Earlier this month, Nicholas and I went hiking in the Brecon Beacons in Wales. Years ago, I lived near there, and those wild hills and sweeping ridge lines were one of my favorite places to walk and reflect. So naturally it meant a lot to share that part of my life with him. What I didn’t expect was that this hike would become a powerful lesson in how to stay grounded—a lesson drawn not just from the beauty of the trail, but from the fear, uncertainty, and eventual return to steady footing when the path quite literally disappeared.

Beauty, Vertigo, and Panic on the Trail

The first mile was steep, but manageable. We paused for a picnic lunch with a panoramic view. Then the trail narrowed and hugged the edge of a dramatic drop. The vertigo set in—for both of us. We pressed on, walking slowly and carefully, speaking encouragement to one another through the queasy tension.

Eventually, the trail brought us to a haunting site: the wreckage of a WWII Canadian bomber that crashed into the hillside. A small monument honored the pilot who died. The wind stirred. It was a sacred, sobering pause.

But after that moment, the path forward became unclear. Our directions seemed to tell us to climb straight up a cliff—not possible. We tried one trail, then another—both led nowhere. The landscape became unfamiliar, raw, and silent. We hadn’t seen another hiker in ages. The last human sign we’d passed was the wreckage of a fallen plane.

I started to panic.

The vertigo, the uncertainty, the aching realization that we might be stranded—it built into a wave. I sat down and said, “I need to catch my breath.” Then I apologized over and over again for choosing this hike, for getting us into this.

Finding Steady Ground Again

In that moment of fear, Nicholas became my anchor. Calm and grounded, he suggested we return the way we came. Even though it would make the hike longer, we knew that route. We had already walked it. We could trace our steps back to safety, even if it meant facing those vertigo-inducing cliffs again.

Before we set off, we paused and said a quiet prayer together. Then, step by careful step, we crossed back over the narrow trail. We moved slowly. We focused on the earth beneath our feet. One foot in front of the other.

And something shifted.

Even though the terrain was still steep, we felt stronger. The fear faded. We were no longer lost. We were grounded.

23,000 steps later, we were back at the car, tired but exhilarated, with windblown hair and the satisfaction of a hard thing done well.

What Doulas Know About How To Stay Grounded

That moment of panic on the trail reminded me deeply of something I often witness in the birth room—and something I know end-of-life doulas see as well.

There’s a phase in labor known as transition. It’s usually the most intense part, just before pushing begins. It’s not only physically demanding, but emotionally raw. Often, this is when a laboring mother will say, “I can’t do this.” Everything feels overwhelming. The way forward is unclear. There’s a surge of fear.

End-of-life transitions can have a similar emotional weight. In moments of panic, confusion, or even spiritual disorientation, clients may feel like they’ve lost the thread. That they don’t know how to keep going. That they’ve lost sight of who they are.

In both cases, the work of a doula is to hold steady presence. To help someone remember how to stay grounded when everything inside them is shouting otherwise. It is to breathe with them. To witness, without judgment. And finally to say, gently but firmly: You are not alone. You know the way, even if you can’t see it right now. Let’s take one step at a time.

Grounded in Breath, in Prayer, in Presence

On that mountainside, I had my own transition moment. And Nicholas—my husband, my partner in Eleison Doula Services, and a trained end-of-life doula—offered me exactly what doulas are called to give: presence, prayer, and perspective.

He didn’t offer me a shortcut or a grand solution. He just reminded me of the path I did know. He helped me breathe. And that was enough to get me moving again.

If you’re wondering how to stay grounded in a moment of fear, you don’t always need a brand-new plan. Sometimes, what you need is someone next to you, offering calm and company, as you make your way back to solid ground.

For Those Standing at a Threshold

Whether you’re preparing for labor, walking through grief, supporting a dying loved one, or facing any uncertain season, there may come a moment when everything feels too big. Too steep. Too unclear.

In those moments, I want you to remember how to stay grounded:

• Pause and breathe.
• Remember what you do know.
• Let someone hold space beside you.
• Take the next step—not all the steps. Just the next one.

The path may not always be visible. But it is there. You are not alone. And you are not lost.

🌿 If you’re walking through birth, postpartum, or an end-of-life season and need someone to walk with you—step by step—we’d be honored to serve as your doula.