Finding Peace in Nature: How the Outdoors Supports Trauma Healing

Healing one step at a time

I am writing these words after about two weeks of daily immersion in nature—walking for 30 minutes to an hour, sitting on a log pile, meditating, drinking coffee, and simply being present. Each day, I have watched the world move at its own pace—the birds calling to one another, the wind playing with the leaves. And I am amazed. Amazed that I can sit without a pang of anxiety suddenly taking over.

For trauma survivors, the natural world offers a refuge—a space where pain softens and peace finds its way in, quietly, gently. The sounds of birdsong, the whisper of leaves, and the distant murmur of a stream create an environment where meditation happens effortlessly. Unlike structured mindfulness practices that can sometimes feel difficult, nature invites a natural presence. There is no expectation—only an open invitation to breathe, to observe, to simply exist.

Psychotherapists and researchers have long recognized the healing power of nature. As Dr. Patricia Hasbach, a psychotherapist specialising in ecotherapy, explains:

“Nature has a way of re-establishing a sense of safety. For trauma survivors, spending time outdoors can regulate the nervous system, lower stress hormones, and create a sense of connection to something greater than their suffering."

Similarly, Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, author of The Body Keeps the Score, highlights the importance of the body's connection to the natural world:

"When people have experienced trauma, their bodies and minds often remain in a state of hypervigilance. Being in nature, feeling the ground beneath your feet, listening to the birds—these are all ways to bring the nervous system back to a place of calm."

Wherever you are, try to simply sit still outside in nature. Even if it’s just 10 minutes standing on a small patch of grass, touching the rough bark of a tree, or closing your eyes and letting the wind carry your thoughts. Share your deepest pain with nature, knowing that it holds space for you without judgment. Two weeks ago, I might not have believed that such a simple practice—walking, sitting, being—could make such a difference. But nature reminds us that healing doesn’t always come through words. Sometimes, it arrives in the language of the wind through the trees, the rhythm of the tides, and the melody of birds at dawn. In these sacred, natural spaces, peace becomes possible. And for the first time in a long time, I can simply sit—and be.

I also invite you to capture these special moments—take snapshots, write about them, create a collage inspired by the sights, sounds, and feelings they bring. Let nature’s beauty become a reflection of your own journey.

Engaging with these moments in a creative way deepens your connection with yourself. In doing so, you are not only nurturing your soul but also strengthening your immune system, building resilience against life’s challenges, and, over time, gaining greater clarity. Nature heals in quiet, subtle ways, and when you document these experiences, you create a map of your own healing—one that you can return to whenever you need a reminder of your strength and the peace that is always waiting for you outside.

Here are a few of my own images, thoughts as well. Two weeks immersed in nature and a touch of creativity……

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A combination of expressive art and drawing is guiding me back to a deep, instinctive form of creativity. Right now, I’m using wax crayons—their raw energy feels almost electric. Holding them in my hand like a child would, I make one mark after another, letting the colors take the lead. The word that surfaced in my mind was “rising above”. There’s something powerful about this process, a return to pure, unfiltered self-expression. After such a long break, it feels incredible to reconnect with this side of myself again.

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A few days ago, I decided to use a card set to create writing prompts—a blend of words and imagery. With a glue stick, a magazine, and a few cards in hand, I headed to my favorite log perch in the woods. There, surrounded by birdsong and warm sunlight, I crafted a few pieces in nature. Just one hour outdoors was enough to recharge and add texture to my energy.

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How often do you lift your head and look up? Let me answer first—hardly ever!

I was sitting on my beloved pile of fallen trees, book in hand, flask of homemade chai latte by my side (which, by the way, I highly recommend both). And then, something nudged me to lift my head.

What met my gaze was pure wonder. So much beauty! So much vastness! It felt like the sky itself had been waiting for me to notice.

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Nature bliss

In my latest podcast, I talk about trauma, marching forward, and the necessity of slowing down. We don’t always slow down by choice—we do it because we have to. Yesterday, I found myself on my knees, lying on the ground, capturing images I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. Why? Because slowing down forced me to see the world differently, revealing details I had previously overlooked.

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One of those days when nature says hello, and you stumble upon tiny ecosystems, each a world of its own.

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A bit of foraging after an interesting job interview—daffodils (some with a beautiful scent) and nettles. This time, I’m planning to make nettle pesto and enjoy it as a spread or on pasta. I’ve heard it’s quite good!

A few years ago, I remember reading in a magazine: "Foraging teaches us to see abundance where others see nothing." It took me a while, but now I wholeheartedly subscribe to these words.

So many times, when we are under immense pressure, when we feel lost, we become terribly judgmental. We punish ourselves by denying the simple things that bring us even the tiniest bit of joy—walking in nature, pausing to admire a flower, picking a handful of daffodils from the roadside to bring color into a room that may feel heavy with sadness or fear.

It’s strange, isn’t it? In these moments, what we need most is extra compassion, extra love, extra self-appreciation—yet we do the opposite. We withhold kindness from ourselves when we need it most.

Let’s break the pattern. Let’s choose to give ourselves the gift of understanding, the gift of small joys, the gift of moments in nature. These are not luxuries; they are lifelines.

Until next time, be well!

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