Instead they said, “Oh shit .”

I’m a planner. I research almost all of my decisions neurotically to understand all ramifications before I move an inch. This is crucial for excelling as a climber. When I’m projecting a route (climber lingo for spending months trying to figure out how to get up 100 feet of rock), I make a detailed schedule for each day in a month — say, Monday I’ll spend four to five hours on my route, taking down notes on where each hand and foot will go. Tuesday I’ll train in my garage for four hours on a climbing wall and then lift weights. So when I wanted to have a baby I started researching elite female rock climbers and how they’d integrated children into their professional lives … and poof. I knew of two prominent women who’d had their salaries cut or were dropped by sponsors when they decided to have babies.

I’ve made a career out of managing fear. I wanted to cry every single time I was 3,000 feet off the ground on El Cap but I knew how to push through that and perform. That gripped feeling — sweaty palms and all — was right there when I called my primary sponsor, Outdoor Research, and said, “I’m pregnant.”

I was braced for a hard fall. Instead, they blew my mind. They said they would support me through pregnancy and into my new journey as a mother. (My other sponsors were also supportive.) I’ve been in a lot of terrifying situations (including being kidnapped with Tommy and two other climbers in Kyrgyzstan, but that is another story). I felt profoundly relieved.

I was pregnant before Ser ena Williams. I was pregnant before the track star Alysia Montaño, who competed when eight months pregnant and who, in a powerful op-ed in The Times last month, urged Nike and other companies to ensure sponsored female athletes receive maternity leave. As my body changed, I just kind of made up how I wanted to be a pregnant athlete and role model. A large part of the job these days is to be active on social media. I posted about my fears, my changing body, the stigmas around climbing pregnant. I connected with women around the world — women who had a big need to be listened to and heard. Together we talked about growing, falling, failing, fearing all that motherhood might bring. Later, after my son, Theo, was born, the conversation turned to: What’s the best place to travel and climb with an infant? A toddler? I loved this. I needed this. And the women in the climbing community loved and needed this, too. Topping out on a 5.14 is great, but creating this discussion was the most empowering thing I’ve done in my career.

Regularly now I’m contacted by other professional women outdoor athletes — skiers, snowboarders, fellow climbers, who are terrified about planning or announcing a pregnancy and in need of advice on how to maintain their careers. I don’t have all the answers but I do have one: Find a sponsor who will support you. Almost all the brands who sponsor elite athletes sell the vast majority of their merchandise to people who don’t climb or run or ski for work. They sell to people who have full lives. If they sell to women, they sell to mothers.