A Walk Through Healing: How Walking Meditation Restored My Spirit

Everyone who knows me knows that yoga is a deeply cherished part of my life. For years, my mat has been a sanctuary — a place to ground myself, to stretch both body and soul, and to find clarity amidst the noise of life. But recently, my time on the mat has been limited. Life, as it tends to, has swept me up in a whirlwind of events, some joyful, some less so.

The past few weeks have been intertwined with beautiful moments and challenging days. Becoming a grandmother has been the most tender and transformative experience of all. I’ve found myself immersed in helping my daughter navigate those delicate first weeks of motherhood, cradling both her and my new grandchild with love. Not long after, I whisked away for a girls’ weekend, indulging in the joy of wedding dress shopping with my eldest daughter. But then, as life ebbs and flows, my pace was abruptly halted by illness.

My body, weary and feverish, called me to rest. Yoga had to wait. But as the fever began to fade and the Vermont air turned crisp, I found solace in a different kind of practice—one I hadn’t embraced in some time: walking meditation.

Walking meditation, unlike the stillness of sitting meditation or the fluidity of yoga, is a practice of movement and mindfulness. It is the art of being fully present with each step, of syncing breath with the quiet rhythm of your stride. With each footfall, you connect to the earth beneath you, letting the mind settle as your body moves. It is a way of grounding, of listening to the gentle whisper of the wind or the rustling of autumn leaves. For me, walking meditation is like slipping into a soft conversation with nature, one where words are unnecessary, and all that matters is the present moment.

In these past few days, when I’ve felt like I couldn’t do much, this simple act has been a balm for my tired body. The Vermont weather, in its autumn splendor, has graced us with golden sunshine and crisp, cool breezes. The sun, warming my skin, feels like a blessing after days spent under fever’s weight. The air is rich with the scent of fallen leaves, and with each breath, I feel a little more alive, a little more healed.

The benefits of walking meditation go beyond just the physical. It has been a way to recalibrate, to quiet the chatter in my mind that says “I should be doing more” and replace it with a gentler mantra: “This is enough.” When the body is weak, the spirit can still be nourished. And for me, these walks have become a meditation in gratitude — for the cool winds that brush my cheeks, for the golden hues that dance through the trees, and for the quiet reminder that even when life pulls us away from our routines, there are other ways to find balance.

It is also a wonderful way to recalibrate during the workday, especially when the hours feel long, and the to-do list grows ever more demanding. Stepping away from the desk for even a brief walking meditation is a gift you give yourself—a chance to pause, reconnect, and return to your tasks with fresh energy. The act of moving mindfully, of leaving behind the work emails and buzzing phones, allows your mind to breathe. You return to your work not only more focused, but with a renewed sense of calm and perspective.

For the second time this week, I slipped on my shoes and took to the path again. With every step, I felt the fog of illness lift a little more, replaced by the simple joy of movement. The ground beneath my feet, the sky stretching endlessly above me, it all served as a reminder that healing is not just in the body, but in the soul.

And so, while my yoga practice has been on pause, I have found a new rhythm in walking. Each step is a meditation, each breath an offering of thanks. Life has a way of interrupting our routines, but it also offers us new ways to find peace. And for now, in this season of cool breezes and falling leaves, this walking meditation has been my path back to myself — one step at a time.

As I walk, I am reminded that healing, much like the seasons, takes time. There is no rush. There is only the sweet surrender to the moment, and the gentle knowing that everything is exactly as it should be.