How Forest Bathing Can Gently Support Loneliness

Loneliness is becoming one of the quiet epidemics of our time.

Here in Sydney - a vibrant, busy, outwardly connected city - many people still carry a private sense of disconnection.

According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, around 1 in 6 Australians aged 15 and over report often feeling lonely (2023). Research from Ending Loneliness Together suggests that up to 1 in 3 Australians experience loneliness at some level.

Loneliness is not simply about being alone.

It is the feeling of not belonging. Of not being seen. Of being separate.

Many of the people I have had the privilege to guide on Forest Bathing walks are carers - those who devote themselves to looking after others. These carers often pour out so much energy that there is little left for themselves.

I was particularly struck by an article I read recently, which said:

“When you’re always the helper, people start seeing you as a resource rather than a person. You become the emotional support system, the problem solver, the rock. And rocks, as everyone knows, don’t need checking on.”

(source : https://geediting.com/d-bt-psychology-says-the-loneliest-people-in-life-arent-the-ones-nobody-likes-theyre-the-kind-helpful-people-everyone-appreciates-but-nobody-thinks-to-check-on-because-they-seem-so-self-suff/)

This resonates deeply with my experience. On the walks I’ve led for carers, the effect has been profound. In the forest, they are not expected to give or solve anything. There is no one asking anything of them. They simply exist, surrounded by nature, guided gently through the sensory experience and cared for. Ending the walk with a tea ceremony allows them a quiet ritual of restoration.

For these carers, Forest Bathing provides a rare and essential space to breathe, to soften and to feel seen and supported, not as a helper but as a human being.

As a Forest Therapy Guide, I often witness how gently and quietly nature begins to soften that separation.

Entering the forest is not just a movement of the body; it is a movement of attention. Our senses begin to adjust. We gently and naturally shift from thinking to sensing.

During a walk, we notice the different textures of bark. We feel the warmth of sunlight on our skin. We observe the movement of leaves in the wind.

We step out of isolation in the mind and into relationship with the present moment.

We begin relating to sound, colour, scent and life itself.

If 1 in 6 Australians often feel lonely, this is not a personal failure. It is a cultural signal.

Perhaps what many of us are missing is not more stimulation, but more meaningful connection.

In the forest, we witness cycles of growth and decay. Nothing is excluded. Fallen leaves nourish new life. Every element has a place.

In Japanese philosophy, there is the concept of Wabi Sabi - the beauty of imperfection and impermanence. Our vulnerable feelings, too, are part of being human.

They are not flaws. They are invitations to reconnect.

Trees and moss grow slowly.

The wind does not require conversation.

The forest does not ask us to perform.

The forest reminds us:

You are breathing with the trees.

You are supported by the earth.

You are not separate.

Loneliness may not disappear overnight, but in the quiet presence of nature and gentle community, it can begin to soften.

Loneliness narrows our world.

Nature widens it again.

We begin to feel included in something living and interconnected without effort.