The day I almost died

Scaling mountains and facing fears

Moments before climbing Half Dome in Yosemite National Park

Only 600 feet to go…

My arms are aching as I hold on to the cable poles scaling the side of Half Dome, fear building up in every crevice of my mind and body.

Up here, on a 60 degree incline, with nothing but my own body holding me up, I am so aware that one slip, one fumbling of my grip, could lead me tumbling all the way down this hard granite rock.

My mind pounds with trepidation. I feel like my entire body could spontaneously combust into tears at any moment.

But I am also aware that in this moment, in this position, my tears won’t help me.

The only way out is through. The only person who can get me through is me.

So step by step, my arms burning at the weight of my body, I pull myself up the mountain and finally reach the top.

It should be a moment of celebration — a moment of victory and strength — but in reality, I feel a mix of nausea and nerves bubbling through me.

Yes, I made it to the top of Half Dome… a 3 day backpacking journey through the heart of Yosemite National Park.

Yes, this is a huge physical feat that I’ve just overcome.

But my mind reminds me, it’s not over yet… you still have to get back down!

A closer view of the “cable portion” on Half Dome

The group I’m with is taking photos of the breathtaking views and celebrating this huge accomplishment.

I tell our guide that I don’t feel well and something needs to come out of me… from one end or another.

She understands and hands me a trowel, which I take and head over to the far end of the mountain peak.

You would have no idea from the bottom, but the top of Half Dome spans 3 football fields! Rock on rock on rock, with a few out-of-place shrubs that served as refuge in this moment.

I do my business in the shrubs and feel a fraction of relief as I walk back to the group.

There’s a part of me that feels bad for feeling bad, because I don’t want to suck the spirit and joy out of the group.

I apologize to everyone and one of the women tells me it’s okay Aaliyah! You’re not ruining the vibe at all… we would all feel the same if we were in your shoes. You’re allowed to feel exactly what you’re feeling.

I feel tears bubbling to the surface but I swallow them down. Her words are the soothing balm of loving acceptance that echoes the heart of everything I wish to impart through my work and essence…

You are safe to feel everything that you feel. You are safe to be you.

To hear someone else say these words to me, in this moment, feels like a divine echo.

I close my eyes and do a few rounds of left-nostril breathing. I feel my body soften an inch. I do a few more rounds. A part of me registers: wow, this shit actually works.

It’s one thing to rest into your yogic and meditation practices in the serene space of your home or studio.

It’s another thing to do these practices at 8800 feet elevation, on the edge of a mountain, when your body and mind are locked in a state of fight or flight.

A few breaths later…

Okay friends, I know it’s beautiful up here but we still have our journey back down. Let’s start to get going before the sun sets.

I’m thankful that our guide is nudging us along because I know that I won’t fully relax until I get back down. I’ve also scanned every possible exit route and aside from faking an injury or calling in a $40,000 helicopter ride, there’s no way out but the same way I came.

I turn my mind to the mantra I have been repeating over and over again throughout these last 3 days…

I am strong. I can do this. I am not afraid.

We start our decent down the cables, scaling down the mountain with our face towards the rock.

I try two different techniques… first, holding both the left and right cables with either hand and slowly repelling down. Second, holding the right-side cable with both hands and inching down, one hand over the other.

I feel comfort in neither technique but opt for the second.

As we near the steepest part of the descent, the granite rock is slick beneath my feet.

I have no idea how to stop my feet from sliding on the rock. Our guide tells us to try and relax our arms but there’s absolutely no part of me that is able to relax.

I make it down halfway, feeling even more afraid than the journey up.

NO — I am strong. I can do this. I am not afraid.

My mind ping pongs back and forth between fear and strength, doubt and will.

I am strong. I can do this. I am not afraid.

A few feet below me, a bit of commotion builds as a new group of people are hiking their way up the cables. My feet are still sliding and out of no where, I completely lose my grip and my feet slip out from under me.

I hang on with all my might to the cable above as I slide a few feet down the rock before my feet catch the cable poles mounted into the granite.

I stay crouched down low at the edge of this pole, internally shaking. I am well aware that had I lost my grip on the cables or fallen outside the tracks, this could have ended in disaster.

I look up and my husband is behind me, his strong arms and legs confidently supporting him. He’s looking at me with semi-shock, not yet processing what just happened.

I think of him, our life together, our future; I think of my sweet furbabies at home. This is not the end, I tell myself.

I call our guide who is behind my husband and tell her I need help. She quickly makes her way down to me and tells me to take a deep breath. I do so and it feels like I’m breathing again for the first time.

She uses her foot as an extra support against mine and slowly helps me down. I feel more confident with her presence next to mine.

When we reach the bottom, I give her a big hug and feel my body starting to shake beneath her embrace as my tears finally erupt. My husband comes down shortly after and I give him a big hug.

You fucking did it, he says.

We make our way to the rest of the group. I take a deep breath and finally feel my body’s subtle sigh of relief.

The sun is setting now over the mountains as our guide’s boyfriend makes us pizza on a jetboil burner.

We all celebrate this huge accomplishment.

In this moment, the sunset is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The sky turns hues of pink and purple, my favorite colors colliding above.

I’m glad I did it but I would never do it again, a woman from our group laughs.

Every part of me agrees but all I can do is nod.

That night, safely back in my tent at camp, my mind is tumbling through scenes from the day.

Every time I close my eyes, I see myself in that moment slipping down the rock. My belly tightens as my mind pursues alternate ways this story could have ended.

I sleep like shit but I wake up alive.

I feel a newfound sense of appreciation for my body — for this beautiful, strong vessel that got me through this experience; that moves me through this life.

I feel a heightened sense of lucidity and clarity. In this moment, I make a vow never to take my body for granted again.

I make a further silent vow to take care of her even better; to get stronger mentally and physically so I may climb many more mountains (metaphorical… and maybe actual too) in the future.

If not now, then when?

This entire experience becomes an experiential reminder to live fully now.

Because who knows when it may all slip away?

Days later, I’m talking to some girlfriends and telling them the whole story. Out of nowhere, I start sobbing as I begin to process some of my most intimate takeaways from this entire experience…

What strikes me most about the entire journey is the felt experience of my will to live.

I think back to standing in the middle of this mountain, holding on for dear life to these cables, and remembering how much I did not want to let go of all that was dear to me… all the life that I still want to live, alongside the people and creatures I love.

I think back to all the times I’ve thought and felt: what is the purpose of all of this? What’s the meaning behind all this pain and suffering that surrounds us all? What’s the point?

And while I still don’t have the answers to these questions, what I can connect with is how in that moment when fear soared through me, all I wanted was more time.

More time with my lover, my babies, my family and friends.

More time for sunsets and sunrises and music and nature.

More time for travel and connections and experiences and stories.

More time to learn and explore and play and create.

More time… to live.

If not now, then when?

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Thank you so much for reading this story and being part of my journey 🥹 I made a full YouTube video to accompany this story, with more visuals of the entire experience.

I hope some part of this story inspires you to live more deeply, connected to the beauty and miracle of each and every breath.

I know I’m still processing but I can feel this story as a pivotal part of my journey that I will look back on over and over again.

I’m excited to see what other mountains I can climb and what others stories are waiting to be written.

Until next time,

Aaliyah