Em sent me a text from Bishop last fall: “What’s that book on female autism you were quoting? Also I think we should go to Cochamó in January.” We’d been investigating our own neurodivergence (or as we like to call it, neurospicy) as well as the autism of those living with us. And Em knew I’d been going nonstop.

I’m a mountain guide, clinical counselor, and single mom of a son with autism and possibly a daughter with autism. For the last few years, I’ve felt like a Tasmanian devil caught in her own tornado, tossed between life’s obligations, demands, and necessities. Climbing trips and personal objectives had fallen to the wayside. Instead of joyful, life had become chaotic and unfocused.

Em (otherwise known as climber Emilie Pellerin), on the other hand, wore a sparkly smile. She moved in with my kids and me last summer and lit up our home. She invited me everywhere — forest parties, bouldering, dancing, gymnastics in the park. It made me feel included despite my “have to’s” and the mom effect: That feeling of never doing enough for my children. I knew I needed something to reconnect me with my best self. Em inspired me with her invitation to go to Cochamó. Climbing had saved me before — maybe it could again.

A Burgeoning Friendship: Connecting Off the Rocks

Em and I had met the year before on a film shoot in Arizona. Her giant smile drew me in, and her willingness to be silly sealed the deal. She was not the type of pro climber who took herself too seriously. We found common ground while hiking up the talus fields to the sandstone tower. Something about Em reminded me of a muted part of myself: The part that could focus on my passions, was free from worry, and felt inspired by possibility. The easy joy emanating from her was grounded by her introspection and compassion.

I knew I wanted Em around, so I invoked the spirit of my friend and mentor Aimee Barnes, who was dedicated to supporting women and helping them succeed and thrive in the mountains. When we headed back to Squamish, BC, and Em mentioned she needed a place to stay, I took her home. I knew she would be a positive presence for my family and me. And her cooking was phenomenal.

Paradise Found

Em and I are both great at adapting to changing conditions. This is what it takes to be a guide. However, packing and preparation quickly overwhelm us. Autism or ADHD — it doesn’t really matter. As adults, we have to figure out workarounds.

Packing for Cocahmó was no different. Em had a new partner who helped her executive functioning, while I simply functioned with the help of panic. We laughed at each other, rushing past our heaping piles of gear that still needed to be stuffed into duffles by 6 am the next day. Ava, my daughter, came to the garage to help pack. “Why are you taking an emergency blanket?” she asked. So, we tested emergency blankets for warmth, wrapping her up like a present, but eating away the precious minutes of prep time. I was flailing, trying to be calm and present with her, while furiously checking things off in my head and trying not to forget anything.  Luckily, my counseling practice teaches me to add heaping spoonfuls of self-compassion. Arriving at the airport felt like a giant relief.

We met the rest of our crew (guides, photographers, and videographers) in Los Angeles and hit it off instantly. We all pulled out yoga mats and massage devices, spreading out to stretch in the boarding area. Any concern about group dynamics was replaced by easy connection and down-to-earth laughter. This was going to be a unique mission. For the first time, out of all the photo shoots, films, and expeditions I’ve been on, women outnumbered men. Excited but still hesitant, I FaceTimed my kids, then boarded the plane.

We arrived in Cochamó and stepped into paradise — towering granite walls, lush green valleys, and beautiful, clean rivers we could drink directly from. Cochamó is a remote climbing area situated in an unprotected zone of Chilean Patagonia. Gauchos (cowboys of the region) have been working in the area for 150 years and still have a strong presence: They carried all our gear on the 13-kilometre hike to camp.

Rounding a corner, my mouth slid open as the impressive Cerro Anfiteatro and Arcoiris came into view. The granite shone, rich scents of damp earth and foliage filled the air, and otherworldly birdcalls rang out. Entering the campground, we were instantly welcomed by friends. The climbing and guiding community is small, our bond strengthened by the remote places we travel to and the unique viewpoints we’ve taken in.

At the campground, Em and I scoured through a book of topos, deciding to start on the climb ‘Gardens of the Galaxy.’ We needed to align our multipitch systems, as we hadn’t climbed together like this before. We enjoyed great conversation, an exciting tyrolean, and 11 pitches of incredible rock. We connected instantly, understanding the rhythm of each other’s movement, knowing when to give a close belay or dole out extra slack.

Late the next day, we hiked up to the Anfiteatro bivy, aiming for the classic route ‘Al Centro y Adentro’ (11d, 450m). But sleep didn’t come. The jungle dew soaked through our sleeping bags. Tossing and turning, uncomfortable and cold, I stared up at the walls. In the morning, groggy and damp, we trudged up the approach.

Climbing the route, a melody of flute music floated to us, billowing up from the valley where Seb, one of our guides, played. Condors glided on thermals. I climbed into my happy place.

Soon, I was stumped by an 11d crux. After a few efforts, Em unlocked the sequence and shared her beta. Trusting my movements, I climbed through. The tricky slab climbing continued and, despite this style of climbing not being my strength, I learned to enjoy it. Trusting my footwork, I smeared on imperceptible holds and went for it. At one point, a giant flake just out of reach, I lunged upward and miraculously found a hold. My mind and body connected, working in symphony, and I sank into the rhythm that nature inspires. Rappelling in the evening to a purple sky, I melted into the landscape, satiated, peaceful, needing nothing more.

After a dinner prepped by a local named Levi, we went swimming to wash off the sweat and blood, then spent time with friends and played with their toddler. His blond hair and silly energy took me back in time to when my boy was that age. My heartstrings pulled me back to my kids, and I fantasized about them being here with me in Cochamó.

