The Walking Mother

“If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere.”— Vincent van Gogh

Someone called me a “walking mother” recently.

I haven't stopped thinking about it.

It was said by one of the women on my walk, and at first I smiled because, of course, I am a mother. I have grown-up children and a grandson.

But when she called me her walking mother, it somehow felt like she was describing something much bigger than motherhood.

I lead walks. I bring people together. We walk, we talk, we notice things, we sometimes laugh, sometimes share something personal, and sometimes simply walk alongside each other in comfortable silence.

And somewhere along the way, something else happens.

We nurture one another.

What does it mean to be a walking mother?

I remember this particular lady telling me about a time, in the early days of the walking group, when she became poorly on one of our walks.

We looked after her and made sure she was safe.

It wasn't something I had thought much about afterwards. You help someone when they need you. That's what you do.

But she remembered it.

And years later, she described me as her walking mother.

That really touched me.

It made me realise that we don't always know which little moments of kindness will stay with someone.

Perhaps that's one of the beautiful things about walking together.

We have time.

Time to notice.

Time to listen.

Time to see when someone might need a little extra care.

And nature gives us the perfect backdrop for all of this.

There is something about being outdoors that seems to soften us. A tree changing with the seasons. The sound of birds. Leaves beneath our feet. The light coming through the branches.

We don't have to force anything.

We can simply be there.

Nurturing isn't only about being a mother

It got me thinking about what it actually means to nurture.

Being a mother isn't only about giving birth or bringing up children.

We nurture our children and grandchildren. We nurture friendships. We nurture neighbours, colleagues and sometimes complete strangers.

We nurture by listening.

By checking in.

By making someone a cup of tea.

By noticing when someone isn't quite themselves.

By walking beside them.

And sometimes, we nurture simply by creating a space where someone feels that they belong.

During one of our wellbeing conversations, I asked the group what walking mother meant to them.

The answers were beautiful.

Someone talked about feeling safe. Another spoke about having someone to look up to. There was a sense of protection, encouragement and knowing that somebody is there.

And perhaps that's what stayed with me most.

To nurture someone is, in some small way, to say: “I see you. You matter. You're not walking alone.”

But who nurtures the nurturer?

This is the part we don't always talk about.

When you're used to caring for other people, it can be surprisingly difficult to stop and ask:

Who is nurturing me?

Am I giving myself the same kindness I give to other people?

Am I allowing myself to stop?

To breathe?

To wander without having somewhere I need to be?

To sit in nature and simply notice what is around me?

I think this is one of the reasons I love walking so much.

A walk doesn't always have to be about steps, distance or getting somewhere.

Sometimes it is simply about being outside.

Being with other people.

Being with yourself.

And perhaps allowing nature to remind us that not everything has to happen quickly.

And then there is ikigai…

I've also been thinking recently about the Japanese concept of ikigai — often described as a reason for being, or the things that give our lives meaning and a sense of purpose.

I don't think our ikigai necessarily has to be one huge life mission.

Perhaps it can be found in the small things.

In caring for your family.

In friendships.

In creativity.

In nature.

In learning something new.

In helping someone else.

In having a reason to get up and meet someone for a walk.

Maybe purpose isn't always something we have to go out and find.

Maybe sometimes it is already woven into our everyday lives — we just need to notice it.

Perhaps my own ikigai is found in these little pieces of life: bringing people together, being outdoors, encouraging movement, creating conversations, making space for people to connect and reminding people that wellbeing doesn't have to be complicated.

Sometimes it can simply be a walk.

We don't have to walk alone

As we get older, our lives change.

Our children grow up. Relationships change. Work changes. Our bodies change. The things that once gave our days structure can sometimes disappear.

And that's when connection can become even more important.

We need people.

We need purpose.

We need moments that make us feel useful, valued and alive.

So perhaps the next time you go for a walk, don't just think about where you're going.

Think about who you're walking with.

Who has walked beside you through your life?

Who has nurtured you?

Who have you nurtured?

And perhaps ask yourself one more question:

What is giving me a reason to keep walking?

Because maybe life isn't always about getting somewhere.

Maybe sometimes it's about the people we meet, the moments we share, the kindness we give and receive, and the simple joy of being outside together.

Nature has a way of reminding us that we are part of something bigger than ourselves.

And perhaps that's why I like the idea of being a walking mother.

Not because I have all the answers.

Not because I am always nurturing others perfectly.

But because, for a little while, I can walk alongside someone.

And perhaps help them feel that they are not walking alone.

So, if you see me out walking, say hello.

I might just be your walking mother.