On a grey Wednesday in January, I facilitated a workshop that explored how our relationship with nature can offer support when experiencing grief and loss. Together, a group of 17 spent the day in and around the green spaces of Waterlow Park and Highgate Cemetery in North London.
‘I was more conscious of the lack of support which contemporary British Society gives to the bereaved when I visited Olive S. in the spring of 1948’
Death, grief, and mourning in contemporary Britain, Gorer, G,
My interest in grief and loss, and how we navigate individually and collectively, is due to my own lived experience. We have all experienced the pain of loss, whether a bereavement, an unexpected ending, or waiting in uncertainty for an extended period. It can be heart-wrenching, or bring people together, or more often, isolate an individual from their community.
Different communities and cultures will relate to loss in particular ways, and ‘…even within cultures where there is a great deal of patterning to emotional expression in bereavement, some people will not follow the pattern’.1 Although talking therapy is one way of support, grief is an embodied experience. How can we find supportive spaces that hold us emotionally and physically?
Being in nature, amongst trees, listening to birds, studying the plants, using all our senses, is an embodied experience of care. While the mind settles, the body lights up, and we can notice in a way the everyday doesn’t allow for. In that calm, we can experience and reflect without expectations – from ourselves, or others. And grief and loss have expectations – for how long can we grieve? What can we say to whom? How shall we perform the rituals of grief? How will we feel? What are the expected and accepted emotions? It is exhausting.
Shinrin-yoku, or ‘Forest Bathing,’ is a relatively modern term and prescribed practice that taps into an instinctual desire to spend time in nature to improve emotional and mental well-being. In 1982, Tomohide Akiyama, as director for the Japanese Forestry Agency, began to ‘develop a unique brand identity, linking forest visits to health…’2 With increasing interest in nature-based and horticultural therapies, Forest Bathing has grown in practitioners, prescriptions, and research. The research has shown that Forest Bathing has a physiological impact, reducing cortisol levels3 , and improving mental health.4
If you venture into a bookshop, you will be beset by books highlighting nature as a wonderful healing tool. In October 2023, 20 NHS Sussex Staff Members participated in the Certificate in Nature-based Training to implement nature-based practices in their workplace, with Natural England funding places and subsequent research. The National Trust highlights on a dedicated page that Forest Bathing ‘could reduce blood pressure, lower levels of the stress hormone cortisol and improve concentration and memory’. The Forestry Commission also has a dedicated page, as well as a fee for Forest Bathing Leads using their woodland.
Over the last two years, I have led reflective grief walks that focus on grief in its many forms and promote the idea that there is no hierarchy of grief, looking instead to how we can connect despite the varied ways we experience grief and loss. This workshop was to continue that work, encourage a discussion of personal experiences, and consider how Forest Bathing invitations can impact our relationship with grief and loss.
Structure of the day
We began the day with simple group guidelines or expectations: the need for confidentiality, that there was no hierarchy to grief, to keep yourself safe, and to take breaks or speak to the facilitators if needed.
Then we began by creating a grief map. Mapping grief is a tool that can be amended to suit the practitioner, the focus, or the environment. Some versions are a roadmap of loss from childhood to the present, while others will solely consider a bereavement. The invitation was to use all available materials to create a map of the support the individual had (or had not) received. I used this method because it was a single activity that gently invited an individual to think about grief without needing to talk about it immediately. In a room of people – some of whom had never met before – it would have been a big ask to suggest sharing something like grief. In a state of flow, using imagery and signifiers rather than words can be less intrusive. Again, it encourages reflection in a way that differs from some of the standard support offered. Bird song was played during the exercise, as ‘nature sounds and soundscapes can lead to subjectively and objectively improved mood and cognitive performance’5, and as this invitation was held indoors, it was a way to bring the outside in.
Attendees were then invited to discuss the experience in small groups led by a facilitator.
