It's always exciting when climbing during pregnancy gets a public shout-out, breaking the ominous silence that tends to dominate on this topic – and especially when it comes from the likes of Shauna Coxsey, Hazel Findlay, Alex Puccio or Jenya Kazbekova, to name but a few.

There seems to be some movement on ground level too, from the likes of Lattice Training and the Mum's Gone Climbing podcast, who are gradually bringing this topic into more of the public eye.

Yet, as a currently pregnant climber, I still felt very alone with this seismic shift. I knew I wanted to keep climbing during pregnancy for as long as possible, but I was unprepared for the onrush of uncertainties.

How would it feel to have to ease up on bouldering?

Would I still be able to climb with the same people?

Would they look at me strangely, or question my choices?

While there is still a massive gap in knowledge out there, with a little searching you can at least gather some information on the physical benefits and best practices of climbing during pregnancy, but mindset is a whole different kettle of fish. And it shifts so much more than I expected.

So many questions

My pregnancy came about quite fast, and coming to terms with it proved harder than I thought. I know people say no one is ever ready, but I always assumed some are perhaps at least 'more ready' than others.

Having kids was always on the hypothetical cards but, writing this well into my third trimester, there is still a part of me that doesn't quite believe this will all end in a tiny human being becoming part of our lives.

Just before finding out that I was pregnant, I attended the Women's Bouldering Festival in Fontainebleau – something I've been meaning to do for years. I'm so glad I did: looking back now, it feels like I had a last hurrah, one more carefree weekend of bouldering before everything started to shift.

I spent the weekend climbing with a brilliant group of people, encouraging each other, chatting endlessly about climbing, swapping snacks and beta. Ironically, I spent the last night talking to one of the best people I met that weekend – my friend Minna – about having kids, our fears, and decisions that led us to where we were in life. Little did I know that there was a baby the size of a sesame seed already inside me, beginning to grow.

I'd also only recently moved to a new city, where I had finally begun to develop ties with the local climbing community. I'm not a social butterfly at the best of times, and count myself lucky to have found a sport where it is so easy to make connections, but this also meant I was especially precious, and worried, about jeopardising these.

Lots of worries, rational or not, raced through my mind during the first few months. First of all, I needed to arm myself with knowledge:

Could I even continue bouldering, or would I have to switch to ropes straight away (if that's allowed)?

If I had to switch to ropes, would I immediately lose touch with the group of people I regularly bouldered with?

I wouldn't want to force anyone onto the ropes if it is not their preferred way to climb, but if I couldn't boulder, I worried I would find myself alone very quickly. (Read: alone, but not; I have an incredibly supportive husband, who was more than willing to transition onto the ropes with me.)

Having put in many hours of research and lots of personal decision-making, I have continued to boulder and am hoping to do so for the rest of my pregnancy too, even if that means I have to play with the definition of 'bouldering'. It was, however, quickly becoming clear that I couldn't keep up with the level and intensity of climbing that I'd been used to. So, another worry: worry about feeling or looking weak; of being perceived as afraid; of being handled with care, like a fragile object.

Despite pre-emptively preparing to defend my choices, everyone I have climbed with over the past few months has been nothing but supportive. I still haven't actually experienced any unsolicited warnings, been told off, or been left out at all – nothing beyond a raised eyebrow here and there, and mostly admiring smiles (which feel pretty good).

Those who have climbed with me before I became pregnant know that I have enough experience to judge when I can keep going, and when it feels better to back off (and I do a lot of backing off now). Fortunately, those who don't trust me to make my own decisions never come climbing with me. The general climbing community continued to be supportive – which I should have expected, really.

It turns out, though, that the real competition comes from within.

The harshest critic

Take Lauren, one of the closest climbing buddies I made over the past few months: I think it was hardest of all to tell her about my pregnancy.

We'd only just started getting regular sessions in together, and enjoying immensely our even-matched spirits and abilities, with a healthy dose of egging each other on. I was dreading telling her, and put it off for quite a while. When I did eventually reveal my pregnancy, naturally she was nothing less than ecstatic, and was excited for me.

Nevertheless, our sessions have had to change quite a lot and, despite myself, I sometimes avoided going climbing with her altogether. There was something about our equilibrium that I felt had been upset by my changing capabilities, and I think I needed time to come to terms with it. For me, it wasn't as easy as simply adjusting expectations.

