Do Men Climb More Bravely Than Women?

I was at the crag recently with a past coaching client and her two children. My client—let’s call her Sue—was eyeing a bold trad line that really inspired her, but she was hesitating. She didn’t have the right-sized cam to protect a section of the climb, and she wasn’t sure if the challenge level would be too high. In the end, she went for it.

The route took her a long time. It cost her skin, energy, and a huge amount of mental effort. I cheered her on from below, quietly in awe. Her kids were watching too. At one point, I turned to them and said, “Look at your mum—she’s so brave.”

They looked at me, puzzled.

“Mum isn’t brave,” they said.

I smiled and asked, “What do you mean? She got on a climb that scared her, and she managed her fear the whole way up.”

I got the sense that they thought their dad was braver—maybe because he climbs harder and talks about his fear less. And on some level, that makes sense. But the moment made me think. Before we label someone brave or not, we need to ask: What is bravery? And who gets to define it?

We often hold up high-risk, high-consequence, high-performance acts as the gold standard of bravery. This holds especially true when these acts involve stoicism, independence, and physical danger. I should know, because I’ve largely built my career on doing climbs with these qualities. These forms of bravery align with traditionally masculine-coded ideals, and they dominate both popular imagination and climbing culture.

But those metrics ignore the subjective experience. A climb can be scary (and therefore demand courage) for one person but not another. Skill and strength can make a bold route manageable, even if it has groundfall potential. Someone else with a fear of heights might have to overcome a serious internal battle just to get off the ground. We rarely give credit to the internal effort it takes to confront something scary when it doesn’t look impressive from the outside. We use the lion as a symbol of bravery — but isn’t it easy to be brave when you’re a lion?

They also overlook other kinds of bravery that can demand just as much from us—sometimes more. Like being honest about your fear, even when you’re ashamed of it. Asking for help when you’re used to staying silent. Risking social judgement, putting others first, choosing self-compassion, or committing fully to something with no guarantee of success. These quieter forms of courage often go unnoticed, but they’re no less real.

My friend Tim Emmett, an alpinist known for extreme climbs and BASE jumps, recently finished an eight-year sport climbing project. He told me that the process involved more emotional strength than anything else he’s done. This isn’t because it was dangerous, but because it exposed him to pressure, expectation, and judgement. It forced him to be vulnerable in a way none of his other “brave acts” ever had. He cried for days afterwards—something he said he’s never done after a climb.

Tim doesn’t struggle with classically masculine forms of bravery—he excels at them. But emotional exposure and the fear of failure took everything he had. Yet it’s still the riskier, more dramatic stuff we instinctively label as brave. My hunch is that because men have historically shaped the narrative of courage, we tend to celebrate male-coded expressions of bravery more loudly.

At Strong Mind, the climbing mental training company I run, I’ve worked with thousands of climbers and observed consistent gendered patterns in how people relate to fear and risk. Men often push through fear, but feel ashamed for experiencing it. Women tend to be more open about their fear and more willing to ask for help. But women are also more likely to play a passive role and avoid taking responsibility for changing their fear response. Social expectation shape both patterns—and both can limit growth, not just in climbing but in life. In fact, the trends we see in male mental health may reflect this dynamic.

Of course, these are general trends that I’ve observed, not rules. But bringing awareness to how we’ve been socially conditioned and the values of our community can help us notice our blind spots. Climbing often reveals how fear shows up in other areas of life. We might be able to move through fear on the wall, but shy away from negotiating a salary. We might notice that fear of failure plagues us both in climbing and our careers. Social expectation and norms influence how we relate to fear.

That’s why expanding our definition of bravery matters. Narrow ideas don’t just leave people out—they shape how we grow as climbers. When we only celebrate one kind of courage, we mute the rest. We miss opportunities to support people through different types of fear—not just fear of falling or physical harm—but social fear, self-doubt, and vulnerability too. And when we treat fear as something to conquer rather than something to understand, we teach people to override their instincts rather than learn to work with them.

So perhaps we should stop trying to answer the question, Who is brave and who isn’t?

Instead, let’s ask, What does bravery mean to you? Where do you tend to step up, and where do you hold back? And can you allow space for many kinds of courage?

Hazel Findlay is a professional climber and a coach. She is also the founder of Strong Mind Climbing, a company that supports climbers in managing fear and performing at their best. You can sign up for the Strong Mind newsletter for more insights like this here and follow along on Instagram @strongmind.climbing

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