What walking does that a couch can't.
Walking sessions aren't about hiking, fitness, or being outdoorsy. They're ordinary clinical psychotherapy, with three small shifts that change what's possible inside the hour.
Bilateral movement settles a busy nervous system.
The rhythm of walking — left foot, right foot, on and on — is a form of bilateral stimulation, the same mechanism that underwrites EMDR. It engages both hemispheres of the brain in a steady, predictable cadence and signals to the body that it's safe to lower its guard.
In practice this means: hard topics feel less hard. A conversation that would tighten your chest in an office can be had on a path because your body is already metabolising it.
Side-by-side is not face-to-face.
Sitting across from someone is a posture of scrutiny. Standing beside someone is a posture of collaboration. The same words land differently depending on which one you're in.
Walking lets us look at a third thing together — a building, a tree, the lake — and return our attention to the work without locking eyes. Eye contact when it matters, and a place to look when it doesn't.
Trees lower cortisol. We can use that.
The Japanese practice of shinrin-yoku, or forest bathing, has accumulated enough research that we can call it a real effect: time among trees measurably lowers cortisol, slows the heart, and quiets mental chatter.
Toronto's ravines and waterfront are unusual among major cities in how thoroughly they let you step out of urban noise without leaving the city. The route does some of the work, so the session can do the rest.
Ravine path · summer · shaded canopy
It is still therapy.
We do the same clinical work you’d do in any office — patterns, parts, history, present-day reactions, skills. The container is different. The hour is the same.
I draw primarily from cognitive-behavioural and emotion-focused approaches, with EMDR for specific traumatic memories when that’s indicated. I’m a registered psychotherapist with the CRPO, not a coach or a guide.