With clear weather the next day, we decided to try ‘Las Manos del Dia’ (5.11+, 550m). On the approach, we practiced Spanish and hugged Alerce trees, pulling ourselves upward into another corridor made by towering granite walls. We were in the heart of Cochamó, starting to find our groove. But after a much-needed dinner, I was unsure if my sore body would be able to perform by the next morning. The sluggishness I felt after trying so hard the last few days lived deep in my muscles and joints. The feeling was invigorating though.

I began to realize the lessons from my busy life — how good I’d become at pushing through stress and pain. Em really needed and wanted another rest day. I did as well, but we had the pressure of time upon us. When I woke up in the morning, I decided to let Em sleep while I took a minute to reflect, wondering about the costs of my tendency to put myself second to all else.

Looking Inward from the Belay

When I started guiding over twenty years ago, I was young and full of passion. The mountains lit me up. I loved travelling to climb, exploring my limits, and sharing the experience with people while keeping them safe. But the costs of mountain guiding over time have had an impact. There’s a long list of colleagues who have died. There are the days and trips that take me away from my children. After a time, instead of enjoying the mountains, the risks felt too high and I often wished I was home instead with my kids.

As a mother, the consequences of any possible accident are unthinkable. Add into this equation that injury means I’m out of a job and unable to physically care for my kids. Eventually, my guiding instincts kicked in, telling me I needed a backup. So, I worked through four years of school to get my master’s degree in clinical counselling. I called it a giant self-help program. And it taught me how to parent my unique children.

My 14-year-old son is a magical soul. Insightful, loving, and deeply intelligent.  I especially love how, through the hardships of his early life, he developed a healthy ambivalence about fitting in or pleasing others. It has been a long road to get here though. Starting when he was about 2, I noticed signs of struggle. He could barely transition from one activity to another. If he started to get upset, it often snowballed, and his separation anxiety made it difficult for him to go anywhere without me. My daughter, while having less separation anxiety, was prone to epic meltdowns, extreme moods, and huge difficulties with any change of plans too. This made me afraid to leave for guiding or my own adventures. My coping mechanisms previously had been to head into the mountains, but slowly this option fell away.

Finally, when my son was 9 years old, we got him tested for autism. The diagnostician told me that he likely had a “PDA profile,” or Pathological Demand Avoidance (the name needs work). But it gave me some answers and a road map. I was good with maps!

PDA is described as a nervous system disability and a persistent drive for autonomy and equality. You have to practice flexible parenting rather than doubling down on boundaries. You have to prioritize connection over correction. Eventually, we all started to thrive. And I found something else: These lessons helped me in the mountains, teaching me to guide with a more sensitive touch. I realized that my instincts to connect were helpful, as well as my ability to be flexible and adaptable to a client’s needs.

The Need to Climb

In Cochamó, high up on the wall, I rested with my thoughts. My eyes took in the magical vista and I sifted through life, working through its challenges. I realized I craved this, that I needed this kind of space and time to be with myself. It’s something about the enormity of the mountains, the extreme effort it takes to get to a belay, the positive chemicals flowing through my veins, and the forced stillness. How it becomes generative.

My thoughts and emotions became lighter. In the past, I would often fall into panic, worried about my kids, wondering if I made the wrong choices, if I should be out climbing. I would try to finish my objective as fast as possible and was willing to change my plans or flight if it meant getting back to my kids sooner. This time, I risked believing that they were OK. I sent them photos and messages. I FaceTimed whenever I managed to connect to the low-speed campground internet. I let them know that they were OK. I trusted that being something in addition to their mom is a gift that would inspire them. Would inspire me. I released myself and Cochamó held tight.

I don’t know how I managed to pull the short straw for the next pitch, but it was my turn to lead. It was an intimidating 5.11 off-width. The topo simply said, “hard, loose, and overhanging.” Pretty much my worst nightmare. It didn’t help that a party above had screamed and fallen their way up the pitch. “I got you,” Em said, and I believed her. Tied together high off the deck, she gave me the strength to believe in myself.

It was late in the day; the sun was setting. We felt tired. I started off slow and unsure, but Em’s words of encouragement, her energy, pushed me on. My knee was too narrow for the crack, but I torqued it in. I chicken-winged my elbow. I calmed my panic. I remembered the advice from a climber I admire, Jamie Logan. I started to engage my peripheral vision. Little holds appeared. I looked down and saw my ankle dribbling blood. I was unfazed. I inched into the overhanging section and holds continued to appear. A feeling of confidence and trust swelled within. My body moved itself and I was alive. Fully capable.

By the time we got down, it was time to go home. I realized with total clarity that I had found the pieces of myself I was missing. I took a final bath in the river, revelling in the ways that nature guides us. How quickly a hot shower can be replaced by a cold dunk. I found the fuel to feed me for the rest of the year.

I was moved. I felt how the different parts of my life can flow together. How my climbing and guiding fuels my parenting, my counselling improves my guiding and parenting, and my children make me a better guide and counsellor. When I give myself the gift of the mountains, my joy returns.

• Julia Niles is the fifth American woman to attain the IFMGA certification as a mountain guide and is an instructor for ACMG guides. She did the first all-female team ski descent of the Grand Teton and was the first woman to free-solo (alone, in a day) the iconic 13 peak Grand Traverse in the Grand Tetons.

• Em Pellerin is the only Canadian woman to climb 5.14 trad and onsight 5.13d. She works as an ACMG apprentice rock guide, teaching clinics on trad climbing and helping people manage their fear of falling.

• A great resource for more information on the Cochamó Valley is the Cochamó Valley Organization (CVO).