In my personal life and work, I’ve experienced eco-anxiety as feelings of stress, overwhelm, fear and grief toward the climate and ecological crisis. Eco-anxiety’s close cousin is “ecophobia” - the feeling of powerlessness in the face of environmental catastrophe. This crops up in the stories I hear not only in the classroom, but in the boardrooms of some of the world’s biggest companies; “The system is too broken to change,” “I’m just one in 7.6 billion people… what difference can I make, really?”, “People who do take action are smarter or more experienced. I could never do what they do.”

In March of 2021, Force of Nature released a deep-dive report that captures the rise of eco-anxiety in young people globally. You can check it out at www.forceofnature.xyz/research

Eco-anxiety is not an illness or clinical condition. Feeling anxious in response to the 6th mass extinction, pervasive plastic pollution, and climate tipping points is a perfectly human, natural response. It shows that you care. Indeed, I would argue that eco-anxiety is not the problem, but that a lack of it is. Society is experiencing mass amnesia toward the damage we’re inflicting on nature (and ourselves). We’ve been lulled into complacency and subscribed to a story that serves neither the future we want to create, nor us, because we’re plastering over our feelings - and the knowledge that something is seriously wrong.

Anxiety can be a critical catalyst for action. When we allow ourselves to experience the depth of our feelings (creating a ‘container’ by way of community, and ‘outlet’ through activism), we’re in a better position to step up, rather than shut down.

For our grandparents, the threat was being razed to the ground by foreign enemies. For our parents, it was an imminent nuclear attack. But for our generation, there isn’t a frontline to bomb, a country to point at; our nemesis is slow-creeping. It lives under your roof, and mine. It lurks in the light bulbs we install, the food in our fridges, the clothes on our backs — the device you’re reading this on. We’re all responsible for the greatest threat facing humanity.

Losing Earth: The Decade We Almost Stopped Climate Change is a piece by Nathaniel Rich, addressing the period from 1979 to 1989 when humankind first came to a broad understanding of the causes and dangers of climate change, and when we “came so close, as a civilization, to breaking our suicide pact with fossil fuels.” The Unchained Goddess is a film released in 1958 that warned “man may be unwittingly changing the world’s climate” through the release of carbon dioxide.

Just as existential angst is nothing new, nor is climate change. And while it has shifted from the periphery of our collective vision to taking front and centre stage, I would argue that much of climate anxiety today stems not only alarming science, but a) greater awareness of the long-coordinated effort to pull the blanket over our eyes, b) people in elected positions of power failing to act with the urgency required, c) guilt at our personal, individual responsibility, and d) an uncertain future. People are awakening to the fact we’ve been lulled into a false sense of security and comfort. And we lack a clear path forward.

While psychologists might argue that fears about the climate crisis can worsen or trigger pre-existing mental health problems, I would reflect that eco-anxiety is part of a broader mental health crisis in my generation (Gen Z is said to be the most depressed in history). We’re disconnected from nature, one another, and ourselves - disconnected from intrinsic values of connection, community, and contribution. The way I’ve reinforced these values in my own life is connecting with likeminded individuals, maintaining a spiritual practice, and making decisions in service of a mission that’s bigger than myself. Also by creating a more empowering environment for myself, which includes limiting my time on social media - the doomsday headlines can often feels like a blackhole of negativity.

In many ways, it feels like we’re at a culmination point. This broader ‘disconnect’ dates back millennia, and while the severing between people, home and environment has been known for some time to indigenous cultures and frontline communities around the world, many of us in a bubble of relative climate privilege are only now appreciating its true impacts.

I’ve observed that climate anxiety is more evident in younger generations. We’re told that we have 11 years to transform the systems we’ve inherited, but had zero role in creating, and realise that while we might be the last generation with a window for change, we will also experience the worst brunt of the crisis if we fail.

Through our research at Force of Nature, interviewing 500+ young people in 52 countries, we found that 70% felt that climate change negatively contributed to their mental health; 70% felt hopeless in the face of climate change; and only 26% said they knew how to meaningfully contribute to solving climate change.

This being said, I also feel that young people have a unique advantage as change-makers. The young people I’ve worked with have a very clear sense of right and wrong. And because they haven’t grown accustomed to the systems that climate change tells us are broken, they see the absurdity of continuing with business as usual. This moral conviction is coupled with a level of passion and radicalism that I believe is necessary to redesign every part of how we live, breathe and exist in the 21st century. These young trailblazers haven’t been around long enough for society to clip the wings of their imaginations.

I used to think that my anxiety and overwhelm were things I needed to beat into submission. However, following a series of emotional breakdowns triggered by the Australian wildfires in 2019, I realised that becoming friends with my feelings was essential to navigating these increasingly turbulent, uncertain times.

It is essential to hold space for your feelings - to hold the tension between grief and optimism, and find space someplace in the messy middle for hope. We must look in the face of the damage already inflicted on the planet, and the role that we have each played. Equally, we must be able to imagine a new future - write a better story - and bring pockets of that future into the present.

We’re very good at internalising feelings, and we’ve become ok as a society with experiencing grief alone. But grief or anxiety should not be kept in the shadows. Attempting to deal with it alone can leave you feeling frozen and isolated; which is why I'm so grateful for the growing Force of Nature team and community, who I can connect with through my feelings. In the same way “forest bathing” is prescribed for mental health, I immerse myself in nature whenever I feel untethered or overwhelmed. In doing so, I’m able to reacquaint with the very thing I’m fighting for.

Mythology tells us that staring straight into hell will eventually turn someone to stone. Often, scrolling through Twitter feels like peering into that hellscape - stories of declining species, the failings of politicians, an ever-ticking doomsday clock. While social media has been an awesome tool for me to connect with change-makers from all corners, and stay up to date with climate developments, I don’t find it constructive to inundate myself to the point where I feel incapacitated.

I manage my time online and I surround myself with kickass individuals who are taking action in the face of extreme adversity. I feel that their stories - of individual initiative, and collective resilience - do more to incite action and inspire hope in me than the dystopian, doomsday narrative. Because while it serves a role, it currently crowds out the canopy, and I’d like to see media opening up for new shoots. Alternative types of story-telling.

I was reflecting on this as I strolled through the natural history museum with my then-6-year-old cousin, when she turned to me abruptly and asked about climate change and global warming. My first instinct was to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything would be ok. But that would be a lie - and while we may be compelled to protect our young, the best way we can do so is to prepare them for the future.

This means having caring, considered conversations that do not attempt to shield young people from the challenges they’re to inherit, but empower them to feel agency. Keeping children in the dark and concealing the truth is enormously irresponsible and plants the seeds for resentment. We see this brimming in the millions of young activists banner-blazing in the streets, who feel that the story they’ve grown up with has been a fairytale.

Children often have a greater carrying capacity and emotional intelligence than we give them credit for. Discussions with young people needs to come from a place of kindling ecophilia, or love and respect for our natural world (something already innate) - and be enshrined in igniting agency and self-efficacy.

In very simple terms, a conversation might sound something like: "It's normal to feel sad when you see the environment in distress, and overwhelmed by problems like climate change - but we all have a responsibility to be guardians of our planet, and we each have an essential role to play." Then explore what this can look like for your family, and help your child/children single out the issues they care about most deeply.

The climate crisis is multi-faceted, and overwhelm can stem from trying to tackle all of the problems. This is why I’d encourage you to help your kid(s) hone in on just one, i.e. deforestation from palm oil or plastic in your local river, and then brainstorm possible projects in the community or at school. Support them to realise these. And lead by example - not by passing on the baton but stepping up, to solve for your own challenge. We all need to appreciate our potential when we choose action over inaction.