I recently spoke with a passionate aspiring nature-informed therapist who had just completed our training. She was full of excitement, brimming with ideas about how to integrate nature into her therapeutic work. She envisioned a practice where nature would be her co-therapist, helping clients heal and find balance. But just as she was preparing to launch her new practice, a hurricane devastated her community. Suddenly, nature—the very thing she was eager to partner with—felt unsafe. Trees were uprooted, trails were closed, and fear swept through the community. The serene outdoor spaces she had hoped to use as a healing environment had become threats. Nature, once a symbol of comfort and stability, now seemed full of danger.
In our conversation, we explored what it means when nature, once a trusted partner, feels broken. It reminded me of a powerful quote from The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, where Mr. Beaver tells the Pevensie children about Aslan, the lion, saying: “Safe? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.”This quote perfectly captures the dual nature of both Aslan and nature itself. Just like Aslan, nature is often “good” and healing, but it isn’t always “safe.” We might turn to nature for comfort and peace, only to find ourselves confronted with its raw, unpredictable power. Sometimes, that can feel threatening or unsettling, just as a storm can turn nature from a healing force into something dangerous. Nature, like Aslan, holds both the potential for beauty and for chaos. And yet, it’s precisely in that unpredictability that we can learn to find new ways to trust and heal.
As we talked, my client was grieving the loss of her connection to nature. The trees she had loved were now symbols of destruction. She was faced with a question many of us encounter: What do you do when the source of your healing turns into a source of fear? We talked about the rupture this caused and how it could be healed: Finding Small ConstantsWhile the forest felt dangerous, we looked at the little things she could still rely on—like the birds at her feeder. These small, stable creatures became a reminder that nature’s beauty persists, even in times of loss. It was a way to reconnect without feeling overwhelmed. Nature, like Aslan, might seem formidable, but the constants—like the birds or the warmth of sunlight—remind us that there is still goodness to be found in its rhythms. Shifting the FocusNature isn’t just about big, majestic trees or expansive landscapes. It’s also about the small, steady things—like sunlight through your window or the sound of wind in the trees. Nature can be both overwhelming and comforting, depending on where you look. Rebuilding trust means starting small and finding those steady elements, even in the aftermath of destruction.
In times of loss, whether with nature or in our personal lives, we can find resilience if we look carefully enough. Even when nature feels unsafe, there are still moments of beauty and stability to hold onto. Nature, in all its forms, offers us hope for renewal—even in the most difficult of times. What about you? Have you ever experienced a moment when nature felt unsafe, and how did you find your way back? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.