A Walk to Remember: Relaxation and Stress Management

I was almost all the way home before I realized I had been walking.

Of course, I knew I had been walking. I had been moving one foot in front of the other, engaged in conversation with a dear friend, wholly enjoying myself. But it wasn’t until I neared my doorstep that I remembered the promise I’d made to myself before I left: a mindful walk in the park and the identification of three plants along the way.

I had already adjusted my plan. This wasn’t the park, after all! This was a neighborhood stroll. Still, the change was an easy trade. A spontaneous invitation for coffee, companionship, and fresh air? That’s not something I’d pass up.

Instead of weaving through forest trails, I was padding along concrete paths and spring grass, navigating sewer grates and the occasional car. My environment had shifted — and so had my intention — but my body was still yearning for regulation.

The Body Remembers

The week before had been stressful — full of emotional labour, parenting, teaching, and a string of mini-crises that required constant attention. I could feel it in my body. My adrenals had surely been working overtime, flooding me with cortisol and adrenaline, calling upon my sympathetic nervous system to keep me upright and functioning.

And I was grateful. I needed that state. In moments of urgency, the body is brilliantly wired to keep us alive, focused, and alert. But that state is only meant for short bursts, not prolonged survival.

I needed to come down. To relax — not in the passive sense, but in the active, intentional, nervous-system sense. I needed to switch gears.

Embodiment Isn’t Automatic

The walk — and the conversation — helped clear my mind and soothe my heart. But I stayed in my head. I was still analyzing, still evaluating, still living slightly above my shoulders. This is, neuropsychologically, part of the stress recovery cycle ... but it wasn’t enough. I needed to reconnect with my body. To feel myself breathing. To experience the sensation of shoes on my feet, the swing of my arms, and the air on my face.

Of course, I wasn’t thinking about any of these facts while I was walking. The irony of being in your head, living in the stress response, is that it’s tough to connect with your body. We are literally built this way. That’s why the morning's intention was so important: it reminded me, intellectually, that I had made a promise to myself: to notice and name three plants. I may have been walking in an urban neighbourhood, but there’s no reason I couldn't pay enough attention to find three plants. I shared my goal with my friend, and we began looking.

A white poplar, just starting to bud. A white birch, its bark gently peeling. A fir — balsam, we thought — and later, a towering evergreen with a deep red trunk that we guessed was likely a red cedar.

Why Walking Helps (And Why Parks Are Better)

Gentle walking can be a powerful balm during times of stress and overload — and it’s not just the movement that helps. It’s the sensory engagement. The regulation of breath. Walking helps metabolize adrenaline and signals safety to the nervous system, especially in more natural environments. When we are in a park or on a trail, our bodies shift without us even trying. Uneven footing forces our eyes downward. Canopies of leaves draw our gaze up. Expansive vistas stop us in our tracks. We slow down. Our breath deepens. And just like that, our parasympathetic nervous system begins to re-engage. Digestion resumes. Blood returns from the outer limbs to the core. Our bodies begin to absorb the nourishment available in the moment — the oxygen, the light, the peace.

(Interesting aside: this may explain why high-sugar snacks feel so vital during moments of acute stress — the digestive system isn’t equipped for anything complex when in fight-or-flight. The body needs quick energy, not a five-course meal.)

The Wisdom of Slow Recovery

By reconnecting with my environment and truly seeing the world around me, I began to shift my state. It slowed me down, inviting me to notice the moment: first the space I was in, and then, myself within it. I took a deep breath and suddenly became aware of how much I was enjoying simply being there.

This life is not a sprint. It’s a long-distance course, full of uneven terrain, shifting weather, and surprise turns.

If we don’t learn to rest — truly rest — we can’t sustain the journey we’re here to take.

We don’t need grand gestures to heal. Sometimes, we just need to remember we are walking. Sometimes, three trees are enough.