I stared up at the tramway and the jagged mountain peaks it would ascend and felt my heart starting to race and my limbs going loose and rubbery as adrenaline coursed through my body.

My kind husband reassured me, “We don’t have to do this, honey. We can get back into the car and go.” 

I protested, “I don’t want to waste the money! Plus we’re here and she loves trams, look she’s so excited…”

And it was true.

My 3-year-old daughter was bouncing with excitement looking at the massive tram going up, up, up the mountains. 

She, unlike her mother, loves aerial gondolas and trams thanks to all our happy rides up and down the one at the Oakland Zoo.

She loves them so much that I had planned to book tickets to the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway for the day of her birthday (we were spending her birthday weekend in Joshua Tree and Palm Springs, far away from our home in the Bay).

Months before, while booking the tickets from the comfort of my laptop at home in the Bay, I wasn’t thrilled about the tramway portion of our trip since I don’t like heights. 

But I knew it would make my daughter happy and so I clicked purchase.

What is good-enough reparenting?

Good enough reparenting is a phrase I use to describe how we – as adults on our relational trauma recovery journeys – should aspire to show up for ourselves.

On that day, standing there in the parking lot, fifteen minutes before our scheduled departure time, staring up at the practically vertical ascent path of the tram over jagged, mountainous terrain, my slight unease turned into full-fledged fear.

This was not like the aerial tramway at the Oakland Zoo which never got too high up and soared gently over treetops (which, I always mentally justified, would cushion us and reduce damage should the tram ever fall off the cable – illogical, I know, but it’s how I regulate my anxiety when I take her up that tram). 

Instead, the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway looked practically like an elevator shooting vertically up a mile high with nary a cushioning tree below; just jagged, knife-like rocks surrounding it on every side as far as the eye could see.

My stalwart, standby cognitive tricks couldn’t combat this anxiety; I was freaking terrified.

I stood in the parking lot while my husband looked at me, waiting to decide whether we would go up or not, my daughter tugging at his hand trying to walk towards the departure building. 

I felt so torn. 

Every cell in my body didn’t want to go on it. 

But my mind was telling me, “Annie, don’t waste the money! You already paid for your tickets. Probably nothing bad will happen. You should confront your fear of heights. Your daughter will be disappointed if you don’t go up. Don’t waste the money!”

What does reparenting yourself look like?

I walked forward ten feet, then stopped, turned around, looked at the car, and felt tears come to my eyes as I realized I was reparenting myself.

“No, I don’t want to do this. I’ll be terrified the whole time. Let’s go. We’ll find something else to do this morning.”