One of the hardest aspects of parenting during a pandemic has been the loss of community. It takes a village to raise a child, so what happens when you’re no longer allowed within six feet of your fellow villagers? Today, we have the amazing Brenna Jeanneret here, writer, climber, and mom, talking about how the loss of her climbing community has affected her and how she’s finding new ways to connect in a COVID-concerned world. We hope this post will help inspire you to connect with your community, reach out to friends, and find new ways to stay in touch with those that mean the most.
The crux
I feel my leg start to shake uncontrollably. “Elvis Leg” is what climbers call it. I am hanging from two fairly large holds and standing on stable, positive footholds staring up at the crux of the route.
As I try to pull myself together, my eyes follow the length of our rope, one end figure-eighted securely to my harness and the other attached to my husband’s belay device. I am 6 bolts off the ground, roughly 35 feet in the air, and because I am leading the climb rather than top-roping it, there is enough slack in the rope for the wind to blow me from side to side. The last carabiner protecting my fall shimmers in the sunlight 3 feet below me and this realization makes my hands sweat.
I try to calm myself by looking out at the ocean view. Cape Hedo in Okinawa, Japan is one of our favorite climbing spots; the water is clear, blue, and expansive. The sound of the waves drowns out the voices below and everything but the climb fades to the background.
Now that the ocean calm has slowed my breathing, I turn my attention back to the climb. I am standing just below the crux, which I have not been able to complete before. I am both nervous and excited. Over the last several days, I’ve been working out all the moves leading up to this point but have not been able to put them all together without falling. Sending this route would validate all the training, the long drives to the crag, and all the mental preparation I’ve done.
The crux move requires that I reach my right hand up and left, crossing my body to a slopey, wrong-facing hold. Readjusting my balance to make the hold “right-facing” is key but made more difficult by the slight overhang in the wall. I will be twisted and off-balance with nothing to catch me but air, creating a real possibility that my arm or leg could catch the rope and flip me upside down.
I chalk up and shake out, one arm at a time as I look at the crux and mentally map out the moves. Something in my brain flips and I decide it’s now or never. I yell down to my husband over the roaring ocean waves that I am ready. Slowly, I reach up to make the move…
Building our community of climbers
As we sit around the fire later that evening, someone passes me a bag of chips going around and congratulates me on my send. It is the hardest climb I have lead to date. As food and beers are passed and shared we recant the day; we talk beta and technique, how my leg shaking leg could be seen from the ground, the way my feet cut from the wall as I hit that cross move and barn-doored out.
I am given hugs and high fives.
The feel of the evening, the fire, the shared experience of failure and success, the warm hazy buzz…it’s something I have thought about often during the pandemic. These things that bring the climbing community together, meeting new people at a crag, a congratulatory high-five, shared food and gear, they are out of reach right now.
Climbing is how my husband and I build community, even in Okinawa, a small Japanese island on the other side of the world. This is what has always worked for us. We are climbers. That is our identity and we have found that following our drive to climb has attracted other like-minded, passionate friends, no matter where we are.
When I got pregnant with our son, we did all we could to hold onto that piece of ourselves and the only community we knew how to build. But my pregnancy was rough and climbing in that way just wasn’t a possibility. I had to find new ways to build a community for myself as a new mom and for my son just coming into the world.
Lack of motivation during COVID
Over the last 2 years and before COVID hit, my son, and I had found families to adventure with, commiserate with, and to love. The climber in me was coming back to life. Getting outside, even on toddler-paced hikes seemed like a huge step in the right direction. Climbing trips were finally starting to become a reality. But, over the last few months, we’ve traded playdates and mini-adventures for the backyard sandbox and neighborhood bike rides in the name of being safe and keeping things close to home.
For weeks after the initial lockdown, I wished we had taken more advantage of the parks when they were open. That we had made more long treks for early morning boulder sessions. If we could just get out for a mini-adventure, I thought, that would change things, we’d get back on track.
I have noticed, however, that since state parks have reopened and visiting them during off-peak hours while practicing social distancing can be entirely safe, my motivation to break our new close-to-home routine is lacking. A “mini-adventure” to a state park just doesn’t hold the same appeal it used to. It now feels overwhelming and exhausting.
Though other feelings and reactions related to COVID have come up this one by far is the most surprising to me. After spending the last 20 years of my life carefully arranging my days and weeks to fit in the most climbing and outdoor time, why, now when we finally have a piece of the puzzle back am I lacking in motivation?
One. Simple. Word.
Community.
Dealing with the loss of community
Missing our community of friends feels both simple and complicated.
