An Embodied Love for the Earth By Payam Ghassemlou MFT, Ph.D., SEP

My relationship with the Earth and my ecological consciousness have evolved over the years through an organic shift toward falling in love with the Earth. Like any love affair, my relationship with the Earth involves complicated and sometimes contradictory feelings—love, pleasure, intimacy, guilt, and grief. What began as an awareness of the natural world has gradually become a deeply personal and embodied relationship with the planet that sustains me.

In most world mythologies, including Persian mythology, the Earth is traditionally assigned a feminine gender. My love affair with the Earth, however, goes beyond gender. Many people who personify the Earth as a mother have found a loving way to relate to them. I relate to the Earth as a living being with a soul, while choosing not to assign them a gender. This allows me to experience the Earth without projecting masculine or feminine qualities onto them.

Some argue that because the Earth has traditionally been imagined as feminine, it has become an even greater target of abuse under patriarchy. There may indeed be a connection between the feminization of nature and the historical treatment of women and nature under patriarchal systems. But the problem isn't that the Earth has been imagined as feminine; the problem is what patriarchal cultures have historically done with things coded as feminine. Patriarchy has often portrayed femininity as weak and used that perception to justify domination and exploitation.

With our ecosystems in crisis, we need to develop an emotional and embodied relationship with the Earth—one that can change how we experience and respond to the ecological crisis. Those of us who hear the cry of the Earth can no longer ignore the pain inflicted on the planet by greed-driven consumerism. Given what we now know about the state of the planet and the climate crisis, we can no longer afford to live unconsciously. An economy based on endless expansion inevitably leads to the depletion and degradation of the Earth’s resources.

Spiritual leaders, scientists, and Indigenous leaders have warned us that the Earth is in peril as human activity continues to replace the living systems that sustain us with their destructive counterparts: fish in the oceans with plastic, rivers with toxic waste, forests with urban development, clean air with pollution, wetlands with concrete, and healthy ecosystems with garbage dumps.

As I mentioned, the Earth is not a resource to be exploited but a living planet with a soul. The Earth is alive and in need of love. We can relate to the Earth through experiences of love and pleasure. The Earth is generous enough to allow everyone, regardless of gender, to relate to them, love them, and experience the pleasure of their generosity. In this way, we can allow our ecological consciousness to begin as a bodily experience rather than as an intellectual belief.

In his lectures and books on spiritual ecology, Sufi mystic Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee has helped me develop a more soulful and embodied relationship with the planet. Inspired by Thich Nhat Hanh, as well as by my reading of Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee and Hillary Hart’s Spiritual Ecology: 10 Practices to Reawaken the Sacred in Everyday Life, I have allowed myself to experience the Earth more deeply through my senses. For example, during my afternoon walks, I walk as if I am kissing the Earth with my feet. The intimacy of sensing the Earth and feeling supported by them feels like a form of lovemaking that goes beyond the ordinary understanding of erotic experience.

Sometimes, as I walk, I enter into a quiet dialogue with the Earth and recite these words:

“Dear Earth, your gravity holds my body close to you, and your generosity sustains me each day. I love you, and my life is inseparable from yours.”

Breath and love create a powerful meeting between my inner world and the outer world—the love I carry in my heart and the air offered to me by the Earth. Consciously breathing in the air that the planet offers me while feeling love for the Earth creates a deep sense of intimacy and connection. This practice also helps me feel more settled and grounded in my body, supporting a greater sense of nervous-system regulation. There is something magical about a breath that flows through a settled body. When infused with love and compassion for the Earth, each breath becomes a bridge between my inner and outer worlds, carrying healing energy from within me into my relationship with the world around me. I believe that by going within and practicing meditation with the soul of the planet in our hearts, we can awaken a healing energy capable of loving the Earth back to health.

One of the most pleasurable experiences I have ever had in my relationship with the Earth is connected to the Caspian Sea. Its beaches were my childhood playground, and the child in me still feels a deep and special connection to them. As a child, I played freely along the shore, where the sand, water, and open space offered endless possibilities for imaginative play. There was something magical about digging into the sand and creating all kinds of things. Sometimes, I would build a mountain out of wet sand and then cover it with dry, white sand, pretending I had created a snow-covered mountain. When I felt ready to leave my creations behind, I would run toward the sea and body surf. I can still remember the cool sensation of the seawater against my body and the deep sense of refreshment it brought me.

I am painfully aware that the Caspian Sea is being threatened by climate change. It is the largest inland body of water on the planet, and its future is uncertain. This reality often triggers my ecological grief, which I experience deeply in my body. Sometimes, it shows up as a heartache in my chest; other times, it comes as tears. The remedy for this grief, I have found, is not to resist it but to allow myself to feel it and to share it with others who can understand and hold that grief with me.

I also struggle with eco-guilt. Every bottle of water I consume and every drop of gasoline I put into my car can become a source of guilt. Yet I don't believe that the burden of ecological guilt should fall primarily on individuals who are simply trying to live their lives. The major polluters—the corporations that profit from fossil fuels and other forms of environmental destruction—bear a far greater responsibility for the ecocide taking place on our planet. I have found that the antidote to my eco-guilt is to remember where the greater responsibility lies. Rather than allowing guilt to consume me, I remind myself that my role is to do what I can to love the Earth back to health.

