she brought home.

If you’re looking for a way to feel alive, get fit, build confidence, or simply see what you’re made of, climbing is a beautiful teacher. It will show you your limits—and then gently, stubbornly, invite you to stretch past them.




Try it while you can. Try it before life plants your feet more firmly on the ground.

Because somewhere between fear and sky, you might just find yourself. And even though I'm more likely now to hold a paintbrush than cling to a cliff edge, that same spirit still guides me. Climbing taught me how to breathe through fear, trust my grip, and keep moving even when the ground falls away beneath me. In the studio, it’s the same dance—bravery, focus, and the quiet thrill of stepping into the unknown. The cliffs gave me courage; the canvas lets me use it. 





All photos copyright ©Abbey Mae