The Loss We Don't Know How To Mourn: Why We Need To Talk About Ecological Grief

When someone we love dies, we grieve. We have funerals and memorials, there are cards and flowers and, although it is never easy, we recognise grief as a natural response to loving someone who is no longer here. We recognise it, and there is permission to feel it.

But what happens when what we lose is not a person? 

What happens when it is a species that disappears forever, a woodland that is cut down, a coral reef that turns white, or even a future we had assumed would still exist? 

These losses rarely come with public acknowledgement. There are no ceremonies for the last individual of a species. There are no established rituals for mourning a vanished glacier or the silence left behind by birds that no longer return each spring. Yet for many people, these losses can feel deeply personal, and deeply upsetting. 

A recent article in The Guardian featured ecological grief, and I was so encouraged by the fact that it was a topic that has finally featured in the mainstream media and that it acknowledged that this type of grief is being increasingly recognised. For too long, these feelings have been overlooked or dismissed as unusual, despite the fact that many people have been experiencing these feelings for years. 

I know I have. Long before there was a word for it, or the term “eco-anxiety” even existed, I remember feeling profound sadness about the destruction of the environment. I studied conservation biology and learned in great detail the many ways human activity was creating losses of individuals, species, habitats, sometimes whole ecosystems.

I have definitely grieved for animals like Cecil the lion, whose death resonated with millions of people around the world. Also for the many species caught up in Australia’s devastating bushfires. Our current heatwave throughout the northern hemisphere is making me think of the unreported animal injuries and deaths. Places can be grieved for too – I was extremely lucky to spend several months in the Amazon rainforest and I mourn the loss of vast areas of it because it's a place I care about.  

But when we feel a deep connection to nature, we care about all of it. And because so much of it is under threat, it can feel like a lot to grieve for. That can be quite an overwhelming feeling, exacerbated by feeling like we are the only ones experiencing it. For a long time, I assumed I was the only one. I rarely heard anyone speak openly about grieving animals or environmental loss in general, and because of that, I wondered if my reactions were “weird” or excessive. 

We know now that they are not. They area a completely normal emotional response to recognising that something important to us is disappearing. It’s not the object of our grief that defines it, it’s the relationship to it. Many of us have experienced this in other areas of our lives that show u s that grief is not just about losing people – perhaps we’ve grieved homes we have left behind, cherished pets, or treasured possessions.  

Environmental loss is the same, if we have a meaningful relationship with nature then we may grieve when that relationship is damaged. And given that we are part of nature, not separate from it, that relationship runs deep. An old tree that’s been cut down, a local park that’s been developed on, an animal who has been injured...they hold meaning for us.

Whether near to us or far away, they are part of our lives and our understanding of the world. 

So, far from being irrational, ecological grief reflects our capacity to care. Yet so few of the conversations about the environmental crisis feature the emotional reality of living through all the ecological change that is happening. It can feel isolating. I fear that so many people are trying to process these losses in silence. Some may try to push difficult feelings away because it's so overwhelming. Others may worry their grief makes them appear pessimistic or unproductive if they dwell on it. I think I’ve felt all these things. None if it helps, because avoiding grief doesn’t make it disappear, it just resurfaces as anxiety, numbness, or helplessness. 

This is one reason mindfulness can be so valuable. 

Mindfulness is sometimes misunderstood as a way of making unpleasant emotions disappear. In reality, it’s much more helpful. It teaches us to notice our experience without immediately fighting against it. It helps us make space for sadness without being consumed by it. We accept that we feel grief. Acceptance is not the same as approval or giving up – it's actually the willingness to acknowledge reality as it is, so that we can respond wisely instead of reacting from overwhelm. 

When we allow ourselves to recognise ecological grief for what it is, we stop trying to fix it and instead understand it as something we need to acknowledge and give ourselves time to sit with and to move through.  

Another important point is that it’s difficult to grieve what we have never really noticed. 

Modern life asks us to direct our attention almost constantly towards screens, notifications and an endless stream of information. As our attention becomes fragmented, our relationship with the living world can gradually become more distant. We may know intellectually that biodiversity is declining, but we lose the everyday intimacy that allows nature to become personally meaningful. 

Paying close attention to nature changes that. 

It helps us notice the first swallows returning in spring, the wildflowers appearing at the roadside, the familiar tree outside our window, or the insects visiting our garden. It deepens our connection with the living world, and with that deeper connection often comes a greater awareness of what is being lost. 

That awareness can of course be painful. But it’s not a weakness, or some flaw that needs correcting. The opposite of grief is not happiness. More often than not, it is indifference. If we disconnect from nature simply to avoid painful emotions, we also disconnect from wonder, gratitude, belonging and hope. And the motivation and energy required to take action to protect nature.

We need to develop ways to cope with our grief, as well as the emotional resilience that will allow us to care deeply without becoming overwhelmed. 

When we acknowledge our grief, we’re also practicing compassion. When we accept our emotions rather than suppress them, we become better able to choose thoughtful, constructive responses. Grief does not have to lead to despair. It can act as a reminder of what we value and why those values deserve our attention. 

That’s why I am so thankful that ecological grief is beginning to enter mainstream conversation. Naming an experience gives people permission to recognise it in themselves, and perhaps even open up to others about what we’re feeling. It reminds us that we are not isolated in our feelings and that our emotional responses are part of being human in a rapidly changing world. 

If you have ever felt sadness for a disappearing species, an altered landscape or the state of our planet, I hope you know that your grief is not something to be ashamed of. It is evidence of connection, of love for other living beings and wonderful places – it's a recognition that the natural world matters. These are exactly the qualities that our beautiful planet needs now more than ever.