What do I do with all this eco-anxiety?
What do I do with all this eco-anxiety?
Connecting with nature is the first step.
On a Saturday last March, I joined my friend Josie and dozens of other volunteers at a nearby beach to pick up trash. Josie and I chatted as we walked along the shore, scanning the ground for garbage. After a couple of hours, she and I picked up hundreds of cigarette butts, dozens of plastic bottle caps and straws, and other debris — four pounds’ worth of trash in total.
It felt great. Spending the morning at the beach with a friend was, of course, lovely. Doing that while also doing something good for the environment? Even better!
Later that week, still riding my do-good high, I told another friend how great the experience was. I shared that we picked up four pounds of trash, when suddenly, upon hearing my own words out loud, my sense of accomplishment felt silly.
We are in the midst of a global climate crisis. Ice caps are melting. Coral reefs are drying up. Temperatures are rising. Wildfires are raging. According to some predictions, if greenhouse gas emissions continue at the current rate, we have just over 20 years before we could face major environmental catastrophe.
Saving four pounds of trash from washing into the ocean isn’t going to fix anything.
The news about climate change often feels like too much to bear. I worry about the possibility of a hurricane demolishing the city I live in; I struggle with whether it’s morally responsible to have children; I’m wracked with guilt whenever I forget to bring a reusable bag to the grocery store. Instead of enjoying an unseasonably warm winter day, I feel panicked. And whenever another damning climate report is released? Forget it. I want to stay in bed. It feels like a too-big, too-scary, too-impossible situation to face.
This fear, depression, and anxiety around climate change is a lot to bear, and I know I’m far from the only one experiencing it. These overwhelming thoughts and feelings can manifest as eco-anxiety, what the American Psychological Association describes as “a chronic fear of environmental doom.” It’s slightly comforting that there’s a name for this condition — that’s why I feel so upset when I see people drinking bottled water! It’s also strangely comforting to know that this affects so many of us.
Because the world is suffering, we are suffering.
In “The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief,” Francis Weller addresses our collective grief for the damage inflicted on the environment. “We cringe when we see polluted rivers and litter strewn along roadsides. We felt the sorrows of the Gulf of Mexico as it struggled with the outpouring of oil into its waters,” Weller wrote. “Our souls are connected with the soul of the world, and it is through this bond that we acknowledge our interconnected lives.”
So, what do we do about eco-anxiety?
The day I began this essay, I went on a long walk at Boyd Hill Nature Preserve, where all the photos in this issue were taken. I knew I wanted to address the topic of eco-anxiety, but wasn’t sure what I wanted to write or what advice I would share. So I looked to nature for inspiration.
Besides snapping these photos, I kept my phone in my pocket, focusing instead on the wonder around me. I was one of the few people on the trail, and enjoyed hours of listening to birds and sweating in the sun while I untangled my thoughts.
As I walked, my anxiety lessened — and there was the answer. Spending more time outdoors is the first step to facing eco-anxiety. Not only are there countless mental and physical benefits of getting outside, but it also connects you to the very thing you’re scared to lose. Facing what we fear most is often where healing, followed by the ability to take action, begins.
“How can we possibly stay open to the endless assaults on the biosphere when the urge to avert our eyes and pretend we don’t feel this pain takes over?” Weller asked. “It takes a heart of courage and conviction, one willing to look in the center of the suffering and remain present. To live a life of soul means living with sensitivity to the plight of the planet.”
For me, stepping away from screens — where my mind can wander and fears can spiral — and into the Florida heat has been immeasurably helpful as I’ve grieved Jamie’s death. Long walks help me to feel grounded, to stay calmer, and to focus on gratitude. It makes sense that long walks could alleviate eco-anxiety, too.
The next step, I believe, is to connect with others. A couple of weeks ago, I sat overlooking the Tampa Bay waterfront with a friend (and Sweet Dumb Brain reader — hi, Hilary!) when we started talking about climate change anxiety. We both shared many of the same fears and worries and, while we didn’t come up with solutions, we left feeling less alone.
(We also traded tips on where to locally buy food in bulk, which was useful, too.)
What encouraged me most about our conversation was that it didn’t feel totally hopeless. We weren’t naïve enough to declare that everything would work out fine for our planet, but we also didn’t determine that everything is undeniably doomed. That latter viewpoint is what “Hope in the Dark” author Rebecca Solnit calls “naïve cynicism.”
The idea that something is flawed, doomed, fatally compromised, or just no good frequently arises from what I call naïve cynicism. It often comes out of less information and less responsibility for results than deeply engaged activists have. I’ve often seen, say, a landmark piece of climate legislation hailed as a victory and celebrated by people working hardest on the issue, but dismissed and disparaged by those who are doing little or nothing for the cause in question. They don’t actually know what work went into producing the legislation, what it will achieve, and what odds were overcome to get it. Criticizing it seems to be a way of reinforcing an identity, but that criticism is often vague and ill informed when it comes to the facts. And the question arises about that identity too: is it attached to losing?
The antidote, Solnit explains, is to celebrate the small wins — to keep us motivated and encouraged as we continue to work towards bigger and better victories. “Much has changed; much needs to change; being able to celebrate or at least recognize milestones and victories and keep working is what the times require of us,” she wrote.
Some may argue that there’s danger in celebrating. If we allow ourselves to feel joy about the minor victories, we may abandon the larger unfinished work. I think the opposite is true. Celebrating small wins is what helps us continue moving forward.
That beach cleanup day was a small win. It was a teeny, tiny win, one that didn’t even register in the grand scheme of things. In fact, we picked up the same amount of trash that the average American produces in a day.
But we felt good about it, and then we got back out there. The following weekend, we met with the same volunteer group to pick up trash at an estuary. Josie’s husband joined us and, together, the three of us collected 45 pounds of garbage.
It’s not much. But it’s something. And in a world where there are endless things to feel discouraged about, something is worth celebrating.
xoxo KHG
Good job, brain
I'm reading: Our Stop, by Laura Jane Williams. I’m not going to get any high-brow points for reading this book, and I don’t care. I am 100% in the mood for an easy, fun read like this one.
I’m inspired by: The U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team. I love World Cup season, and I love cheering for these champions!
I'm aiming to: Be a present partner. My partner and I are between trips — I just got back from a week in Charlotte; he’s soon heading out for several weeks on the road — and I want to make the most of the precious time we have together.
Additional resources
The ideas above are not a comprehensive solution. If you feel like eco-anxiety is affecting your quality of life, please consider talking to a therapist. And we can all consider ways to reduce our carbon footprint.
The Independent interviewed several experts about eco-anxiety, and helped to explain the phenomenon.
St. Pete friends: Here’s the organization that coordinated those volunteer trash cleanups. Non-St. Pete friends: I bet there are similar volunteer groups near you!
For your sweet dumb brain
Sometimes the best way to feel less helpless about climate change is to do something about it. Is there a small change you could make this week to help reduce your carbon footprint? Here are some ideas. And don’t forget! If you take one of these actions, make sure to celebrate your win before you move onto the next challenge.
This newsletter is written by Katie Hawkins-Gaar. It’s edited by Rebecca Coates who wrestles with her own environmental guilt like the best of us. We’re not alone, y’all.