As an exiled immigrant and a gay man of color who once experienced the United States as a safe refuge, I now recognize something important that I share with the Earth: The Earth, too, is seeking refuge from the threats it faces. When I feel overwhelmed by xenophobia or by the uncertain future of queer rights, I go to Will Rogers State Beach in Pacific Palisades. There, the sound of the ocean waves reminds me that I am loved by the Earth. The cool air against my skin feels like a kiss from them. In return, I hold the Earth in my heart and quietly whisper, “I love you, my Beloved Earth.”

My only offering to the Earth is the love I carry in my heart, together with my commitment to remind anyone I can reach not to forget the Earth. In moments when I feel threatened or displaced, my relationship with the Earth reminds me that I belong somewhere—and that the Earth, too, deserves to belong to itself, free from exploitation and destruction.

Finally, the longest and most enduring relationship is perhaps the love affair between the Earth and the Sun. The planet seems to say to the Sun, “I love you, and I need you,” and the Sun keeps giving. In the words attributed to the Sufi poet Hafiz, “Even after all this time the Sun never tells the Earth, ‘You owe me.’” Such a loving connection “lights up the whole sky.”

Similarly, in my relationship with the Earth, I have always felt a level of generosity that words cannot describe. I have received countless gifts from them, and each one reminds me of how deeply the Earth sustains me. Each time I taste the sweetness of a strawberry or feel the warmth of sunlight on my skin, I am reminded of this generosity.

Thank you, Earth!

© Payam Ghassemlou, MFT, Ph.D., SEP, is a psychotherapist (www.DrPayam.com), Somatic Experiencing Practitioner (www.SomaticAliveness.com), writer (https://www.drpayam.com/articles_and_book) ,and artist (https://SomaticAlivenessArt.etsy.com)

Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist online anywhere in CA, OR & FL.

 

Style Is Not Vanity — It’s Nervous System Regulation By Payam Ghassemlou MFT, Ph.D., SEP

No matter where you stand on the political spectrum, it is hard to escape the weight of a world that often feels unsettled. As a gay immigrant in these unprecedented times, my nervous system is frequently on high alert. I carry a constant awareness of the threats facing people like me, and that awareness inevitably shapes how I move through the world.

Because of this, I seek resources that offer me a sense of agency and help regulate my nervous system. Fashion and style have become both a personal resource and a form of armor — my runway to nervous system regulation. When I put thought into what I wear, I am not simply getting dressed; I am preparing myself to meet the world. Each outfit is an intentional act of protection and self-definition, allowing me to move through uncertainty while affirming my strength. Clothing becomes more than self-expression — it becomes a practice of resilience, presence, and self-preservation.

Whether my clothing changes how others perceive me is impossible to know. What I do know is that what I wear influences how I feel, and how I feel profoundly shapes both my mind and my body. Deciding how to present myself is one of the few areas of life where I have complete agency. By assigning conscious meaning to what I wear, getting dressed becomes an intentional ritual rather than a routine. Each outfit reminds me who I am and how I want to move through the world.

Clothing does more than cover my body, it communicates with it. The soft, smooth cotton against my skin while I walked to the market today sent signals of safety and comfort through my sense of touch, engaging neural pathways that connect physical sensation with emotion. Noticing the gentle texture against my chest is not merely an indulgence; it is a resource. It is a deliberate form of sensory input that helps regulate my nervous system, reminding me that even in an unpredictable world, my body can still experience moments of pleasure.

There is no universally “nervous system-friendly” fabric because sensory responses are deeply individual. My skin, the body’s largest sensory organ, is constantly gathering information from the environment. On days when everything feels overwhelming and my sympathetic nervous system is activated, I pay closer attention to how clothing feels against my body. Over time, I have noticed that softer, smoother fabrics provide a more supportive sensory experience, offering gentle tactile input that helps me feel grounded, regulated, and more connected to myself.

Wearing cologne is not simply a luxury; it is another intentional act of regulation. Scent has a unique relationship with the brain because the olfactory system is directly connected to regions involved in emotion and memory, including the amygdala and hippocampus. The fragrance I choose can influence my emotional state before I even leave home, creating a sense of familiarity, grounding, or calm. Like clothing, scent becomes part of a ritual of preparation — a quiet reminder to my nervous system that I can carry moments of safety with me, even when the world outside feels uncertain.

Unlike Imelda Marcos, the former First Lady of the Philippines, I do not own 3,000 pairs of shoes. But the collection I do have plays an important role in my personal style. For me, shoes are more than fashion accessories. They are part of my neuroaesthetic experience. The right pair supports a sense of confidence and grounding while contributing to the sensory and emotional experience of getting dressed. Like the rest of my wardrobe, my shoes are not simply about appearance; they are part of how I regulate my nervous system and prepare to meet the world.

