Grounded in Nature: Finding Strength While Living with Lynch Syndrome

Georgia Hurst is a fierce patient advocate for those with Lynch syndrome. Catch up on all of Georgia's blogs here!

“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” — Henry David Thoreau

Living with Lynch syndrome means facing uncertainty with careful attention and a hopeful heart. In the midst of this, nature gently shows me that a sense of wonder and something greater surrounds us everywhere. Hiking beneath the trees, breathing in the cedar's aroma, and observing nature's gifts, I find calm and connection.

I walk the forest with my dog, and its trail becomes a metaphor for life itself. Sometimes the path is clear and straight; other times, it twists into unexpected turns. Deer dart across my way; a coyote trails silently behind; I spot mushrooms and stones cloaked in lush, mossy growth. Occasionally, I witness nature red in tooth and claw — a hawk swooping down to capture a bunny and feast before my eyes. Fallen trees often block the trail, turning the journey into an unpredictable obstacle course. The forest reminds me that life is full of surprises, both beautiful and challenging.

I especially love walking through the woods after a storm. The air is thick with petrichor — the earthy scent of rain meeting hot soil — and everything feels rinsed clean, raw, honest, and alive. Branches may be broken; puddles reflect the wounded canopy above; and fallen trees often lie across the path. Yet, even among the damage, there are signs of renewal. The ferns slowly unfurl; mushrooms break through the damp soil; and sunlight slips through the thinning clouds. It all feels familiar, like a reflection of my path: weathered by storms, changed in ways I didn't expect, but still growing. The forest doesn't dwell on what's broken, it leans into what's next, and that's where I find my hope.

I am in awe of the cathedral of trees around me. I feel tiny and insignificant yet deeply connected. It humbles me to realize I am just one small part of a vast, resilient ecosystem, one that adapts and renews itself with quiet strength. This resilience and constant adaptation inspire me.

Trees don't rush to grow, nor do they cling to old leaves or resist the coming seasons; they simply let them go when the time comes. They bend when the wind howls, yet somehow, they keep growing. There is something meditative and soothing in their quiet wisdom — a reminder that strength isn't always loud. Sometimes it simply stands tall, rooted and patient. Being in nature calls me to slow down, breathe deeply, and trust the cycles of growth and change unfolding both within me and around me.

The scent of cedar soothes my nerves and slows my breath, like an old friend quietly reassuring me that I am safe. Mushrooms and fungi fascinate me most. I notice the intricate network of fungi growing beneath the forest floor and on decaying logs. At first, I knew little; some mushrooms looked strange or colorful, others almost invisible unless I looked closely. But the more I learned, the more fascinated I became. Fungi play a crucial yet often overlooked role in the natural world.

Through vast underground mycelium networks, fungi connect trees, helping plants share nutrients and communicate with one another. They break down dead matter, recycling it into new life. Thriving by adapting to change, fungi quietly support the ecosystems in which they live. Mycelium links trees together, allowing them to share nutrients and even alert other organisms to danger; it is vital to the forest's health.

The forest teaches me that survival isn't always loud or visible. Strength often lies in adaptability, quiet support systems, and finding nourishment even in the darkest moments. I try to carry that wisdom with me, accepting change, tending to what's beneath the surface, and staying rooted while reaching for the light.

Science confirms that spending time in nature, breathing fresh air, soaking up sunlight, and immersing ourselves in green space is essential for well-being. Numerous studies show that ‘forest bathing’ lowers stress, boosts immune function, and lifts the spirit. For someone managing health challenges, these benefits can feel like a vital lifeline.

When life feels uncertain, I've found that nature has helped me feel grounded, as it is a space that humbles, heals, and never turns me away. The woods remind me, time and again, that change isn't something to fear; it can open the door to clarity. Like Thoreau, I walk among the trees and somehow come out standing a little taller.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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