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Though I always loved the glimpses of nature I got as a child: the bugs, the sun, the flowers, the snails—and I was lucky to live by the water—I was not aware of nature’s crucial role in our well-being and belonging.
Where I grew up, the few parks around had “do not walk on the grass” signs; every spare inch of land became a tall building that was later replaced by an even taller one and any potential bird song was masked by the sound of cars and construction. That was the norm.
I recently learned that the beach I used to run around on is now also filled with shops, restaurants, and so on.
I remember being young on vacation and my grandmother teaching me how to make a daisy flower crown. My grandmothers always seemed to know how to do everything, and I loved learning from them. It was as if they possessed this magic that only grandmothers did. That crown made such an impression on me, and so did those daisies: it was my first experience working with a plant picked fresh off the ground and carefully woven into a gift, infused not only with nature’s beauty and essence, but also with our own love and intention.
I didn’t realize it then, but in that moment, she planted a seed in me: the knowing that we are not separate from nature after all. That nature is not just the lawn we can’t walk on, or the expensive bouquets at the flower shop we only admire through the window. We have an innate knowing and need to feel nature through all our senses, to learn from her, to share with her, to love and work with her.
When I came home from that trip, I couldn’t wait to find daisies again. I looked for them on every walk and every patch of green. It was as if they were my portal to the connection I had felt, and I so deeply wanted to relive it. But unfortunately, no daisies grew. In fact, no wildflowers grew where I lived at all. So over the years, the memory became an unanswered longing, and nature essentially remained something “out there.”
At 20, I finally answered my soul’s calling to leave everything I knew, travel to the other side of the world, and volunteer on a farm for a couple of years. That experience cracked me open in so many ways and reminded me what it is to be a human in nature. It felt like coming home. I walked barefoot everywhere, feeling sensations under my feet I never had. Hands and knees in the soil, I planted and harvested. I saw animals being born and growing up; I got to know their behaviors and habits. I learned about the food growing near me and its benefits on my body.
The more I paid attention to the nature and cycles of life around me, the more I saw myself in it all. Noticing the shifts throughout the day, or month or year, I realized whatever was happening within me was also happening outside me. Nature and I, we were mirrors to each other. And my friends and I, we were too. And I couldn’t believe how disconnected from this truth my reality had been growing up.
Nature became my teacher, and I soon began learning about the medicinal properties of the plants near me. I found herbs that could help my digestion, others that could calm my mind and soothe my nervous system. Others still that would replenish my body after my menstrual cycle. In working with these plants, I felt so seen. I could finally admit, even if just to a plant, that I wasn’t always doing well, that sometimes my body was depleted, or that my heart was feeling the weight of the world. That was incredibly freeing, and it created such a web of connection: I learned about the plants near me, how to forage them safely and respectfully, and how to give back to the earth. I began tending to myself in the most intentional way. I shared what I was learning with others who in turn told me that it helped them too. In a world of pills available for every ailment, highlight reels on social media showing life only at its best, feeling alone in our human journey and turning to distractions that numb us, this experience felt revolutionary.
The biggest lesson I learnt through all this? When we heal our relationship to nature, we heal our relationship to each other and ourselves. None of this is new, just forgotten.
Somewhere along the way, we started to see nature as something outside of us, a collection of resources we can extract from, instead of a home, a friend, and a direct mirror of our inner worlds.
As a result, we feel entitled to all that we see around us, take from nature more than we give, expect from others more than we ourselves are willing to offer, and forget the importance of boundaries.
The more we disregard nature’s boundaries, the more we dismiss them in our peers, loved ones, and even ourselves. We grow disconnected from our needs, our grief, and, slowly, from each other. But most of all, we become disconnected from that which feeds us, heals us, and nourishes us, and we wonder why so many feel lonely and disconnected.
The earth’s extreme weather systems are also a mirror of the extreme emotions inside us: our boundaries breached, our rage, our grief, our suppressed voices. Everything suppressed always finds a way to be heard.
We believe nature is separate from us, but the sun regulates our sleep, nervous systems, and replenishes our bodies. The moon heightens our emotions, mirrors our menstrual cycles, and strengthens our intuition. Contact with soil literally calms our nervous system, lowers our stress response, and makes us feel safe.
We think we are separate, but Earth’s seasons exist in our own bodies too. As much as we like to ignore it, we need cycles of rest, repair, and stillness just as much as those of renewal, creation, and expansion.
We think our actions have no consequences, but the health and quality of our soil, water, and air directly affect our own health.
As all animals, we are meant to live in harmony with nature’s rhythms—to live in exchange: taking but also giving.
It feels more important than ever to remember our role in nature and give back to that which nourishes us. To tend to our tender hearts. To speak, to listen, and to see how much we are connected and how our actions have an impact.
When you love someone, their pain becomes your own. When you care for someone, you naturally want to protect them. So when you spend quality time in nature, she becomes a loved one, and suddenly her health and needs begin to really matter.
In light of this, I am sharing a few simple ways to reconnect with nature. They are practices I always return to—pockets of presence, intention, and softening. I invite you to try what resonates and notice how it feels. And if you feel called, share your experience in the comments.
A few simple ways to reconnect with nature:
>> Walk the same trail often enough to notice how it changes: with the seasons, the weather, the time of day.
>> Learn the names and stories of the plants that grow around you.
>> Take your books, crafts, and meals outside! Let nature be part of your daily life.
>> Grow something, even if just on your windowsill.
>> Support local farmers: volunteer, visit, buy from local farmers markets.
>> Create with nature in mind: painting, drawing, crocheting, dancing. Whatever your body and hands feel inspired to make.
>> Honor your body’s own seasons>> resting, creating, expanding, and slowing down as needed.
>> Share plants, seeds, or cuttings with others.
>> Cook with seasonal ingredients and nourish the people you love.
>> Learn what grows wild around you—what is abundant, what is protected, and what can be respectfully foraged.
>> Return your scraps to the earth through composting.
>> Share what you learn, and stay curious.
>> Sing out loud! Plants respond to vibration (and we benefit from expressing ourselves).
~
author: Daria Singer
Image: Author's Own
Editor: Lisa Erickson
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