‘I feel grateful to be here and have these conversations with really interesting people’
The Forest Bathing session started in silence, walking from Highgate Cemetery Chapel to Waterlow Park. In the brief break from the all-day drizzle, attendees were invited to search for a tree that they wanted to spend time with. To notice what they could notice about that tree, to take a question, a thought, a secret to the tree and share it. They were also given a card with a quote to read once they arrived. Everyone was given approximately 20 minutes and were called back to share reflections or emotional responses.
Even a passerby understood our project intuitively; a park walker approached one of the attendees to ask why a group of people were hugging trees. When it was explained that it was part of a workshop around grief, they responded, ‘Yes, that makes sense’ and walked on. I love this interaction. The simple acceptance that trees can hold us in grief, an unsaid awareness that is fully recognised when vocalised. There is something exceptional to that.
The sky grew heavier, and some people were becoming uncomfortable. The participants were invited to return to the chapel or to spend up to 30 minutes walking in Highgate Cemetery. Again, encouraged to notice with the senses and to visit either the East, the West, or both.
The last activity of the day was a ‘world-cafe’ style system of discussion. Every 20 minutes, individuals would be asked to move to a different table and discuss a particular topic related to the day and their experiences of grief and loss. Below, I have added a wordcloud for each topic.
Space (ie the park and Cemetery)
Nature
Embodiment (the physically felt experience)
Reflections
Shame, censorship, secondary grief
There were several themes that reoccurred regardless of the activity or invitations. Shame and the need to tailor the expression of emotions often came up as people noted that there was uncertainty and a wariness to engage with someone who is openly grieving.
‘It feels uncomfortable to ask how to best respond’ and ‘people are frightened, do not want to think about it’. Or alternatively, that information is ‘controlled’ (by others grieving, professionals, family…), and that individuals can be left out of important discussions and rituals of grief.
These discomforts can bleed into the experience of grief. Some feel that they need to manage others’ discomfort. This emotional labour adds to the already present grief.
‘[I] feel responsible not to overburden friends by talking about my losses too much’
There was a discussion about the secondary loss when expected care is absent. Friends disappear, and family members (who may be experiencing their own grief) can’t provide comfort. Alternatively, participants also highlighted unexpected sources of support; from the practical, ‘the Embassy [were] helpful with the paperwork’, and ‘frontline staff and strangers’ providing space and concern.
Even when writing this blog, I notice my own bias; focusing on the more ‘positive’ responses from the day. Yet there was sadness, and anger, along with relief. We shy away from the harder aspects of grief and loss; resentment, lack of purpose, disassociation. That years later we may feel safer when next to the grave of a loved one than in the everyday, that our trust in those who are meant to look after us has gone, that when we see people untouched by grief it angers us, that sometimes it is hard to go on, that we have to learn new things and become someone else, and that the phrase ‘I’m sorry’ just really isn’t enough.
Community
As discussed above, we can feel lonely in our experiences, censored by cultural expectations or discomfort, or simply unable to use words to describe our state, while also not wanting to be alone. The second main theme of the day was the relief of being able to discuss, share, and express as much or as little as you like with people who have had similar experiences. Peer support is now such a successful method of care that it is a role within the NHS and third sectors.
On the day, there was a variety of losses in the room, and for some, ‘hearing and learning about different experiences’ was a positive outcome, with some ‘feeling validated [in my] thinking/being’ due to the sharing. In both the forest bathing and discussions, some felt that ’we were modelling for and to each other’, and that there was an opportunity to feel ‘connected with people and their journeys of grief’.
Part of this community was the space itself – Highgate Cemetery. A place that is made of stories and narratives, of lives led and ended. And our ability to connect to previous communities that may no longer be present in the day-to-day. One comment indicates that the space itself (and in some way those interred within it) became part of the community of care.
‘however you feel, however you want to feel, you can feel it here’
In fact, attendees often offered variations on this idea, ‘there are so many stories – it provokes thoughts and feelings of our own stories of loss’, ‘life and meaning’ and ‘diversity of ages, names, languages. It’s varied – always something different to see’, solidifying that there is someone or something to notice in this space that can resonate with us.
