Nature for Mental Health

Why nature heals us, and why that truth is deeper than any study can prove

May 21, 2025

I’ve resisted writing about the role of nature in mental health for awhile now.

Not because I don’t believe in it—I do, deeply.

But because it feels like something everyone in the wellness space already screams from the rooftops: go outside, touch grass, nature is medicine.

I find even myself rolling my eyes sometimes. Yes, we all get it. Getting outside will put you in a better mood.

I was worried my voice would just get lost in the noise.

But then I was walking at a nearby park, and I realized something. Something shifted.

You see, there’s a part of me that wants to intellectualize everything. I want the studies, the mechanisms, the citations that prove nature’s impact on the nervous system.

But if I’m honest, that part of me doesn’t always help me feel better. It just keeps me in my head.

And the truth is, the most profound healing moments I’ve had didn’t come from understanding nature. They came from being in it. For me, nature isn’t just a nice-to-have wellness tip. It’s a huge part of who I am. A force that continues to shape how I think, how I feel, how I return to myself.

So I realized, then, that I have to write this. Not just for you, but for me too.

For all of us.

Because maybe the problem isn’t that the message is overdone. Maybe it’s that we’ve stopped listening deeply to what it actually means—and how it can truly change us.

A Single Moment: An Owl

Yesterday, I was walking through a local nature preserve when I heard a sound above me.

I wasn't sure what it was at first, but it was coming from right above me in the trees, and then calling back from a little ways off. Eventually, my brain picked up on this sound as a bird call.

I pulled out my phone, opened the Merlin Bird ID app (if you know what this is… can we be friends?), and caught the tail end of the call. And the bird that made it popped up on my screen.

Barred owl.

I literally squealed.

I’ve never seen an owl in the wild before. But seconds later, I did. The owl swooped down from the tree overhead, and I sucked in my breath.

This experience, looking back on it, taught me that it’s not really about the data or the steps or the productivity hack.

It’s about the awe.

The Science Is There (But That’s Not the Point)

Yes, time in green spaces lowers cortisol and boosts mood. Yes, morning sunlight supports your circadian rhythm and regulates seratonin. Forest bathing reduces symptoms of depression.

The research is there, and it’s strong.

But honestly? That’s not why I go outside.

I go because I need something that science can’t quite capture.

I go because when I’m tired, burnt out, or lost in my head, nature is the only thing that reliably restores my energy. Whenever I'm hiking or simply walking in nature, at a nearby park, I always become more energized. It's not something that can be quantified, really, but whenever I'm tired coming into it, into my walk, there's something about the scenery, the sensory experience, the birdsong, the green. Maybe it's the skinny trail and the way I have to pay attention to my surroundings and move my feet up and over fallen logs or gnarly roots.

It's not something I can quantify, but I don't think it's something that needs to be quantified.

Because how can you quantify feeling more alive? More human?

Maybe you can’t. But I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.

Biophilia: A Word for What You Already Know

Recently I came across this word again: biophilia

Coined by biologist E.O. Wilson, it’s the “idea that humans possess an innate tendency to seek connections with nature and other forms of life.”

I felt it with that owl.

There's simply something deeper about the impact of nature on our mental health.

It's not just about what the science says and the way morning sunlight boosts your mood. It's something so much richer. And honestly, it's hard for me to put into words.

It’s in all of us. Even if we’ve forgotten.

A Future That Remembers

I'm so blessed to have grown up in a small town, in a rural area, in a house set back in the woods.

But I know this is rare.

This is not most people's experience, especially as we've become quite the city dwellers. So many of us (including me while I’m away at school) live in sterile spaces, constantly stimulated by screens and schedules, forgetting what it means to feel the pulse of something real.

So I fear for a future that forgets where we came from.

That forgets biophilia.

I worry about what’s being lost. We were made to live in connection with the natural world, not in separation from it.

But I have hope. I hope we can get back to remembering this love that is inside of us. I hope for the health of me and my future clients and my future children.

But I hope for you, too, and for our society as a whole.