Can walking with a therapist REALLY cure my anxiety?
Ten minutes ago, I met a psychotherapist outside a cafe and we are now rambling across Wimbledon Common together. The air is crisp, the landscape wild and gorgeous and, surprisingly swiftly, the tranquillity of nature loosens my tongue.
Walking therapy is unlike any counselling session I’ve ever had. Over the years, I’ve seen psychologists, most often when struggling after bereavements. They’ve ranged from bad to brilliant, but every one was indoors.
This different approach is the brainchild of psychotherapist Jonathan Hoban, who, trudging beside me, agrees the ‘enormity’ of being outdoors lends perspective.
Jonathan, a psychotherapist practising in the nHS and privately, started offering this type of therapy three years ago when he saw clients ‘sitting in rooms, at times with no windows’ felt more ‘anxious and trapped’.
The technique is also popular with ‘mums with buggies’ who require therapy, but don’t have childcare. He treats half of his clients with walking therapy (£75 for 50 minutes).
As Jonathan says, it often easier for people to talk about difficult issues strolling side by side in the open air than when looking their therapist in the eye within four walls.
And he’s not the only therapist heading outdoors — counselling off the couch is becoming increasingly popular.
Psychotherapist William Pullen practises dynamic running therapy (DRT), taking clients on a physical and mental journeys through London parks.
‘I’ve found that the experience of a bodily struggle helps to release an emotional one,’ he says. ‘Physiologically, we are still huntergatherers. And when we share a run, this time not in pursuit of an antelope but, instead, truth or redemption — or perhaps release, or some sort of clarity, something shifts.’
Meanwhile, for those who prefer a self-help approach, Street Wisdom, led by volunteer facilitators, offers free sessions nationwide that combine group therapy (up to 30 people) with walking and mindfulness to help you ‘move forward in life’.
There’s no doubt environment matters. After my father died, I saw a psychologist at her house. She’d silently usher me into a poky room that reeked of air freshener. It felt like a broom cupboard, a place of shame.
Her red setter would approach the door wagging his feathery tail and be shooed away — a pity, as I suspect that an hour with the dog would have been more productive. Wandering over hill and dale with Jonathan is such a happy contrast. It’s like walking alongside a wise, thoughtful friend.
The physicality of stomping over a hill, of course, is beneficial in itself; Jonathan tells me that immersing yourself in nature produces oxytocin in the body, the antidote to the stress hormone cortisol.
And yet in therapy, the meaning of what is and isn’t said, the importance of being understood, does require focus, privacy and a safe space.
While the distraction of dogs gambolling and beautiful surroundings alleviates self-consciousness, my concentration also wanders — ‘Gosh,’ I think, as I confess to Jonathan that my anxiety increasingly stops me driving. ‘Is that a small pheasant or just a massive pigeon?’
Jonathan quickly picks up on the harshness of my internal critic — I’ve termed my fear of driving ‘pathetic’. I’m a whisker away from being the woman who does a 50-mile round trip to the local shops because she’s scared of making a right turn.
He thinks I lack self-validation. ‘I notice that the words you use towards yourself are quite scornful. Would you use those words with your children?’
no, I say. He says nothing and I find myself adding, regretfully: ‘I am harsh on myself.’ He wonders if I rely on ‘external’ people to use kinder words. ‘Your challenge is to use softer words, to find that nurturing parent in yourself.’ We are tramping along, me puffing slightly. When he says this, I exaggerate the puffing to disguise the fact I’m too choked up to speak.
Outside, even the silences, which in therapy can be annoying as well as excruciating, feel relaxed.
Jonathan tells me that if a client is anxious or stressed, he’ll walk more slowly, and if they’re angry, he’ll quicken the pace — it helps discharge and moderate the emotion.
It’s as if nature does half the work for both of you. It’s peaceful, the opposite to time spent on Facebook or Twitter.
‘When you walk amid nature, you look around, and the trees and the sky don’t judge,’ says Jonathan.
‘You look and it doesn’t answer back. It allows you to relax and gives you the freedom to think.
‘There’s space around you. There’s stimulus to work with. It’s the most common thing in the world if you’re very focused on work, for example, you get lost in a tunnel vision.’
BuT, he says, ‘everything on the periphery’ — be that friends, family, running, yoga — ‘is what grounds you. That’s our support system, what anchors us. When you lose that connection, you feel quite anxious’.
It’s so true — when I get caught up in my own head and feel low, I don’t want to go out, but isolating myself makes it worse, while walking and talking amid the trees and the wide sky brings me out of myself.
While he enjoys working from a practice, Jonathan says: ‘Sitting in a room, I feel sometimes that if there’s a very heavy issue, you get free-floating anxiety. When you’re outside, that anxiety, that energy, really disperses.
‘When you walk and you talk, you connect with the emotion, because your body’s moving. That’s a really important thing. I’ve had people kick stones or move faster — the body is expressing emotion. It’s far more progressive. When you’re more static, sitting still, you can’t do that.’
Of course, there are benefits, we agree, to therapy in a room. ‘Some people like sitting down, having that more focused attention.’ But, says Jonathan, that’s equally possible with walking therapy.
‘It’s very powerful when you’re walking and you’re talking, and I suddenly stand still and look at the client. I can really hold the gaze, hold the feeling. I often do this when there’s something a client touches on and I want to hold that moment.’
Afterwards, I trot home, my mood significantly lighter. Jonathan talks about the spiritual, the psychological and physiological parts of us, and how they all need taking care of: walking therapy combines all three.
My blood buzzes from endorphins and the cold. I’m energised, alert. My anxiety is reduced, I feel capable and resolved to be kinder to myself.
We arrange another session for next week and I consider driving to it. All accomplished in a 50-minute walk. Who could ask for more?
Jonathan Hoban, creativecounsellinglondon.com; dynamicrunning therapy.co.uk; streetwisdom.org