Location: Birmingham, Alabama

Movie: Line of Fire

Doubling: Courtney Eaton

Year: 2019

Stunts: Car crashes, helicopter stunts, and, of course, an 80-foot fall.

When I got the call for Line of Fire, it sounded like a great gig—simple passenger scenes in cars, nothing wild. It was supposed to be one of those jobs where you get to enjoy the perks of the film industry: a change of scenery, a new city, and easy stunts that you can practically do in your sleep. The Stunt Coordinator had reassured me, “Nothing crazy, just riding as a passenger. Simple stuff.” Just coming from filming Avengers, my body needed simple.

I packed light, ready for what I assumed would be a fun and easy job. Birmingham, Alabama, was only a three-hour drive from home, just far enough to feel like an adventure without the hassle of airports or long road trips. I was excited to see the city—it’s one of those places I’d never thought to visit but was curious about.

The first week went as expected. The stunts were a “blast”: car chases, crashes, explosions—exactly what I signed up for. The stunt team was awesome, and the vibe on set was great. If you’ve ever worked in this industry, you know the crew can make or break the experience. On this set, I felt like part of a family. We were all just a bunch of adrenaline junkies having the time of our lives.

But then came that phone call.

It was late. I had just gotten back to my hotel room after a 15-hour day on set. Which is a normal day on set. My body ached, my feet throbbed, and all I wanted was a shower and a bed. Instead, my phone rang. It was the Stunt Coordinator.

“Shauna,” he said, his tone calm but serious, “We added a stunt tomorrow. You’ll be dropping down an 80-foot elevator shaft.”

“ummmm, explain?” I asked, certain I’d misheard him.

“You’ll be on a wire,” he explained. “It’s totally safe. We just don’t have time to bring someone else in if you can’t do it but you just have to drop and you’ll be on a wire.”

I didn’t have the heart to say no, even though every fiber of my being was screaming, Are you insane? So, instead, I laughed nervously and said, “Sure, sounds fun! Oh, by the way, just to be honest, I hate heights.”

The next morning, the weather was appropriately dramatic. It was raining, with thunder rumbling in the distance and lightning flashing across the sky. The building where we were filming was ancient, the kind of place that creaks and groans as if it has a personality of its own. The stairwell smelled like mildew, and water was pooling on the ground floor. Great.

I am sure every stunt person has one stunt they just don’t like to do but do it anyway if they know they can do it safely. For me, I just don’t like heights but will do it if I am on a wire. My favorite stunt you ask? Being lit on fire. YES PLEASE! All day long. 

As I climbed the eight flights of stairs to the top of the elevator shaft, my heart pounded harder with every step. I tried to psych myself up, repeating mantras in my head like, You’ve got this. You’re a professional. Fear doesn’t control you. 

The truth is, fear and I have a complicated relationship. It’s part of the job when you’re a stuntwoman. Fear is always there, lurking in the background, waiting for a moment of weakness. You know you are going to get hurt, but how badly is the unknown. But I’ve learned that if you let it win, you’re done. Injuries happen when fear takes over, so the trick is to embrace it, to let it fuel you instead of freeze you.

Visualization helps. It’s a technique I picked up from my soccer coach back in the ’90s. He believed in mentally rehearsing the game the night before, visualizing every move, every goal, every win. I’ve carried that habit into my stunt work. Before any stunt, I picture every detail—how I’ll step off, how the fall will feel, and how I’ll land safely at the bottom. Or whatever the stunt may be. 

But this time, I didn’t have the luxury of a mental dress rehearsal. The call had come too late, and now, here I was, staring down an 80-foot shaft with nothing but a wire and some coffee grounds at the bottom to break the illusion of depth.

The Stunt Coordinator walked me through the setup. The rig was solid, but there was an air of improvisation that didn’t exactly inspire confidence. The bottom of the shaft had been filled with water and coffee grounds to make it look deeper than it actually was—a clever trick for the camera, but it did nothing for my nerves.

