There are moments when it feels impossible to ignore what’s happening in the United States.
Not just the headlines, but the tone in the air. The speed. The division. The constant sense of threat. Even when we’re not actively reading the news, our bodies are still taking it in. Our nervous systems are still tracking it.
And lately, I’ve been noticing it in my therapy work.
More clients arriving dysregulated. More anxiety, more grief, more irritability, more shutdown. More “I don’t know what’s wrong, I just can’t settle.” More people blaming themselves for not coping better.
I want to say this clearly: it makes sense.
If the world around us feels unsafe, our bodies will respond like it’s unsafe. That isn’t weakness. That’s biology. That’s intelligence.
After a hard client day recently, I did what I think a lot of us do when we’re trying to come back to ourselves: I went to the grocery store in Boulder.
Something about errands can feel normal. Predictable. Like a small way to re-enter the world after holding so much.
But even there, the nervous system of the collective was loud.
Within minutes of walking in, I witnessed at least three different yelling fights. People snapping at each other, unable to share space, unable to tolerate small inconveniences, unable to stay connected to basic humanity. Everyone felt on edge. Divided. Braced.
And then, in the produce section, I found myself standing between two women screaming at each other and calling each other names. One of them was holding a baby.
I remember making eye contact with that baby, huge eyes, taking it all in. The baby and I just looking at each other in this moment of “what is happening?” Neither of us enjoying our time in the produce aisle.
I almost left multiple times.
Not because I was being dramatic, but because my body was tracking what was true: this wasn’t just “a disagreement.” This was dysregulation spilling into public space. This was nervous systems that couldn’t find their footing. This was people who didn’t have enough capacity to stay relational.
And it hit me, again, how much we’re all swimming in right now.
When I feel overwhelmed, I don’t actually need more information. I need more resourcing.
I need to come back to the things I can control:
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Where my attention goes
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What I feed my body and mind
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How I breathe
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What I touch
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Who I let close
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How I move
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What I choose to practice when the world is loud
And for me, over and over again, what helps most is relationship.
Not just relationship with people, but relationship with the natural world. Relationship with the more-than-human world. Relationship with the part of me that existed long before algorithms, before productivity culture, before the constant demand to react.
Nature-based therapy can sound like a luxury until you remember what nature actually does to the nervous system.
Nature slows us down without shaming us. Nature gives us rhythm. Nature offers orientation. Nature reminds the body what “enough” feels like.
When we’re outside, our senses have something real to track: wind, temperature, birdsong, the weight of our feet on the ground. Our attention becomes embodied again. We return to the present, not through force, but through contact.
In a chaotic world, that kind of contact is medicine.
Horses are especially powerful right now because they don’t respond to our words, they respond to our nervous systems.
You can’t “perform” regulation around a horse. You can’t intellectualize your way into safety. You can’t bypass the body.
Horses invite honesty. They invite coherence. They invite us back into the kind of presence that can’t be faked.
And in a time when so much feels distorted or surreal, that kind of truth is grounding.
Recently, I traveled outside of the U.S. and I came back feeling more resourced, and honestly, more wild.
Not reckless. Not disconnected.
Wild in the way I mean it as a nature-based therapist: more alive, more instinctual, more rooted in what’s real.
I spent time in Ecuador on horseback, moving through wide volcanic landscapes. There was a moment, galloping through open land, where I could feel myself returning to who I really am.
Not who I am in a culture that demands constant output. Not who I am when I’m bracing for the next thing. But who I am when I’m in my body, in motion, in relationship with an animal, in relationship with the earth.
I let myself be free. I let myself be a little ridiculous. (Yes, I wore furry chaps and tipped my hat during a long ride, because something in me needed that kind of joy and permission.)
After Ecuador, I spent a few weeks in Costa Rica, deepening into nature, horse relationships, and the wild. Less performing. More listening. More letting my nervous system remember what it feels like to be held by something older and steadier than the news cycle.
And I realized: this isn’t just personal.
In a world that profits off our dysregulation, coming back to the body is revolutionary.
In a world that wants us numb, choosing aliveness is revolutionary.
In a world that keeps us indoors, overstimulated, and disconnected, choosing relationship with the natural world is revolutionary.
That’s what nature-based therapy is, to me, not an aesthetic, not an escape, but a return.
A return to the parts of us that know how to breathe again. A return to the parts of us that can feel and still stay here. A return to the truth that we are animals too. A return to belonging.
If you’ve been feeling unregulated lately, you’re not alone, and you’re not broken.
Your nervous system is responding to the world it’s living in.
And we can work with that.
We can build capacity. We can practice regulation. We can find the places where you still have choice. We can reconnect you to what supports you, whether that’s nature, movement, breath, boundaries, relationships, or the steady presence of a horse beside you.
Because the goal isn’t to pretend the world isn’t happening.
The goal is to stay connected to yourself while it is.
And sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do, especially in a chapter like this, is to come back to what’s real:
The ground. The breath. The body. The wild.
