The Healing Power of Nature: How Time Outdoors Can Help Us Cope

When cancer comes into your life, its effects are far-reaching and long-lasting. It is a marathon, not a sprint. And at times, it can be all-consuming. As a caregiver or relative of someone with cancer, taking time for yourself is a necessary form of self-care. The emotional rollercoaster, which begins upon hearing the words “I have cancer” does slow down and level out. But for this to happen, it took time and some uninterrupted solitude.

Mental and emotional effects for family members

The mental and emotional effects on caregivers, relatives, and friends of someone going through cancer are not to be underestimated. Questions concerning mortality constantly arose and muddled my thoughts. A constant fear of potential loss hung overhead. An irritating, persistent ‘what if?’ buzzed constantly, an intangible swarm of flies I couldn’t bat away or escape.

In an attempt to shake off the questions, I grabbed my headphones and headed out. Walking towards Twiske, a nearby nature reserve, I couldn’t find the right playlist. Nothing gave me the peace I searched for. Maybe a podcast will distract me. Nope, that didn't work either. After an unsuccessful 30 minutes of flicking from one playlist or podcast to another, I arrived at Twiske. I gave up searching for a distraction from my phone, bundled my headphones into my pocket, and headed into the forest.

Time alone. Time to process.

This was, I came to realize, the first time I had been alone since finding out my mom had bladder cancer. It was also the first time I found the mental space to unpack those questions that constantly plagued my thoughts. As I walked between the trees, hearing just birdsong on the breeze, I began to rationalize my mom’s diagnosis and prognosis. This was what I needed. Time to digest. Time to think. Time to tackle those repetitive thoughts.

For me, taking long walks in the forest was a necessary form of self-care during my mom’s cancer journey. I started leaving my phone behind, removing any temptation of temporary distraction. Taking the time to be alone with just my thoughts. This complete disconnection was confronting at first. I felt I should be constantly connected in case there was any new update on my mom’s condition. But living far away, even if there was some update, I couldn’t be there right away anyway.

Eventually, what first felt like a form of abandonment of responsibility turned into the self-care I needed. Time alone. Disconnected from the world for a few hours. This provided the desperately needed time and space to come to terms with how my world had so drastically changed in such a short space of time.

A better caregiver

The more I took the initiative to create this mental rest, the less intense the thoughts became. I started to get a grip on those uncontrollable emotions and thoughts. As the first days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, my solo adventures in the woods changed. My mom’s prognosis changed. In fact, the whole forest had changed. And that was also something beautiful to discover: No matter what we face, it is always temporary. As they say, it's always darkest before the dawn.

Looking back on those first few escapes into nature, they helped me come to terms with my mom’s diagnosis and prognosis. It also helped me be a better caregiver. Because if caregivers, family, and friends of a patient don’t take care of themselves, how can we take the best care of those we love?