Conversely, the space is a space of death. Contemplating personal griefs in the Cemetery can cause sadness and awareness of community loss; ‘I feel sad looking at graves of people from other countries, thinking about them being uprooted and far from home’ or even a guilt that the individual is alive ‘I feel guilty walking past so many people. I feel like I need to read all the names. I can’t take it all in’.
Forest Bathing and nature
In general, attendees felt that the exercises were helpful, highlighting that, as adults, there are ‘fewer opportunities to engage in creative activities’ and that starting the day with the mapping, ‘felt safe… as opposed to talking’. The Forest Bathing ‘group and individual elements give permission to feel and be safe’, highlighting that flexibility allows for a more person-centred approach to support, as grief includes public generality and personal individuality.
Participants often discussed the trees as personas, ‘I felt held and supported by the tree I hugged’ , ‘Felt wrapped within and welcomed in the tree’ , ‘one tree almost slapped me today – it felt as though the tree was telling me to snap out of my sadness’ . Others found that their engagement (or lack thereof) was indicative of their own internal affects ‘I could not choose a tree today – it reflects my current state of struggle in making decisions’. And when discussing choosing how to rest on a tree, one participant explained ‘how we engage with our body can highlight something internal – ‘has someone got my back’ am I vulnerable?’.
When considering Forest Bathing as an intervention, nature was seen ‘as a safe setting to engage with the harder stuff’. Several participants noted that being outside let them breathe easier, and that they noticed how their bodies would relax when outside and tense up again when in the chapel. One piece of research determines that ‘Exposure to air pollution, for example, has been found … to be associated with an increase in depressive symptoms’ and that ‘that air pollution may induce oxidative stress [and] neuroinflammation’.6 That the participants spent time next to a natural filter for urban pollution could be a connection to that experience.
Ultimately, participants felt that the weather affected their ability to engage with Forest Bathing; some were happy to be outside and wanted more time, while others found the cold and damp too uncomfortable to fully engage.
Learning
Originally, I had wanted to have a 4th table in the world cafe dedicated to the emotional aspects of the day; I was not able to do so, yet the emotional aspects of grief were present in all our activities throughout the day, in our feedback and discussions.
The participants were made up of ‘professional’ and lived-experienced individuals, and it was highlighted that those who attended the day experienced a difference in how personally the professionals engaged with the day. Some felt that distance caused wariness, and as this was not something I had explicitly stated to the professionals attending the day, I will certainly take this forward.
Another lesson to take away from the day is an awareness of the timeline of grief when working in a group, as although everyone was aware of the diversity of loss in the room, the timelines affected the discussions. Some participants felt further along in their grief journey, and we considered how this could be a benefit (in terms of modelling hope and movement), but it was also a challenge (why am I not ‘there’ yet). Some also found it difficult to witness actions and emotions not associated with grief; joy, laughter, loud noise. Potentially more time could have been spent in the morning discussing expectations.
Returning to the diversity of cultural and ritual practices of grief will also be necessary. For some, the workshop being held in a cemetery would stop them from attending the walk, for others; it might detract from reflection, instead focusing on the space itself. Yet these Forest Bathing sessions and the discussions that follow have also reconnected some individuals with their experience of intersectionality, as one participant explained, ‘sometimes [the cemetery] feels very English and wealthy but [there are] lots of people from all over the world’.
Finally, I would like to return to a brief discussion of barriers to participation. One participant questioned what the experience might be like for the visually impaired, and the weather made the ground muddy – what about those with mobility challenges? Research on bringing Forest Bathing online is happening7, – but can we think creatively away from digital technologies and return perhaps to the immersive experience/sensory aspects that are important to this work: sound, touch, taste, sight, and smell?
Conclusions
With most talking therapy not seeing an individual for the first 6 months after a bereavement, or when a loss is ambiguous or disenfranchised, can nature and green spaces be an immediate, regular and more available option for care?
The boom in nature and horticulture therapy would suggest so, yet I have a concern that the use of green spaces, while benefiting us, may not necessarily benefit the spaces themselves. The International Union for Conservation of Nature provides guidance and sets criteria for interventions to ensure their delivery. This Global Standard for NBS has been widely adopted and developed by more than 800 global experts, but does it trickle down to community gardens, walking projects, or self-created wellbeing groups that use these spaces?