The crew raced around me, setting up cameras and adjusting lights. As they passed, they patted me on the back and said things like, “You’re so brave. I could never do what you do.” If only they knew the war raging inside my head.

Finally, it was time. The harness was strapped on so tightly it felt like a second skin. The wire was attached, and I stepped off the edge, now dangling 80 feet above the ground. I tried not to look down, but curiosity got the better of me. Big mistake. The ground looked impossibly far away, and the rainwater dripping down the walls and on the top of my head only made the whole scene feel more like a real life action movie.

The Stunt Coordinator held my hand to keep me steady. He counted down.

“Three… two… one… ACTION!”

The wire released, and I dropped.

There’s no feeling in the world like free-falling. It’s a mix of sheer terror and pure exhilaration, like the world’s worst amusement park ride. My stomach was somewhere above me, and my mind was screaming at me to do something—anything—but all I could do was trust the wire and follow the director’s notes. “Don’t roll up the windows,” they’d said, referring to the instinctive arm motions people make when they’re falling. I flailed my arms and legs in a way that looked deliberate, clutching a selfie stick with a prop phone in one hand.

Just when I thought the fall would never end, the wire engaged. I jerked to a stop, hovering inches above the coffee grind water. Relief washed over me. I was alive.

I could hear the crew applause eight floors down and I hung there, grinning despite the harness digging into my ribs and groin. But the celebration was short-lived. Over the radio, I heard the words every stunt performer dreads: “Let’s go again. One more for safety” like THEY didn’t get it. 

The second climb up those stairs was even harder. Now I knew exactly what to expect, and it was worse. My mind raced with every possible thing that could go wrong. What if the wire snapped? What if the rig failed? What if lightning struck the building? What if I swayed going down and scraped the side of the elevator shaft?

I reached the top, trying to block out the fear only allowing confidence to take over even if I had to fake it. The crew cheered again, which helped a little. But as I stepped off the edge for the second time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the take where something would go horribly wrong.

“Three… two… one… ACTION!”

The fall felt faster this time, more intense. My mind screamed, Why are you doing this to yourself? I am quitting stunts after this! This time, the drop felt much longer. As soon as I thought I was going to die, it was over. The wire caught, and I stopped inches from the ground again.

Back at the hotel that night, I collapsed onto the bed, grateful to be done. My phone rang again, and my stomach sank. It was the Stunt Coordinator.

“Hey, Shauna,” he said casually. “Great job today!  Tomorrow we’ve added a stunt. You’ll be jumping off a rooftop into a helicopter.”

I hung up and stared at the ceiling, wondering if I’d somehow made a terrible career choice. But then I thought about the day’s fall—the fear, the adrenaline, the applause. And I felt proud I didn’t let fear win.

Fear isn’t the enemy. It’s a signal, a reminder that you’re stepping out of your comfort zone. Fear is what makes the impossible possible. It’s what pushes you to take the leap, to trust the wire, to keep going when everything in you wants to stop. Because of experiences like these, I have learned to bring the lessons into my real life as a single mom wanting to live how life is meant to be lived: any way you want it and on your own terms. 

Fear might be loud, but it doesn’t get the final word. Is there a time in your life that you acted in fear and let fear win? And if you hadn’t let fear have any kind of say, what do you think the outcome would look like? 

Here is a conversation I have when fear decides to present itself in my life:

Dear fear, I know you are there to give me the opportunity to show me how strong I am. And thank you for that. But you will never win. I will always act in confidence knowing my heart will always have the final say. But I appreciate you showing yourself for that reminder. 

I refuse to let fear dictate my life. Life is far too short to be held back by what-ifs. Your heart has an incredible way of guiding you toward safety and the best decisions—if you let it. The key is summoning the courage to push back when fear comes crashing in, as it often does, like a bat out of hell. It’s not about eliminating fear entirely; it’s about finding your inner strength to rise above it and trust yourself to take control.

Remember: Where your mind goes, energy flows.