Screen Time to Green Time: Treating Nature Deficit Disorder

The other day, while leading a forest bathing session, I watched as a woman in her sixties reclined back and laid on the forest floor among the moss and leaves. She smiled gently, then looked up at me with a grin. "I forgot," she said. "I forgot how this feels."

In that moment, I witnessed something I've seen countless times over my nearly five years as a mindful outdoor guide—the powerful reunion between a human and the natural world they have been separated from. It's a separation that has a name, and understanding it might be the first step toward healing.

Participants on a recent guided hike making an Earth Mandala

What Is Nature Deficit Disorder?

In 2005, journalist and child advocate Richard Louv introduced the term "nature deficit disorder" in his groundbreaking book Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children From Nature-Deficit Disorder. While not a medical diagnosis, nature deficit disorder describes something many of us feel but struggle to name: the human cost of becoming disconnected from the natural world. Louv connected this lack of contact to troubling childhood trends including increases in obesity, attention disorders, and depression. But this isn't only about children. As adults, we're experiencing this deficit too, and it's affecting us in ways we're only beginning to understand.

The Screen Has Become Our Window to the World

Where is our attention going these days? Americans now spend an average of about 7 hours per day on screens, and for teenagers aged 13-18, that number jumps to over 8.5 hours daily—more time than most of us spend sleeping. This is time spent watching shows, playing video games, cruising the internet, and scrolling social media.

I'm not here to demonize technology—I use it too, and I'm using it right now to reach you. But I am inviting us to get curious about what we might be trading away. When our primary window to the world is a screen, we're experiencing life through a filter that never lets us feel the temperature of the air, smell the rain coming, or hear the rustle of leaves. We miss the vast blue sky, the endless ocean horizon, and the miles-long views from atop a mountain.

Cost of Disconnection to Benefits of Connection

The research on what this disconnection is doing to us is disturbing. Studies have found that increased screen time is associated with higher levels of anxiety, depression, and stress. One study following preteens found that more screen time was linked to more severe symptoms of depression, anxiety, inattention, and aggression.

But there's hope. The same research shows that spending time outdoors—what researchers call "green time"—is associated with lower stress and depression. Even more fascinating, students who spent average or above-average time outside showed fewer mental health symptoms even as they still used screens but with lower levels of screen time. Nature isn't just nice to have—it's actually protective.

In my work, I see this play out in real time. People arrive at sessions carrying the weight of their week… the emails, the notifications, the feeling of being glued to their phones. Their shoulders are up around their ears. Their breath is shallow. They're here, but they're not really here.

And then something shifts. Maybe it's when they're invited to take off their shoes and feel grass beneath their feet. Maybe it's when they finally notice the intricate pattern on a leaf they've walked past a thousand times. Maybe it's when they realize they've gone twenty minutes without checking their phone and the world didn't end.

Through guiding people mindfully in nature, I've learned that nature deficit disorder isn't just about not seeing enough trees. It's about losing touch with something essential in ourselves, and being present. When we're constantly connected to devices, we're living in perpetual partial attention. We're never fully present anywhere, always responding to notifications, anticipating the next ping, preparing for what's next instead of experiencing what is.

Nature has a way of pulling us back into the present moment. You can't scroll through a sunset. You can't fast-forward through a bird's song. The natural world operates on its own timeline, and when we step into it, we're invited to slow down to its rhythm.

An Invitation

Here's what I know after years of witnessing people reconnect with nature: we don't need to move to the mountains, take long vacations to national parks, or quit our jobs. We don't need to become wilderness experts or buy expensive gear. We just need to go outside and start noticing.

Notice the quality of light in the morning. Feel the temperature of the air on your skin. Listen for birds. Touch tree bark. Sit on the ground. Look up at the sky.

Start small. Maybe it's five minutes in your backyard. Maybe it's your lunch break in a park. Maybe it's a moment before bed to gaze at the moon and stars. The research backs this up with findings consistently show that limiting screen time while encouraging more green time supports healthy development and mental wellbeing.

But there's something else just as important. In this practice, there's the possibility of remembering who we are when we're not performing, producing, or consuming. There's the chance to feel the relief of being one small part of something vast and interconnected, rather than the center of our own anxious universe. And there's the comfort of realizing that we are ourselves part of nature. We are made of the same elements, intimately connected to the Earth and the beings and life it supports.

Loving Our Home

Returning to the woman laying on the forest floor? After our session, she told me she used to spend hours outside as a child lying in grass, climbing trees, collecting rocks. Somewhere along the way, between school and career and the demands of adult life, she'd forgotten that she was the kind of person who did those things. "I love this," she said. "I love being outside and spending time connected to the trees and the ground and the flowers."

And we know that as humans, we will protect what we love. Reconnecting to the love of the natural world has ripple effects as we work to protect it. Remembering who we are—not in our minds, but in our bodies, in our senses, in the part of us that knows we belong to the earth as much as we belong to any institution, any inbox, any screen.

Nature deficit disorder is real, and it's affecting millions of us. But a deficit can be remedied. The natural world is still here, still waiting, still offering its particular medicine of presence, wonder, and belonging. And asking us for our love and protection.