The question of how we support and protect the well-being of these spaces must, in my opinion, go hand in hand with how these spaces support and protect our well-being. I would refer to the idea of the space itself being part of the community or support; that we recognise the space and the nature within it as equal – a peer member of our group.
For the last two years, the walks have connected others who have their own lived and living experience of grief and loss, and so often there is a relief in simply being with others who have their own experiences – peer support. However, where we meet, the space and the interactions and communication that Forest Bathing encourages move beyond peer support. It encourages a different perspective and interaction with ourselves. It supports communication that doesn’t rely on words to describe what is often indescribable.
An important aspect of Forest Bathing is recognising and acknowledging that one has crossed a threshold and entered a liminal space. And it wouldn’t be a discussion on grief if we didn’t mention the liminal. Alan C Logan and Eva M Shelhub, highlight in ‘Your brain on nature’ that, ‘during a “liminal’ phase, a person integrates, discards and experiences an Ontological shift” and then experiences “transformation” and a changed discourse,” known as a ‘post-liminal phase”
‘Powerful revelations found under a naked tree’
Forest Bathing lets us safely sit in the in-between state of grief. By mirroring the internal liminal space of mourning and placing ourselves in an equally liminal external space, we remove some of the resistance built by cultural and personal expectations or censorship. And by allowing ourselves to embody the emotional, we dampen the cognitive dissonance that grief can cause and allow us to piece together parts of a puzzle that is exclusively our own. Or maybe we just like being with trees.
(please click for a video summary of reflections from the day)
Thank you:
To everyone who participated – your generosity is beautiful and your openness to vulnerability inspiring.
To the Mental Health Research for All Fellowship team, without whom this workshop would not have happened.
And to the Friends of Highgate Cemetery for allowing us to spend a day in the gorgeous grounds and providing us with hot drinks on a cold day.
Notes:
When discussing grief and loss in this piece, I am including the following:
- Grief, I mean, the loss of something important. This could be a relationship, a job, an aspect of our health, etc. This also includes disenfranchised grief.
- Disenfranchised grief, I mean loss that is not publicly discussed or acknowledged. For example, bereavement through suicide, miscarriage, or individuals who are alive but separated from their community.
- Ambiguous loss, I mean, where there is no clear resolution. For example, someone who may be missing, caring for someone with dementia, or the loss felt when living with a terminal illness.
- Bereavement, I mean, specifically from the death of someone or an animal companion
- Parkes, C.M., Laungani, P., & Young, W. (Eds.). (2015). Death and Bereavement Across Cultures: Second edition (2nd ed.). ph28, Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315721088 ↩︎
- What is Forest Bathing, M Amos Clifford, ↩︎
- Antonelli, M., Barbieri, G., & Donelli, D. (2019). Effects of forest bathing (shinrin-yoku) on levels of cortisol as a stress biomarker: A systematic review and meta-analysis. International Journal of Biometeorology, 63(8), 1117-1134. doi:https://doi.org/10.1007/s00484-019-01717-x ↩︎
- Effects of shinrin-yoku (forest bathing) and nature therapy on mental health: A systematic review and meta-analysis. (2022). International Journal of Mental Health and Addiction, 20(1), 337-361. doi:https://doi.org/10.1007/s11469-020-00363-4 ↩︎
- Ratcliffe E. Sound and soundscape in restorative natural environments:
a narrative literature review. Front Psychol 2021;12:570563. ↩︎ - Sarris J, de Manincor M, Hargraves F and Tsonis J (2019) Harnessing the Four Elements for Mental Health. Front. Psychiatry 10:256. doi: 10.3389/fpsyt.2019.00256 ↩︎
- McEwan, K., Collett, H., Nairn, J., Bird, J., Faghy, M. A., Pfeifer, E., . . . Bond, A. (2022). The feasibility and impact of practising online forest bathing to improve anxiety, rumination, social connection and long-COVID symptoms: A pilot study. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 19(22), 14905. doi:https://doi.org/10.3390/ijerph192214905 ↩︎