Folk see the photos afterwards. The grins, the glowing embers, the triumphant stance like someone has just unlocked a secret superpower.
What they don’t see is the bit before.
The room, the nerves, the pin drop silence and nervous laughs.
The shaking hands clutching a cup of tea for dear life.
That is where the real magic happens.
Before anyone steps onto the fire, they meet themselves. Not the version they show on LinkedIn. The real one. The one that still worries what other people think. The one that sometimes forgets how capable they actually are.
When folk first arrive
They arrive pretending they are fine. The “totally calm” face.
Meanwhile their shoulders are up round their ears and you can practically hear the internal monologue:
What am I doing
Is this safe
Why did I say yes
Is it too late to leave quietly
Then we talk. We breathe. We laugh a bit. I explain fear in normal language, none of that corporate nonsense. Fear is trying to keep you safe. It just has a terrible sense of timing.
At some point someone always whispers
I am not actually scared of the fire. I am scared of everyone watching me fail.
That one always lands.
The shaking
Fear lives in the body.
When it starts to move, the body joins in. Tremors, shivers, wee leg shakes like you are standing in January in Fife without a jacket.
It is not weakness. It is your nervous system saying right, let’s get on with it then.
I have seen CEOs shake. Tough lads wobble. Women who have held families together through hell suddenly look like they are about to do a Nat 5 English presentation again.
Fear is very democratic.
Someone always cries
And there is always one cryer.
Not because of the fire, but because they have finally said yes to themselves.
They let a bit of belief creep in.
They realise they have been living small because of a voice that was never even theirs to begin with.
Cue tears, snot, a tissue, then laughter. It is glorious.
The Mick Hucknall moment
I once asked what folk were scared of.
A woman lifted her hand and said
I am terrified of Mick Hucknall.
Fair.
Fear shows up how it likes.
We laughed, she relaxed, then she walked the fire with zero bother.
Humour loosens fear faster than any breathing technique.
The moment before the fire
Right before they walk, the room goes quiet.
Deep breath. Shoulders drop. Time stretches.
You can almost feel the moment they choose.
Not bravado. Not pretending.
A quiet I am doing this.
That is the real transformation.
It happens before a single foot touches a coal.
Afterwards
It is joy.
It is disbelief.
It is hugs and real confidence.
People do not leave talking about fire.
They leave talking about life.
If they can do that, what else have they been underestimating
And that is why I love it
It is not the fire. It is watching someone meet their courage. Not the Hollywood version. Real courage. Shoulders shaking, voice wavering, heart pounding, and stepping forward anyway.
And yes, someone will shake. Someone will cry. Someone will have an irrational fear of the lead singer of Simply Red.
And every single one belongs.
If your team could do with a bit of that kind of courage, give me a shout. The fire does not make people brave.
It just reminds them they already are.