Facing Death Twice: Skydiving, Mental Health, and the Edges No One Sees

I’ve stood at the edge of death before, physically, strapped into a parachute, standing in the open door of a plane, thousands of feet above the ground, seconds away from free fall.

You learn to manage fear. You learn to trust your equipment and yourself. But there’s another kind of edge that skydiving doesn’t prepare you for. It doesn’t involve harnesses or emergency procedures. It’s the mental edge. The moment you wonder whether you can keep living at all. That edge is just as real, and often, far more dangerous.

If you’ve read my Freedom Story, you’ll already know that my journey with mental health hasn’t been simple. Skydiving became part of my progress, a space where I could reconnect with life, movement, and something bigger than the noise in my mind. However, no jump, no altitude, and no rush of air could ever fully erase what I had been carrying.

Skydiving provided moments of relief, but it was not a cure. This is an important distinction, not just for me but for anyone drawn to adrenaline sports when life on the ground feels unbearable.

The Psychological Mechanisms Behind Adrenaline Sports

Skydiving, like other extreme sports, taps directly into our sympathetic nervous system. At the point of extreme challenge, your body releases adrenaline, dopamine, norepinephrine, and endorphins. This chemical mix heightens focus, numbs pain, and triggers euphoric feelings.

Research (e.g., Levenson, 2014; Woodman & Hardy, 2001) shows that risk-taking behaviors are often linked to attempts at emotional regulation. In simple terms, people under emotional distress sometimes unconsciously seek high-risk activities to manage mood swings. Adrenaline sports can create a controlled environment for chaos, where fear becomes predictable, controllable, and even enjoyable.

Personal Experience of Skydiving

From personal experience, this explanation aligns perfectly with what skydiving gave me:

• Temporary emotional relief.

• A shift out of depressive cycles.

• The feeling of "mastering" fear when internal fears felt impossible to manage.

  
  

However, studies also reveal a "comedown" period after adrenaline surges. Once dopamine and adrenaline levels drop, the brain can return sometimes sharply to its previous emotional baseline. This often leads to:

• Emotional crashes.

• Heightened vulnerability post-activity.

• Increased risk of mental health destabilisation without consistent internal work.

  
  

Skydiving delivered moments of powerful peace, yet the science, and my life, proves that you cannot live in a perpetual dopamine rush. If you’re using extreme experiences to escape rather than heal, you will eventually hit the ground harder than any landing zone can soften.

Loss Within the Community - The Emotional Reality

Recently, someone I knew in the skydiving community - someone I had spoken with and exchanged smiles with, took her own life. We weren’t close, but we shared a space and a community that bonds people together. She was young and vibrant.

Her death wasn’t just a shock; it was a brutal reminder of how thin the line can be between visible courage and invisible suffering. It forced me to confront something I had been aware of but hadn't fully faced: A large number of people in adrenaline sports are fighting silent battles.

In psychology, this phenomenon is called "risk compensation." When the internal emotional risk becomes unbearable, people sometimes overcompensate by seeking external risk they can control. Skydiving provides a physical outlet for fear but does not automatically resolve the internal fears that reside off the drop zone.

The Broader Connection Across Adrenaline Sports

This pattern extends beyond skydiving. BASE jumpers, free climbers, big wave surfers, endurance runners, motorcyclists - research across disciplines reveals similar trends:

• Higher-than-average rates of mental health struggles.

• Higher exposure to trauma (physical or emotional).

• Utilizing the sport as both medicine and escape.

  
  

A 2018 study in Frontiers in Psychology found that adventure athletes typically report histories of depression, anxiety, or traumatic events preceding their involvement in extreme sports. In many cases, the sport becomes a therapeutic intervention - but only when paired with conscious psychological work. Without it, it remains a temporary coping mechanism, not a solution.

In short:

• Movement can heal.

• Risk can empower.

• But neither movement nor risk will heal what you're unwilling to confront internally.

  
  

Healing Is a Daily Edit, Not a Single Leap

Therapists often discuss the 80/20 principle in recovery:

• 20% comes from external support: medication, therapy, professional help.

• 80% is internal work: building coping skills, maintaining habits, and facing yourself honestly.

  
  

Skydiving, surfing, and running can be parts of that 80%. They can help build confidence, focus, and emotional resilience. But they cannot replace the deeper work required to acknowledge pain, process trauma, and construct mental structures strong enough to endure long after the adrenaline fades.

In my experience, skydiving helped. But real healing only began when I stopped trying to escape my mind and started trying to understand it.

Final Reflection: Finding True Freedom

Skydiving can remind you what living feels like again, but it won’t save you if you’re using it to outrun your internal struggles.

If you find yourself chasing highs - whether in the sky, ocean, mountains, or streets - remember this:

The pursuit of movement is beautiful.

But true freedom comes from the pursuit of understanding, not merely escape.

You don’t have to face the edge alone.

And you don’t have to keep falling to feel alive.

🪂 In memory of the one we lost this week - and in hope for all those still fighting. You are seen. You are needed. You are not alone.

-Beth.