I've been thinking a lot this week about how we learn to ski.

My family has been in town, and I've been trying to help my brothers and parents. Each of them is at a stage I have gone through. What gave me the confidence to stop pizza-pie snowplowing in every turn? How did I get comfortable swerving between moguls rather than just sliding down them and stopping after each one? What convinced me I could avoid a rock at the last minute? It always had something to do with conquering fear, but how?

It wasn't until taking my little brothers off the groomers for the first time that I recalled my biggest breakthrough:

I got a helmet.

My brothers (Face Plant Grant, 11, and Where Did Thad Go, 15) had never worn helmets skiing. Experts will tell you a helmet is a necessity, but you see so many people at resorts -- and in resort ads -- skiing bareheaded that it's an easy practice to accept. And when you spend your time on groomers, you don't imagine smacking your head against anything harder than snow -- plenty hard to do serious damage, but it kinda lacks the drama of blood spatter on a boulder.

That drama played on a loop in my imagination after I relented to the boys' request to ski Honeycomb Canyon at Solitude. They were doing so well, and I wanted them to have the thrill of exploring on skis. So I smushed my helmet on Where Did Thad Go's head and made Face Plant Grant stay right behind me so I could point out every hazard.

We inched down the canyon, stopping every few yards, planning every other turn. I'd love to say it was the measure of caution every big sister owes to her little brothers.

But, honestly, I was scared shitless to ski without my helmet.

I remembered leaving the groomers my first year skiing (2007-8) and avoiding any exposed rock, twig or rope post by at least 6 feet. It felt great to get off the stiff corduroy, but I couldn't get enough speed to knock down a mogul or splash through crud. The consequence of even brushing my noggin against a hazard was too severe. There were runs I knew I could ski but refused to enter because I could see boulders within my self-imposed head cushion.

It was such a handicap.

The next year, I strapped on a helmet and became five times as aggressive off-piste. I added probably 50 percent to my speed on the groomers. I dipped into woods without a desperate fear of every stupid pine needle and even sought out little ramps to jump off.

It's a risk to see yourself as invincible. But it's no less productive than seeing ONLY your vulnerability. I hope Face Plant Grant and Where Did Thad Go can find a balance now that they are skiing with helmets. And I can relax a bit in our expanded collective comfort zone.

Erin Alberty has more Utah adventures and musings on her blog, poorpenmanship.com.