I didn't set out to become a therapist. Before any of my training began, I spent years guiding people through the backcountry, far from the noise of their ordinary lives.
What I noticed, again and again, is the reason I do this work now.
When people are in a space that doesn't demand anything of them, where there's nothing to perform and no role to hold up, something loosens. The pressures and expectations they'd been carrying seem to roll off their shoulders. They settle into the present. And from that settled place, they begin to open: speaking more honestly, trusting more easily, softening toward themselves and one another.
I saw it especially in motion. Walking or biking side by side, people opened up - often in ways that surprised them. Here I started to see the power the outdoors has on our mental health.
Over the course of a trip, I'd watch trust grow, in each other, and, more quietly, in themselves. I'd watch people become more present, more grounded, more like themselves. That settling is still the heart of how I work.
What still inspires me is the moment someone steps out of a worn groove of thinking — the should, the always, the I can't — and begins to glimpse other paths they hadn't let themselves consider.