Chapter 3. Mental Health Implications of Climate Change

For many people – especially those whose identities and livelihoods are rooted in the land – the warming world brings waves of anxiety, grief, and even trauma. An Inuit elder watching the sea ice vanish, a farmer helplessly surveying a withered field, a young activist fearing for the future – all may experience a deep sorrow that feels akin to losing a loved one. Psychologists now recognize phenomena such as eco-anxiety – intense worry about looming environmental threats – and ecological grief – mourning for the loss of ecosystems and species. These experiences are increasingly common and are considered natural responses to climate disruption (1). In fact, one public health report calls climate change “both universally traumatic and regionally nuanced,” noting it can aggravate depression, post-traumatic stress, and even “pre-traumatic stress” – a sense of dread for what hasn’t happened yet (2). In other words, many people are living with anticipatory grief: mourning losses that are feared but not yet realized (3).

One new term, solastalgia, captures the unique pain of environmental change at home. Coined by an Australian philosopher, it refers to the “homesickness you feel when you are still at home” – when the familiar landscape you love is irreversibly altered (4). Unlike nostalgia (missing the past), solastalgia is distress in the present. For example, long-time residents of forested regions devastated by wildfire, or coastal villagers seeing their shoreline eaten away by the sea, can experience this haunting loss of solace. Solastalgia is distinguished from eco-anxiety in that the latter points to worry about future changes (what some call a “pre-traumatic” stress), whereas solastalgia is rooted in the here-and-now reality of a changed home (5). Both are accompanied by a sense of powerlessness over the change – a key factor that can deepen despair (4).

Crucially, these mental health impacts do not strike everyone equally. Peoples whose lives and cultures are closely tied to nature are often hit hardest. Researchers report that those who rely on the land for their livelihood and identity – such as Indigenous communities and farmers – are at the forefront of experiencing climate-related anxiety and grief (1). Indigenous elders in the Arctic have described feeling grief as they witness ancestral ice routes and hunting traditions disappear. In Labrador, Canada, Inuit community members articulated profound sorrow and “sense of loss” as climate change disrupts sea ice and wildlife cycles central to their culture (6). Likewise, farmers and ranchers around the world are grappling with emotional distress as once-predictable seasons turn chaotic. “It’s putting people in a place of extreme apprehension, where they feel there is no way out,” observed one rural psychologist of the recent climate-related hardships faced by American farmers (7). Wildfires, droughts, floods, failed crops – these threats are not just economic blows, but existential ones that drive some to anxiety, depression, and even despair (7). A farmer who inherits generations of stewardship for a piece of land may feel personal failure and grief when that land can no longer sustain life as before.

It’s important to understand that these emotional reactions – anxiety, grief, anger, hopelessness – are not signs of personal weakness or lack of faith. On the contrary, mental health experts emphasize that such feelings are rational and even healthy responses to an existential crisis. Dr. Ashlee Cunsolo, who studies climate grief in Indigenous communities, notes that “ecological grief and anxiety are rational, reasonable responses to the climate crisis.” Learning to embrace sorrow is, in fact, a vital part of coping with climate pain (6). Grieving what is lost (or what we fear will be lost) affirms how much it matters. Just as we hold funerals to honor a beloved person, allowing ourselves to mourn dying forests or disappearing species acknowledges our love for creation. Many scholars now suggest that “mourning and grieving for ecological losses” can be a necessary step toward healing (8). Unprocessed, unspoken grief can weigh on the soul like a hidden wound. But when people are given permission to name their pain and share it with others, it can open a path forward. As one climate activist and pastor put it, “Grief is what we have to go through. It’s the door we have to open in order to become an [agent of change].” (9) In other words, moving through climate grief can eventually lead to reinvigoration – a recommitment to protecting what remains and to preventing future losses.

For moral and spiritual leaders, all of this presents both a challenge and an opportunity. As the climate crisis intensifies, people will increasingly turn to their faith communities for solace, understanding, and meaning. In times of upheaval, religious traditions have long helped people cope with trauma and uncertainty. The climate era is no different. In fact, faith leaders may be uniquely positioned to tend to this emerging mental-spiritual health need. One climate researcher observed, “[Faith leaders] are the perfect community leaders to hold people’s suffering and grief and help people to make sense of what is happening around them.” (9) In the context of climate change, religious and spiritual caregivers can act as a kind of chaplain for an ailing planet – creating safe spaces for people to voice their eco-anxieties and despair, and guiding them toward resilience and hope.