Green Therapy: Nature’s Influence on Neurodiversity
Nature heals and supports this autistic ADHDer, and we can all learn from this tale
First Published in Wise & Well
It’s one of my chaotic days.
From the moment I woke up, my brain has been frazzled and unfocused. After taking an hour to get out of bed, I burned my breakfast while, distracted by a YouTube video, since staring at my food while it cooked was too boring.
My head is a jumbled mess of to-do lists and an underlying screech of panic. Which thing to do first? How the hell do I choose?
It’s called ADHD paralysis. That inability to just get going because of difficulties with executive functioning. Other times, the cause of my inability to just get going is autistic inertia, when I just can’t stop doing what I’m already doing to start doing something else, usually the thing I should be doing.
Time and again, nature has helped me reset when I’m stuck in this way.
Time in nature is enormously beneficial for mental health, as demonstrated by plenty of studies, such as this one and this one. From ecotherapy to Japanese forest bathing (simply relaxing among the trees), the benefits of nature abound — for any of us. But can it also be particularly helpful for those of us who are neurodivergent?
As an ADHDer with autistic traits, my sensory sensitivities and scattered mind have found more sanctuary in the forests, mountains and sea of my homeland, South Africa, and of my adopted home, the British Isles, than in the presence of most humans.
This peace was a feeling elusive to me in other contexts. Growing up in a household full of tension and conflict, bullied at school for being a skinny, pale bookworm, and struggling to connect with my peers amid misunderstood ADHD and undiagnosed autism, I found the relief of being alone in nature deeply healing to my troubled mind and frayed nervous system.
The order and beauty we perceive in nature can be soothing for overly busy, anxiously ruminating minds, in a way that is essential rather than a luxury. So much so that I have elected to live in the countryside, mostly off-grid, for the past seven years.
From chaos to order
Back to my can’t get started day. Yesterday, I had so many ideas that I couldn’t wait to action. Today, I don’t feel like doing any of them.
OK. Remember: just do the next thing that comes. Even if it’s not The Thing that needs to be done. Do what gets you going.
I pull on my coat and prepare to go for a walk.
But first — Where is my hat? Oh, and while I’m at it, where are my gloves? The clutter in my living space feels suddenly overwhelming. I’m desperate to get out.
While I’m hunting frantically for these items, my phone drops behind the sofa. As I fish it out, I notice there is mold there. I forcibly restrain the urge to go and clean it immediately, find my hat and gloves, and finally get outside. My eyes dart to the pile of washing up on the side of the sink. No, do it later.
Finally, outside.
On the countryside lane, the rhythm of my stride takes over and the space opens up around me. I feel the crispness of the spring air begin to work its magic. My breathing slows, my heart rate settles.
Turning a corner, the bright daffodils and the first dots of bluebells awaken my senses, dull from so much time indoors. A robin chirps in a nearby hedge and we have a precious moment of eye contact as he puts his head on one side to observe me.
I exhale more deeply. I’m not alone with my racing thoughts anymore.
I can sense the aliveness of the trees, beginning to start their budding process and breaking through the screen of my thoughts.
In the natural order all around me, the chaos of my inner world starts to subside. Everything here has its place: the crow circling the still-empty branches of the oak tree above, the river tumbling over rocks, the silence of the moss covering the beech trees. Sitting under a big oak tree, the gnarly branches of my brain untangle and start to smooth out — and the clarity comes.
I know what to do next. More than that, I know why.
I remember who I am and what’s important to me.
Re-assembling our scattered selves
In his book, Last Child in the Woods, author Richard Louv says that as well as causing physical health issues, “nature-deficit disorder” manifests in difficulties such as low self-esteem and social anxieties. His observations are backed up by a growing body of worldwide research.
Studies also show that spending time in nature has a direct benefit for children with ADHD and autistic children, improving emotional regulation and attentional ability. In today’s increasingly attention-fragmented world of social media and soundbites, this is something we could all do with help with.
Stress, focus and working memory are often a significant challenge for people with ADHD due to impaired executive functioning, but let’s face it, we all struggle with this at times. Scientifically backed benefits of forest bathing include lowered blood pressure and stress levels and the improvement of concentration and memory, which benefits us all in a stressful society.
