Bipolar 2 From Inside and Out

Posts tagged ‘nature’

The Power of Awe

My husband asked me if I wanted to watch this movie, Operation: Arctic Cure. He knows I love stories about people who face hardship. Sometimes they triumph. Sometimes they fail. But they’re always out there trying. Dan also knows that I like stories of Arctic adventure—mountain climbers, exploration ships, races to the pole, and the like. So he figured the movie would be perfect for me. And it was.

It was a documentary telling the story of a handful of people cross-country skiing across Baffin Island, Canada, to reach Mount Thor, pictured above. What made this expedition different was that the participants were all people who had been injured in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Most were soldiers, but one was a news correspondent who had been caught in an IED explosion and suffered traumatic brain injury (TBI). The other people on the expedition also had TBI or amputated limbs. And PTSD.

The people who conceived the expedition were hoping that the experience would somehow help them alleviate the PTSD. The teamwork, the effort, the hardships for a cause were all hoped to be therapeutic.

Another inspiration for the trek was Dacher Keltner’s book Awe. In it, the researcher on emotions posited that encounters with the wonders of nature could have beneficial effects on the brain and body. These outcomes would be largely self-reported, of course, but were backed up by scientific data. The participants took their cortisol levels, a measure of stress hormones, before the trip and twice a day during it. They also had sensors that recorded the length and quality of their sleep. And they kept video diaries, with their faces computer-analyzed for symptoms of stress through eye movement and changes in facial expression.

They did indeed encounter hardships. The skiers pulled heavy loads of their gear behind them. There was the numbing cold, vicious winds that held up their travel, and one amputee whose prosthetic caused so much pain that for one day she couldn’t walk. One of the men pulled her along with his own pack so she could stay with the expedition until she was able to adjust her foot the next day. They talked, of course, sharing stories of their war experiences and their families. One participant came to realize that he hadn’t been in touch with people he knew during the war and that he needed to be.

Where did Keltner’s book fit in? It proposed that the experience of awe, perhaps best encountered in nature, had healing properties. The expedition certainly had those awe-some experiences. They were far enough north to see huge displays of the Northern Lights. They conquered milestones such as reaching the Arctic Circle. And they made it to the foot of Mount Thor, a rugged landscape that features the world’s highest vertical cliff.

But those were subjective experiences. Was there science to back up Keltner’s claim and to validate the emotions described by the participants?

The measures of cortisol provided interesting feedback. In normal individuals, cortisol levels start high in the morning and decline through the day, leaving the body ready for peaceful sleep at night. The participants started the journey with cortisol levels significantly lower than average and rapidly declining throughout the day. By the end of the trek, their cortisol levels approached normal. And their sleep quality and length improved as well. One participant had a 40% increase in his sleep stats.

The movie followed the injured warriors during their trek, but not afterward, so it’s unclear whether the gains lasted. But they evidently experienced something profound. They spoke of the clarity from being in nature and the feeling of being a part of the world around them.

Many books and articles on self-care recommend being out in nature. Most of them talk about the benefits of sunlight, motion, and exercise. Keltner’s book and the film suggest a broader effect. The feeling of awe, of being one with the natural world, could increase a person’s peace, happiness, and a deeper connection to other human beings.

It was pointed out that you don’t have to travel to extreme environments to experience this awe. It’s all around us, if only our eyes are opened to it.

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Mental Health

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Out of the House – At Last

Brandywine Falls

Brandywine Falls

If everything goes according to plan (which we all know it never does), this post will be publishing itself while I am at or on my way to this scenic location, Brandywine Falls in Cuyahoga National Park.

I was attracted to this particular location when I read on the Internet that, in addition to access via a 1.75-mile hiking trail, the falls could also be reached using a wooden boardwalk from a nearby parking lot.

This easy access appeals to me because I have balance problems and sometimes use a cane, as well as because I seldom leave the house and have difficulty walking any distance. My husband encourages me to get out and walk, reminding me that exercise is good for depressive episodes, but just getting out of the house for doctors’ appointments and a few errands leaves me with no spoons for recreational walking. It’s a pretty dreary life, though there is a nice window in my study, through which I can see shrubs and trees, the occasional hummingbird or squirrel, or that stupid bird that sometimes flies straight into the glass and bonks itself silly.

There were actually tears in my eyes when I mentioned the expedition to Dan.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Would you drive a long way with me to do something that requires very little time to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“See this waterfall,” I said, pointing at the screen. I explained about the parking lot and the boardwalk.

“How far is it?”

“Near Cleveland. About three hours. Each way.”

It sounded ridiculous even as I said it. A six-hour drive to walk a very short distance and look at a waterfall.

“We could stop along the way to get something to eat. Or we could pack a picnic. You could bring your camera and take nature photos.”

I needn’t have worked so hard to make it sound attractive. Getting out of the house to go see something scenic and outdoors is something my husband has been longing for us to share.

Naturally, as soon as we agreed to go, my brain went into overdrive, doing my usual job of trying to anticipate everything. We would need to GoogleMap directions, of course. We would need some kind of waterproof bag with cold packs and bottles of water. Bandanas to moisten and wipe our sweaty brows (the temperature will likely be in the 80s and I don’t do well in heat). Bug spray. My cane and maybe a walking stick for him. At times like this, I tend to plan the Normandy Invasion.

This is a ridiculous idea/plan. After the last month and a half I’ve had, it’s a wonder that I’m not just crouched in a corner going beeble-beeble-beeble. But if it works, we may make the same drive in a few weeks to go to a horticultural center and canopy walk, if only so I can make the old, bad joke (You can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think) and we can meet up with some Cleveland-area friends we haven’t seen in far too long.

So. Getting out. Exercise. Nature. Relaxation. Fresh air. No computer access. Potential socializing. I don’t know whether these things will have any actual positive effects, but I like to think that my therapist will be proud of me.

Never mind that there are plenty of places nearer – even locally – to walk short distances and see nature. Never mind that my therapist often recommends that I take baby steps. This is a baby step. For God’s sake, I used to be able to hike in the Adirondacks. To travel. To Europe. By myself.

I don’t know why I was able to do that then, but can’t now. Bipolar disorder didn’t strike me suddenly, after I had done all those things. Maybe back then I was better at functioning. Maybe life and bipolar had not yet overwhelmed my ability to cope. Maybe I was in remission (or whatever they call it). Maybe I was hypomanic. It’s a mystery to me.

But maybe, just maybe, I can take this baby step toward reclaiming some of the things that used to bring me pleasure. It’s about damn time.

 

 

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