The Climb Down: A Somatic Story of Grief, Healing, and Transformation
We had come to Taos to celebrate my daughter’s engagement - a joyful gathering of eight people, our newly forming family of origin. There was excitement, laughter, good food, and anticipation for a group hike in the mountains above the Taos Ski Valley.
We set out early on the Williams Lake Trail, the alpine air cool and fragrant with pine. The trail winds its way toward Wheeler Peak, the highest point in New Mexico, a popular summit goal. But I knew before we started: Williams Lake would be my destination. I wasn’t going higher. That wasn’t about limitation it was about clarity, presence, and listening to my body.
I stayed toward the back, allowing the pace to feel natural. My daughter and her fiancé hiked ahead, as did my son, her soon-to-be father-in-law, and her brother. My husband, further ahead, turned back often to check on me. That simple moment of attunement a glance, a pause spoke volumes. I see you. I’ve got you.
About halfway up, the air thinned and my breath caught but not from exertion. A picture I’d seen that morning of my mother vibrant and alive just a year ago had lingered in my thoughts. Now, with music in my ears and the steady rhythm of the trail underfoot, something opened.
Grief.
It rose suddenly in my throat and chest, tightening like a knot. The tears came, not just for my mother, but for my father, and for all the losses stored in my body. My past flickered before me including the time, decades earlier, when I had suffered a brain injury after a fall. My children were only six and nine. I had collapsed on a trail back then too physically frozen and emotionally unprepared. I didn’t understand trauma at the time. I didn’t know why my body had locked up.
Now I do. Now, I listen.
I paused on the trail. Let the emotion move through. I let my husband hold me for a moment, and I whispered to myself: This is actually happening. I gave my body full permission to feel, to slow down, to release.
After that, the ascent to Williams Lake felt smooth. The weight I had carried loosened. My nervous system softened. I was no longer pushing I was being.
When we arrived at the lake, the four men my son, my daughter’s fiancé, her soon-to-be father-in-law, and my husband continued on toward the summit. My daughter and I stayed behind, along with her soon-to-be mother-in-law.
It was quiet. Peaceful. Sacred.
My daughter stood by the lakeside, feeding birds out of her hand completely present, grounded, and at ease. Her soon-to-be mother-in-law wandered nearby, camera in hand, circling the lake, capturing the light, the landscape, the memory.
I sat in the sunshine. Breathing. Grateful. Something inside me had shifted.
What Grief Can Teach Us
That moment taught me something I want to share with you:
Grief doesn’t come alone. It brings company.
When we release one pattern, we often release many, even ones we didn’t know were connected. Like rivers flowing into one, loss invites all that is ungrieved to surface. Not to overwhelm, but to be purged. Witnessed. Freed.
When we let grief move through the body, we don’t just heal the present we honor the past. We honor our mothers. Our fathers. Our younger selves. The injuries. The fears. The resilience we didn’t yet know we had.
And if we allow it, grief becomes a guide not just to sorrow, but to awe. To beauty. To deep, life-giving gratitude.
It teaches us that we are always transforming. Quietly. Somatically. In the way we breathe, the way we say yes or no, the way we listen to our own pace.
To those still learning the language of trauma:
I offer you this:
Trauma is not the end of your story. It’s a doorway.
It shows you what has been seized and what is possible.
It reveals what has been too heavy and what you're ready to put down.
You don’t have to summit to heal.
You only need to stay with the truth of your body.
Let your tears come. Let your breath return. Let the people who love you walk ahead, or walk beside you, or simply look back to say, I’m here.
We are always becoming. And sometimes, it’s in the climb down not the climb up where we return to ourselves.
Want more?
If you’d like to explore somatic practices that help you befriend your body in grief, trauma, or transformation, you can book a session with me here or read more about my work here.
Jennifer Degen
November 27, 2025
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