“You have the powers you dreamed of. You can do things you never thought you could do. There are no limitations in what you can do except the limitation of your own mind.” – Darwin Kingsley

As a stuntwoman, I approached every job the same way I approached competitive soccer. Before every stunt, just like the night before a big game, our coach had us lay in bed and fall asleep visualizing the entire match: the aggressive plays, the winning goals, the feeling of victory. We imagined it all like it had already happened.

Because the brain doesn’t know the difference between what’s real and what’s imagined. It creates the same neurological pathways either way, making the experience feel real, before it even happens.

When I got called for this particular job, I was told it’d be low-key. Basically babysitting the actor on set during some light action. I didn’t rehearse. I didn’t mentally prep. I nearly left my stunt bag in my car. I was told I’d probably go home early, so I was cozy in my trailer, relaxed, without a care in the world happy to have a job and getting paid for an easy day. Or so I thought….

Until it wasn’t.

A bang on my trailer door: “Shauna, wardrobe is coming to get you dressed.” (It took two people to get me into that costume.) Then: “Head to set.”

I was confused. “What stunt am I doing?”

The PA just said, “Bring your harness,” and that’s all she knew.

So now I’m not only hitting the ground and doing wire work, which I normally love, I just wasn’t mentally prepared. I didn’t even know what kind of wire gag it was going to be. I knew I wasn’t in the mood for a ratchet—where you’re attached to a wire, and a machine yanks you either straight down or across the set at the speed of light.

On the drive from basecamp to set, I started mentally preparing for the worst-case scenario. The nerves from not knowing what was happening were killing my confidence. And nerves before a stunt is no Bueno.  They block your confidence and throw off your mental game. If you’re not fully present, the stunt can go sideways.

I walk on set and see someone rehearsing it for me.

My stomach dropped. This one was going to be a banger.

We rehearse a few times into pads to get the timing right. But on the actual take the pads were gone. It was straight onto rocks. My costume was tight, and with the harness underneath, there was no room to slide pads in. Most of the time, stuntwomen don’t get the kind of padding the guys do because of tight wardrobe.

Take one.

There were a lot of moving parts, me and two other stunt performers, all getting ratcheted at once. Timing had to be perfect.

Takes two through five were no good. Timing was off each time.

By take ten, my body was screaming. My elbows started trying to break my fall, something you never do. In the stunt world, you just eat it. If you try to protect yourself, the camera catches it. It ruins the shot in the stunt eyes. My body wasn’t listening anymore. It was just trying to survive.

We were approaching take thirteen.

I was in pain. Neck whiplashed take after take. My whole body aching.

Take thirteen.

My body searched for a softer landing, any spot not already bruised. My elbows flung back, my neck snapped again—and this time, something was different.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t feel my legs.

My face was pressed against the rocks, spine buzzing with a tingling, pinching sensation.

The other two stunt doubles slowly stood up. They were hurting too. One of the riggers ran over and whispered, “Are you okay?”

“I can’t feel my legs,” I whispered back.

He started rubbing them to bring sensation back.

But in the stunt world, you don’t say you’re hurt. You don’t want to sound weak. You’re hired for your strength, for your ability to eat pain and not show it. If you do get hurt, you quietly take yourself to the hospital after wrap. Because you’ve got something to prove: that you can handle it.

The rigger helped me stand. On the inside, I wanted to cry. I wanted to go home and hold my son. I was annoyed. On the outside? I played it cool. Frustrated, annoyed.

I headed to the back to find wardrobe. I needed this harness off so I can breathe. I assumed I was done for the day. The other two stunt guys were wrapped.

But then I’m told: “You have another one.”

This time, I am getting ratcheted into a pile of metal.

I was livid. I was hurting. I hadn’t mentally prepped for this. How could they throw so many wire gags at me in one day and not tell me? I was annoyed. So much for an easy day.

I walked back on set, tense with anger. My mind was in a tunnel of frustration. I didn’t want to be there.

They hooked me back up to the wires, different part of set. The stunt: I get smacked by a massive villain and fly backward into a pile of metal.

We rehearsed 2-3 times into pads. My neck was throbbing from the earlier stunt, I couldn’t move it, frozen in pain. I could feel my muscles doing everything they can to protect my spine. I was exhausted and pissed.

Take one.

I got into position, praying this would be the last stunt and the hopes of the only take. My mind was only focused on the pain and how terrible the landing was going to be.

3-2-1—ACTION.

It happened fast and painful at the same time. The wire yanked, I flew, and the metal hit hard. My whole body jolted. The pain spiked. I was over it.

I walk back to my start mark. Then the second unit director walked over, smiling.

I was confused. Why is he smiling?

Food stuck in his beard, he said, “Shauna, just relax and have fun. You’re doing great. Just enjoy the ride.”

In just an instant, a light appeared at the end of my tunnel vision of frustration. 

I realized I was trying to control the outcome. I was resisting everything, and it was making everything harder. The pain, the fear, the anger—they were all blocking me. What I needed was to let go AND enjoy the ride.

 I took a breath. Closed my eyes. Released the emotions. I told myself: You’ve got this. I visualized the stunt going smoothly. The landing being soft. My mind shifted from chaos to control, not over the circumstances, but over my perspective.

Enjoy the ride, Shauna. Let. Go.

If not, this could take another 12 tries. Choose your power.

I opened my eyes. Nodded at the director, I’m ready.

3-2-1—ACTION.

The wire pulled. Everything slowed. My arms floated trailing behind my body in flight. Legs followed. It was like time suspended. My environment froze still like in a well shot action movie. And when I landed, it was like falling into a cloud without a single ounce of muscle contractions to protect my bones.

I take a moment to look at everyone behind camera before standing up. Silence. Then—applause. The whole crew. Directors. Everyone.

I walked over to video village to watch playback. The directors smiled as I approached and clapped. “Well done, Shauna, that looked absolutely perfect!” They said. 

I walked off the stage again—but this time, I wasn’t defeated. I was empowered. My body was still in pain, but my mind was stronger than ever.

Because when I stopped trying to control everything… the outcome was better than I imagined.

That day gave me a life lesson I don’t think I could have learned any other way, and definitely not that fast. One I’ll carry with me, on set, in life, and everywhere in between. Just. Let. Go. And flow. Release the cage of emotions limiting the desired outcome and enjoy the ride.