On Discernment, Endurance, and Courage to Return Whole

I have always been drawn to people who understand that survival is not about bravado but about alignment. The kind of people who listen to limits, to timing, to the quiet intelligence beneath the adrenaline. This is why I have been intrigued and shaped by the stories of Ernest Shackleton, who abandoned glory to bring every man home; Edmund Hillary, who understood that humility mattered as much as the summit; Alison Levine, who teaches that leadership under pressure is measured by judgment, not ego; and Alex Honnold, whose discipline appears fearless only because it is rooted in consequence. They did not choose mountains to escape themselves. They chose mountains to meet themselves without distortion.

I did not grow up thinking in terms of summits. I grew up learning to read the room, to sense instability before it spoke, and to stay upright when the ground disappeared.

When my father died at eleven, the air thinned without warning. When my mother receded, first emotionally, then physically, the climb became solitary. When chaos entered our home, vigilance replaced innocence. When blame settled where it did not belong, endurance became a habit. I did not know it then, but these were ascents. All unmarked, uncelebrated, yet necessary.

I learned early what climbers learn late: that strength without awareness is reckless, and loyalty without truth is unsustainable. Some mountains looked right from a distance but were not. An engagement that made sense on paper but not in the body. A life that promised stability while quietly erasing something essential. Turning back, after my wedding shower, three months before the vows, was not a failure. It was discernment, a way for me to recalculate my route.

Other mountains opened suddenly. A chance meeting in Florida, a westward move, and a life built on instinct rather than permission. Those climbs demanded everything, but they returned oxygen without realizing it then.

Motherhood shifted the terrain entirely. Caretaking became a permanent altitude as I carried packs for many… my children and extended family systems that relied on my steadiness.

This was the longest ridge. Where devotion blurred into depletion and where virtue was mistaken for endurance. Still, I climbed… quietly (most of the time), reliably, and without spectacle.

What the great climbers know—and what life eventually teaches—is that not every mountain is meant to be summited. Some are meant to be studied. Some are meant to be respected. Some are meant to be left unclimbed.

Shackleton knew when survival mattered more than success. Hillary knew the summit was never the end. Levine knows leadership is proven by who returns intact. Honnold knows mastery is not the absence of fear, but intimacy with it.

The mountain never lies, but people often do….to themselves most of all.

I have come full circle now, back to myself and back to an adult who no longer lives in survival, no longer as a retreat, but as a return.

The boys are grown. Roles and responsibilities that once required my body no longer claim it. And the family systems sustained by my endurance no longer have access to it. I am not finished climbing. I am finished climbing the wrong mountains.

Now I choose differently, fewer ascents, cleaner lines, longer descents, and more listening to my inner compass. I write. I witness. I rest and recharge. I live inside my own weather.

Now, for those who come after me… especially my sons, please choose your mountains carefully. Not the ones that impress or demand self-erasure as the price of belonging. Choose the mountains that ask for your full presence, not your disappearance. The ones that sharpen your judgment rather than dull it. And most importantly, the ones that allow you to come home more whole, not relied upon at the expense of your energy or emotional labor.

Some chapters of life are Seven Summits, meant to expand you, while others are 14-Peak chapters, meant to change you. But remember this, always … the most dangerous mountain is the one you climb without knowing yourself. The most crucial ascent is, and always will be, the mountain within.

Choose the right mountains!

Author’s Note:  Watching Alex Honnald climb once again reminded me how much of my life has been shaped by learning when to push and when to turn back.  This piece grew from that reflection and from a deeper understanding that mastery in any arena begins within.