There are simple, obvious, straightforward ways that my son and I miss our community. I miss going to a new place that I don’t know how to navigate but my friend does. We simply miss other children. Toddlers love other toddlers. Their only criteria for instant friendship…you’re a toddler! Simple in that I find relief and gratitude knowing that another adult I trust is looking out for my child in the same way they would watch over theirs.
But a hug from another mom who has also started her day at 3 am to battle her admittedly opposed toddler? That’s now complicated. A hug is support, understanding, and comradery, without saying a word. That hug says, “I see you”, and “You’re doing great” and “This is hard” all at once. But, that hug is complicated in ways that I never imagined a hug could be complicated.
The mutual smile from a fellow mom who sees my kid run full speed down a hill with nothing but boots on somehow reinforces and validates everything I’ve done as a mom up to that moment. That smile holds no judgment. That smile is accepting and inclusive and makes the 2 hours I fought my kid to get here worth it. That smile is now hidden by a mask.
And what about that knowing in their eyes when my kid has a tantrum in the middle of the hike because I made the wrong pretend truck noise? It’s something only another parent of a toddler on that hike, at that moment can understand and it’s everything. It’s gone and I can’t believe how much I miss it.
Yes, I can (and do) go on hikes and mini-adventures with just my son. But, not having another parent there, if nothing else, to witness the insanity and total irrationality of raising a toddler leaves me feeling catastrophically alone.
Finding new ways to connect to your community
Dealing with the loss of climbing during pregnancy was hard in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I didn’t know how I was going to come back from that, especially with a new baby. But, over time, my son and I were able to find our own tiny and inclusive group of outdoor-loving families to lean on. They’ve supported us in more ways than I can describe.
During the pandemic, our in-person adventuring with our community has been put on hold for a bit. It’s been hard, so I’ve had to adapt. Now, I am finding new ways to be connected to our community and take care of ourselves during this uncertain time. Here are a few things we’ve been doing that help.
Adapt
My husband and I are primarily sport climbers, meaning we use ropes and quickdraws to secure ourselves to permanently placed draws while climbing. Bringing my son along requires at least one other adult to keep an eye on him while one of us climbs and the other belays. Since that’s not an option right now, we have switched gears to bouldering. To boulder, we only need a crash pad, shoes, and chalk.
We look for boulders that have flat landings so that our son can roam safely and so that whoever is climbing doesn’t necessarily need a spotter. This frees the other parent up to keep eyes on our son and helps to prepare all of us to re-enter, not just sport climbing communities, but bouldering communities as well, when this is all over.
Prepare for life after-COVID
As a climber and advocate for outdoor learning my ultimate goal is to get my son acclimated to the climbing life as much as possible in the hopes that he will fall in love with it too. To do that my husband and I have been taking our son climbing at least once a week. We show him how to pack a crash pad, how to spot boulders and of course how to relax like a climber, i.e. laid back, feet up, lots of snacks, and a little climbing. Our hope is that once life returns to normal, we’ll have our adventure buddy prepped and ready for the action.
Safe pods
As a family, we decided to extend our safety bubble to include one other family that we know and trust. They’ve been tested and are not in contact with anyone else. We still take certain precautions like not sharing snacks, only playing outside, and keeping our hands to ourselves. Though my son is an independent kid and comfortable on his own, I have found that seeing these friends every week or so has lifted his spirits.
Socially distant mom dates
A couple of my mom-friends and I meet every 3 or 4 weeks at an empty parking lot and sit in the back of cars, 6 feet apart. We get to see each other and talk about all things motherhood. It helps so much to just hear someone else’s experiences, how they are dealing with the virus, isolation, toddler meltdowns, and what they’re watching on Netflix!
Write and talk about it
Journaling is something I’ve always done to deal with stress. Whether it’s a physical notebook, an online document, a blog, or something in between, writing things down can help process thoughts and emotions. With so many virtual groups sharing and interacting with people, I’ve found that taking my journaling online has been the most helpful. Going one step further and talking about it with someone, on the phone, at a distance, text, or whatever is even better. Frustration and anger have very little power when said out loud.
We’re in this together
While this mom thing is unique and different for us all, we’re all in it together. And these times are uncertain and unprecedented for all of us. If you feel the same way I do about community and have any insight or advice to share, I’d love to hear it! Sharing our stories and experiences help us all process and know that we’re not alone. Our lives and communities may look different now, but if we can be there for each other, we’ll come out on the other side stronger.
How are you handling the loss of community?
About the author
Brenna Jeanneret is a writer who shares stories as an outdoor climbing mom. She writes about the messy and authentic intersection where adventure and parenthood collide. Check out her writing on her personal site at www.brennajeanneret.com. Or look for her new podcast The ReWild Mamas where she discusses adventure and motherhood.
3 comments