I discovered fashion and style as a resource when I deepened my understanding of the workings of the autonomic nervous system (ANS). That understanding sparked what I can only describe as a love affair with my nervous system. The more I learned about stress, regulation, and resilience, the more intentional I became about surrounding myself with resources that support my nervous system. I also began to see my environment differently. Clothing is part of that environment. What touches my body affects my body. Over time, I realized that style is less about vanity than about well-being. Getting dressed has become a daily practice of regulation, resilience, and self-protection. I am, quite literally, dressing for safety.

In my somatic therapy practice, I often work with people who have sensory processing issues, many of whom are neurodivergent. I encourage them to pay close attention to how different fabrics feel against their skin. For many of them, everyday sensory stimuli feel threatening because their nervous systems detect danger at lower thresholds than those of most people. The goal is not to eliminate sensory input but to choose input that does not unnecessarily compete for attention. Sensory-friendly clothing does not mean wearing oversized or ill-fitting garments. In fact, clothing that constantly requires adjustment can create additional stress by demanding ongoing attention. Rather, sensory-friendly clothing is clothing that supports comfort, ease, and regulation while respecting each person’s unique sensory needs.

Some people dismiss fashion and style as superficial. My instinctive response — perhaps my nervous system briefly slipping into fight mode — is, “Then please don’t be seen with me.” Beneath the humor lies something more serious: style is often misunderstood. Caring about how I dress does not mean I care less about people or the planet. In fact, it has made me more intentional about both.

Before I buy something, I take time to learn about the people and communities behind it. I want to know that a garment was made under fair working conditions and that the people who created it were treated with dignity rather than exploited. For me, style is not just about aesthetics; it is an expression of my values.

I admire how Michelle Obama intentionally wore clothing by emerging and diverse designers — including Sergio Hudson, Jason Wu, and Tracy Reese — to elevate underrepresented talent and promote greater inclusion in the fashion industry. Her wardrobe demonstrated that style can be both beautiful and purposeful. When our clothing reflects our values, fashion becomes more than self-expression; it becomes a form of advocacy.

When it comes to clothing, I support body-positive fashion. To me, that means choosing clothing that fits and flatters my body rather than trying to conceal or reshape it. When we rely on clothing for validation instead of self-expression, we may find ourselves wearing garments that are stiff, restrictive, or uncomfortable simply because they look good. Even if we are not consciously aware of it, our bodies often register that discomfort. Tight waistbands, scratchy fabrics, or shoes that pinch can create a steady stream of low-level stress signals that make it harder for the nervous system to feel at ease.

The good news is that comfort and style do not have to compete. We can choose clothing that feels good against our bodies while expressing our creativity and individuality. When our clothes support both physical comfort and authentic self-expression, getting dressed becomes an act of self-care rather than self-criticism.

My relationship with clothing is also shaped by my belief that the Earth is not merely a resource to be consumed but a living planet deserving of care and respect. One way I honor that belief is by gladly accepting clothing from my husband, friends, and family members whose style I admire when they no longer wear certain pieces. Giving these garments a second life reduces the demand for new production, conserves valuable resources such as water and energy, lowers the carbon footprint associated with clothing, and helps keep textiles out of landfills. Dressing well and caring for the planet are not competing values — they are expressions of the same commitment to living intentionally.

When it comes to using clothing and fashion as a form of activism, I admire drag queens. Each has a unique sense of style, and with wit as sharp as their heels and creativity as boundless as their wardrobes, they challenge the norms that seek to limit us. My admiration also comes from a nervous system perspective. I once worked with someone who performed in drag and often struggled with feelings of shutdown and collapse in daily life. Yet when they stepped into drag, they described feeling more alive, energized, and fully themselves. Their clothing, makeup, and performance were not simply a costume — they became powerful resources that helped shift their nervous system into a state where connection, confidence, and creative expression felt possible. Drag queens are not merely entertainers; they are artists of expression, advocates for visibility, and fearless catalysts for social change. I could never be a drag queen because I lack the extraordinary talent required to take fabulousness to such a high level, but I deeply appreciate the way they use style to cultivate vitality, dignity, equality, and joy.

Inspired by Coco Chanel’s quote, “Life is a fashion show, and the world is my runway,” I believe that when we approach style with sensory awareness, clothing serves a purpose far greater than simply covering our bodies. What I wear has become a form of protection. Choosing clothes that fit well, flatter my body, and help me project confidence, competence, and resourcefulness is one way I navigate a world that can often feel unpredictable and unsafe. Dressing with intention does not erase the realities I face, but it gives me a greater sense of agency in how I meet them.

As someone who has crossed borders, I have come to think of my body as my country, my home. Home is not only a place, it is also a nervous system. Caring for it has become an act of citizenship. Clothing, chosen with intention and sensory awareness, is one way I practice that care.

© Payam Ghassemlou, MFT, Ph.D., SEP, is a psychotherapist (www.DrPayam.com), Somatic Experiencing Practitioner (www.SomaticAliveness.com), writer (https://www.drpayam.com/articles_and_book) ,and artist (https://SomaticAlivenessArt.etsy.com)

Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist online anywhere in CA, OR & FL.