Now, probably less than ten weeks away from giving birth, I have settled into doing a lot more of the cheering on and beta analysis when we go climbing together. It's also great to be able to make use of her excellent skills in gauging climbs for me – she will happily try something first and report back on the holds, difficulty, and slipperiness. Being familiar with her climbing abilities, and her being familiar with mine, this kind of partnership works a charm.

Competitiveness is something I chatted about to Eve Cuthbertson, head setter at Parthian Southampton, too, who got straight to the heart of the matter:

'Since having a baby, my competitiveness has almost one hundred percent been with myself, and about getting back to, or exceeding, my pre-pregnancy abilities' she told me. 'I don't feel the need to compete or compare to others (as much!) and would rather enjoy climbing for me, not for anyone else.'

To me, it seems it's almost harder to argue with the internal critic than with any external influence. For outside criticism, I can be prepared; for my internal monologue, there is no off-switch. It's undoubtedly difficult to take a step back from bouldering hard – a lot of pregnancy lifestyle blogs or influencers will breezily say they do what's right for them, what feels good for them, but to me, it often feels like there's a whiff of trying to convince oneself.

Let me do you the courtesy of being honest here: I really miss trying hard on boulders; trying dynos; pulling onto the comp wall; not worrying about falling off (as much). This late into pregnancy, though, I'm finally beginning to not fret about these things quite so much, but then I do weigh almost ten kilograms more than when this all began! 

The seismic mindset shift that so many pregnant women describe – of priorities changing, of suddenly thinking differently about the world, and climbing – have taken a long time to come into effect for me. But do I still push just a little harder if I know I'm being watched? Of course. If my climbing group starts to project something too hard for me, will I still pull on to at least try the first few moves? Of course. I will happily make every necessary adjustment for a very different body, but I'm also keen to do everything I can to keep my climbing mind fresh for a return in the future.

Not everything has to do with the bump

I like to blame pregnancy for every climb I back off of, but there is a part of me that clearly remembers past feelings of being on the wall and being scared, pregnant or not. While I'm now jealous of every person without a bump, I know fear was always a factor, for me weirdly more so with experience.

We like to believe that progress is linear, that with the passing of time and the more hours spent climbing, our technique and abilities are bound to keep improving. But watching back videos from my early climbing days now, I envy that person's confidence, willpower and - crucially - fearless approach to slabs. So while yes, I'm sure I've improved heaps, I can now also clearly see the subtle ways in which the fear has been instilled in me over the years, and pregnancy alone can't be blamed for that.

What's more, when I became pregnant, I was still coming back from a really bad knee ligament injury, and my confidence was nowhere near as high as it had been before. Put it this way: I was already avoiding falling. So even though I might ask, 'Of what?!' when someone doesn't finish a climb because they're scared, deep down I actually get it.

It's easy to cringe at being told to 'check in with yourself' or 'listen to your body' (something you hear non-stop when you're pregnant) but there is something in this after all. Checking in became a crucial part of my climbing routine and, in fact, something that allowed me to continue bouldering.

So now, when I climb with others, my main focus is mindset. It's a form of meditation, of working on those subtle mind-shifts that are crucial to having an enjoyable bouldering session, whatever the grade. I've incorporated endurance sessions into my routine, so I'm at the very least maintaining my level. I practice a lot of one-touch only climbing, with no readjusting or re-grabbing once contact is made. I make up my own traverses, so I still get to use fun holds and try hard (and ask others to try them too, so that we can project together).

If a harder climb has a fun-looking move low to the ground, I will definitely try it, and I'm really hoping my footwork will be exquisite by the end of this. Most importantly, I've become the best cheerleader of my climbing group: there is no climb I won't talk you up. My empathy-psyche is through the roof. So, if you need a confidence boost for a big, scary move, come find me – I have plenty to give.

For me, a 'good' bouldering session means trying something new, or hard, and seeing some progress – whether that's me or a close friend. Fortunately, it turns out that none of these things are off the table during pregnancy.

Vera is a climber and freelance climbing instructor at Golden Gecko in Romsey. Currently expecting her first baby, she has been documenting her experiences, sharing her research, and interviewing other climbers about climbing and pregnancy here.