Part of this improvement in attention could be due to the chance to give our brains a break from the kind of attention city living requires. “Nature, which is filled with intriguing stimuli, modestly grabs attention in a bottom-up fashion, allowing top-down directed-attention abilities a chance to replenish. Unlike natural environments, urban environments are filled with stimulation that captures attention dramatically and additionally requires directed attention (e.g., to avoid being hit by a car), making them less restorative,” say Berman, Jonides and Kaplan in this study,
As neurodivergent people, being so much in our minds and dealing with an easily frazzled nervous system and proprioception difficulties (being able to sense one’s own body in relation to other objects and space), mean that we need all the help we can get to connect more with our bodies. And nature can help.
One study found that physical activity performed in nature can lower ADHD symptoms more effectively than when we exercise inside. As well as decreasing cortisol levels, exercise in nature has been shown to help reset the brains of both neurodivergent and neurotypical people when we have “attention fatigue,” restoring concentration and cognitive resources when we feel tapped out.
From urban life to countryside van life
Seven years ago, I went on a nomadic journey for a year, living in a van with my partner and getting up close to often hidden nature spots and sacred sites of the British Isles. (You can read the full story in my memoir here.)
It was life-changing to take my nature exposure from an often rushed self-care item on the to-do list of my busy urban life, to an integral part of my day-to-day routine.
My new pace of life allowed me to slow down enough to hear my own heartbeat, feel the moss on the trees, and let the wind gently stroke my face. I was able to re-evaluate my life from a new perspective, making changes going forward that had ripple effects for years to come.
A key aspect of this journey was having the space to unmask from a lifetime of suppressing my neurodivergent traits: my wandering mind that connects all the dots, the near-constant overflow of ideas that have had me hopping from one career path to another, and my need for copious amounts of unstructured time and quiet,
As neurodivergents, with brains that are often firing on all cylinders, whether we want them to or not, we long for a break from it all. The sights and sounds of nature offer a welcome respite from the insides of our heads and the external screens that dominate so much of our daily lives, creating further overstimulation.
Longing to belong
Struggling to belong is an almost universal struggle with neurodivergent folks. We are so often misunderstood and even ostracized for our ways of being and communicating. The longing for relief from complex social dynamics and the draining effort of trying to read people’s indirect communication when my own preference is to say it like it is have driven me to seek solitude as much as possible.
Yet, this can also be lonely, and the longing for connection is a human need, regardless of the form it takes.
In nature, I never feel alone.
Time out with trees brings me unfailing relief from stressed human relationships. I return with renewed hope and a bolstered sense of my own value. Nature, after all, doesn’t judge.
Being in nature also allowed me to tap into my creativity, an important outlet for my feelings and a source of positive self-esteem, which often needs building up for neurodivergent folk. During a period when I was suffering from severe stress-related eczema, I sought sanctuary almost daily in a little-known Arboretum near the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens in Cape Town, South Africa, which led to the birthing of a children’s book and a book’s worth of poems.
The perfection in the imperfection
Neurodivergent folk can be exceptionally hard on themselves, and it’s no surprise. Psychiatrist and author William W. Dodson, MD estimates that by age 12, children with ADHD receive 20,000 more negative messages from parents, teachers, and other adults than their friends and siblings who do not have ADHD.
Yet many other children, not on the spectrum, are also shut down by adults on a regular basis, told to be calm, be quiet, and behave. By the time many of us reach adulthood, there’s a strong disconnect between our natural gifts and ways of being in the world, and what we feel we need to do to survive and be accepted.
For the neurodivergent kid, this high level of internalized self-criticism can give rise to perfectionism, imposter syndrome and Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, all well-known phenomena in the neurodivergent community. These cause a great deal of pain.
What about prescribing the wild rhythms of nature as a remedy?
The gradual shifting of nature’s cycles reflects the changes in our inner and outer landscapes, bringing a sense of comfort as we see that everything, indeed, changes form and passes.
We don’t have to be static, consistent, perfect and unchanging — nothing in the natural world is. Yet, there are rhythms we can observe and be part of. Rhythms that our ancestors were naturally a part of, and that are so often forgotten in our productivity-driven, fast-paced world that doesn’t stop for winter rest.
So, when I forget all this and get pulled into the vortex of my little screen world and the stress and anxiety of an overly busy mind, pulled this way and that, I come back to the oak tree and find my ground.