Some days, getting outside feels downright impossible. My body hurts. My mind feels heavy. The kids are bouncing off the walls or melting down. My wife is wrestling her own storms. And yet, again and again, we lace up our shoes, pack snacks, load up the van, and go.

We go because my kids need to learn good coping skills and how to regulate their own sensory systems. We go because nature grounds my wife and gives her some peace. We go because I love my life more than I hate my pain.

Picture this: I wake up with a headache, and by 9:30, I’ve already declared it a low-energy day and am fantasizing about a nap. But—as any mother can tell you—kids don’t exactly save their best behavior for the days you’re feeling crummy. In my experience, the days when I’m struggling most physically or mentally are often the same days my kids seem determined to test the structural integrity of the entire household. Especially when I can’t be as present to help them navigate meals, chores, or schoolwork.

Raeleigh wants to argue with everyone, including the cat. Channing keeps begging us all to please be quiet because he has a headache while simultaneously making more noise than anyone else in the house. Meanwhile, Royce won’t nap because he’s overstimulated and can’t settle, and I’m about five seconds away from losing my mind if we don’t get out of the house and try something different.

In our house, sensory processing differences mean dysregulation takes many forms. For one kid, it shows up as boredom and picking fights. For another, it’s headaches, quiet pleas for silence, or a total shutdown. Hunger, overstimulation, or sudden changes can set any of them off. Each of my kids’ nervous systems speaks a different language, and some days it feels like I’m trying to translate a dozen dialects at once. Dysregulation can look like arguing, crying, screaming, self-harm, reckless behavior, or any number of creative new ways their bodies and minds show they’re struggling.

But still — we go.

Because nature keeps giving us what we can’t always find at home.

Living with Pain and Needing More Than Walls

I live with chronic illness, neurodivergence, and a pain disorder. There are days when pain is my constant companion, no matter where I am. And sometimes, after being cooped up inside too long, I realize the pain will follow me whether I’m lying in bed or sitting under the trees.

So I choose the trees.

Outside, the pain might not disappear, but the sky feels bigger than my suffering. I can focus on the cool breeze, the scent of pine, and the sun glinting off the water — and for a few moments, the pain fades into the background instead of hogging center stage. Getting outside and feeling connected to the wide, wonderful world around me reminds me to breathe deeper, shift my focus, and let the pain become just a little bit easier to bear.

Benefits of Nature for Body and Mind

Nature isn’t just pretty — it’s free therapy backed by science.

Spending time outdoors has been shown to lower stress hormones like cortisol, boost mood, and reduce symptoms of anxiety and depression. One study in Frontiers in Psychology found that even 20 minutes in nature significantly lowered stress hormone levels (Hunter et al., 2019).

For neurodivergent folks and anyone with sensory sensitivities, natural spaces offer gentle, rhythmic sensory input — like rustling leaves or babbling water — that can help calm overstimulated nervous systems. Research suggests nature can even improve attention and decrease mental fatigue, especially for people who get easily overwhelmed (Berman et al., 2008).

There’s also early research hinting that time in nature might help reduce the perception of chronic pain, possibly by shifting our focus away from discomfort and lowering stress-related inflammation. It’s not magic — but sometimes it’s enough to take the edge off.

I feel these truths in my own body every time I’m out under the trees.

How Nature Helps My Family

It’s not just me who needs the outdoors.

My wife lives with Bipolar I and CPTSD. She doesn’t always talk about it, but I see her whole face soften when we’re in the woods or sitting near a quiet lake. She especially loves the sound of running water. The constant noise in her mind seems to hush for a while. She’s often quiet when she’s struggling, but nature grounds her in a way four walls never can. She smiles more, laughs more, and sometimes she just stands there breathing it all in like she’s soaking up medicine.

My kids need this time in nature too. My teenage daughter, Raeleigh, helps with the baby when we’re out, but I also make sure she has the time and freedom to wander and explore without judgment. My son, Channing, struggles with sensory overload in busy places. But on a forest path, he’s calmer. He listens for forest sounds, collects interesting rocks to throw, and feels safe enough to just be his silly self. And Royce has a hundred different things to check out the second we set him down outside the van. He’s always busy exploring and fusses the least when he’s outdoors — unless he drops his snacks and has to throw them away. Then all bets are off.

Why We Keep Going, Even When It’s Hard

Getting outside with a disabled parent, a partner managing mental health, and neurodivergent kids isn’t exactly a walk in the park — though sometimes it literally is. It takes planning, flexibility, and the ability to laugh when things fall apart.

But it’s worth it.

Because in nature, we remember who we are beyond diagnoses and limitations. We connect to something bigger than ourselves and find sparks of joy that remind us life is still beautiful — even on the painful days.

3 Tips for Families Trying to Get Into Nature with Chronic Illness or Disability

1. Start Small and Stay Close

Don’t pressure yourself to go on epic hikes. A walk in a local park, a picnic under the trees, or sitting by a pond for 20 minutes counts. It’s not about distance — it’s about connection. Sometimes, even taking a slow drive through the countryside can change your outlook, especially if the weather is misbehaving.

2. Pack Comfort Items

For us, that means sensory headphones, snacks, medication, water, and layers of clothes for sudden weather changes. It might also mean a sketchbook for me or Raeleigh, skateboards for Channing and Sylas, and the backpack leash for Royce. I always bring a chair so I have a place to rest. The kids are good helpers, carrying our things along — sometimes with dramatic sighs and complaints, but they carry them nonetheless. The right gear can turn a stressful outing into a peaceful one.

3. Lower Expectations and Look for Little Wins

Some days, Royce might melt down, or we may have to leave early because it starts raining sideways. And that’s okay. Focus on small moments — the sound of leaves, a glimpse of a bird, a breath of fresh air. Look for the wonder on your young child’s face as they take in the greatness of the world around them. Let your teenager be “bored,” sitting on a bench — they’re still soaking up sunshine and fresh air. Let your son be noisy, calling out to hear his voice echo, even though he’s usually the one telling the rest of us to shush. All those little moments add up.

Nature keeps saving the day, again and again. And even when it’s hard, even when it hurts, we keep going outside — because out here, we find pieces of ourselves we never want to lose.

❤️🌿 Mimi