Ruby Falls: The Trip That’s Bigger Than a Waterfall
Most people planning a family vacation are researching the best restaurants, where to park, or whether the gift shop is worth stopping in.
I’ve been researching escape routes.
I’ve watched videos. Read reviews. Studied maps. Looked at pictures of elevators. Read comments from people who loved it… and from people who hated it. I’ve mentally rehearsed every possible scenario.
Not because I’m excited. Because I’m anxious.
If you’ve never lived with anxiety, it probably sounds ridiculous. It’s just a cave. It’s just an elevator. It’s just a tourist attraction.
Except anxiety has never cared what something actually is.
After cancer, my brain changed. It learned that terrible things can happen without warning. It learned that being trapped isn’t just uncomfortable—it’s terrifying. It learned that panic can show up anywhere, anytime, even when there’s no logical reason for it.
Now it whispers questions I never asked before.
What if I panic in the elevator? What if I can’t leave? What if something happens underground?
And then there’s the part that hurts even more.
What if MJ panics?
She’s inherited more than my eye color and stunning good looks. She’s inherited my anxiety too. She’s had her own scary moments, and as a mom, nothing feels worse than watching your child struggle while wondering if they’re learning it from you.
What if I stay calm but she doesn’t? What if she’s okay until she sees me getting nervous? What if my fear becomes her fear?
The weight of carrying my own anxiety is exhausting. The weight of worrying about hers is almost unbearable.
So I’ve been preparing. Not because preparation guarantees everything will go perfectly. Because preparation reminds me that I’m stronger than my anxiety wants me to believe.
I’ve researched every detail. I’ve looked at photos until they feel familiar. I’ve read what to expect. I’ve talked myself through it over and over.
I’ve been mentally practicing saying:
“I can do hard things.”
“A panic attack is uncomfortable, not dangerous.”
“I don’t have to feel brave to be brave.”
“I don’t have to enjoy this to survive it.”
I’ve also given myself permission to change the plan if I need to. If I get there and decide I can’t go into the cave, that doesn’t make me weak.
If MJ needs to step away, that’s okay too. If Jake takes the girls and I wait outside, that isn’t failure. Because success isn’t defined by making it to the waterfall.
Success is refusing to let anxiety make every decision for our family. Anxiety has convinced me that the safest choice is staying home. Staying where I know the exits. Staying where nothing unexpected can happen.
But that’s not really living.
My girls deserve adventures. They deserve memories. They deserve to see their mom try—even if she’s scared. And maybe… I deserve that too.
This post is my accountability. It’s me putting into writing that I am choosing courage over certainty.
Not fearless.
Not confident.
Just willing.
Maybe in a couple weeks I’ll be writing about how beautiful Ruby Falls was. Maybe I’ll be writing about how I made it halfway before deciding I’d had enough. Maybe I’ll be writing about how MJ surprised me with her bravery.
I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is this:
I’m done waiting until anxiety disappears before I live my life. Because if I’ve learned anything from cancer, it’s that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Life isn’t waiting for my fear to leave. So I’m packing– I’m packing every coping strategy I’ve got.
And yes…
I’m packing my anxiety too.
It may ride along with me.
But this time, it doesn’t get to drive.
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