Two Wheels, One Soul: How Cycling Became My Therapy

I didn’t start cycling to get fit. Or to train for a marathon. Or to post pictures in Lycra.
I started because my mind was a mess.

There were days when I couldn’t breathe. Mornings when getting out of bed felt like climbing Everest. The kind of sadness that doesn’t look dramatic, but quietly rots you from the inside.
I tried everything—books, music, even journaling—but my anxiety always found a way to crawl back into the room, uninvited.

Until one day, a dusty old bicycle in the corner of the garage called out to me.

It wasn’t glamorous. My cycle had a squeaky brake and flat tires. I didn’t have a helmet or fancy shoes. I just got on and pedaled.

And for the first time in weeks… my mind went quiet.

Not because I forced it to—but because it was too busy keeping balance, watching the road, and noticing the world.

I saw a crow stealing bread from a windowsill. I felt the breeze tug at my T-shirt. I noticed how the early sun painted golden strokes across the buildings.

And somewhere between the first turn and the last, I smiled.


Don’t get me wrong—therapy is beautiful. Everyone should have access to it.
But cycling gave me something therapy couldn’t always offer: movement. Space. Air. Nature. A rhythm.

• While therapy asked why I felt sad, cycling let me just feel.
• While therapists helped me break down patterns, cycling helped me build momentum.
• While sessions ended after an hour, my rides stretched until I felt free.

I wasn’t riding away from pain. I was riding through it.

The world at 6 AM is a different world. Quiet. Undemanding. Soft.
No honks. No WhatsApp notifications. No need to explain yourself.

Just the low hum of tires on empty roads, the occasional chaiwala opening shop, and the sky turning from purple to pink to gold.

Each ride became a ritual. My form of prayer. My daily reset.
The cycle became my moving temple.

You don’t stay balanced by standing still. You balance by moving forward. Slowly. Wobbly. But forward.

Not all healing is linear. Some roads are scenic, some are steep. Take your time. Let the wind mess up your hair.

I’ve fallen off my cycle multiple times. Got bruised, embarrassed, winded.
But each fall taught me something about grace. Patience. Resilience.

Some of my most healing moments came while riding alone. No headphones. No podcasts. Just me, my breath, and the wind.
It wasn’t loneliness. It was communion—with myself.


(For those who need the “logic” too)

• Cycling boosts endorphins and serotonin, your natural antidepressants.
• The rhythmic movement of pedaling has meditative effects, similar to chanting.
• Exposure to morning light regulates melatonin, improving sleep and mood.
• Being in motion creates mental momentum—it becomes easier to act, decide, and feel in control.

At first, cycling felt like an escape. But somewhere along the road, it turned into something more powerful—an embrace.
Of my life. My pace. My story.

I wasn’t trying to outrun my sadness anymore. I was inviting it along for the ride.
And somehow, that made all the difference.


Your therapy might not be cycling. It could be gardening, painting, swimming, praying, or dancing alone in your room.
But find it. Find that one thing that makes your soul breathe. That one thing that asks nothing of you except presence.

For me, it was two wheels, an open road, and the quiet assurance that no matter how lost I felt—I was still moving.

And that, some days, is enough.

Explore the latest trends and tips in Health & Fitness, Travel, Life Hacks, Fashion & Beauty, and Relationships at Times Life!