Once I experienced a total panic attack in a conference room. It was not the type of “I am anxious about this presentation” anxiety. It was more like, “I can’t breathe, my chest feels like it is being crushed, I am dying” breakdown and escape that led to me curled up, sobbing under a desk while my worried coworkers deliberated whether they should call 911. I went through three weeks of suffering in a basement office devoid of windows, stuffed with blaring fluorescent lights, fake plants, and air so stagnant it was like a sorrowful gray cloud waiting to be set free.
I’d say this was one of the worst moments in my career, to put it mildly.
I was preparing this enormous project for a client that involved all hands on deck. That’s where everyone on the team has to get involved, like the way a parent makes everyone help with the chores by yelling “No one leaves until this is done.” In this case, the “parent” is the CEO of my company. Personally, I prefer the “parent” on cruise mode. Where was I? Ah, yes, back to the storage room. So, me and a group of 5 had made five deep dives into “what used to be a storage room” but is, in fact, a converted cell/shack abs cabin which has no windows, lights, decoration, or natural flora. From windows to synthetic everything there was a shocking lack of greenery. No light, no zombies make for a devoid world.
By day 17, I started undergoing some bizarre new changes to my body. Focus? Good bye. This felt like a diagonally-aligned, three-headed monster known as a “sickness.” Last thriving cell. A burning sensation came out of nowhere. Marta, one of my colleagues who spots a major difference in people, saw me staring blankly at a cell in a spreadsheet, motionless without pushing any buttons for ten minutes.
“Hey,” arms aimed directly towards me, “Earth to Kylie, Hope all’s fine. You okay?”
Yeah, not happening. Combination of glucose and state and I’m good. Exhausted, crawled back under my quilt. “Put whatever you want, just get out,” said my mind. Until day 21, when out of nowhere my body claimed a full 3-year vacation and on our morning check-in, I suffered from an unexpected cold. One moment, reviewing the timeline updates felt productive, to a session of not being able to breathe while getting suffocated which makes one feel claustrophobic which ironically makes one feel boxed in. Unable to breathe, convinced that yes the walls really are closing in on me… this is how I die. Am I en: un hint: red ternally courtesy of razor sharp box? “STRANGER,” the appendage in focus. Dear God, without excuses like “physically can’t”.
After that incident that was uncomfortably embarrassing (thank you, Dave from accounting, for the paper bag breathing technique, and thank you, Marta, for not sharing the video you apparently shot “in case we needed to show the paramedics”), we were all transferred to the sixth floor, which is a newly renovated suite with actual windows, living plants, and more natural materials. The shift in my feelings was so profound and immediate that it altered my career path entirely.
I realized I was fixated on understanding the reasons why. What exactly did the sterile basement dungeon do to my brain, and what about the new space made me feel like a functioning human almost immediately?
This is where my obsession with biophilic design began. And when I say fell, I mean FELL. I went from shocking ignorance to that one person who you hate meeting at parties because they corner you to discuss fractal patterns and evolutionary psychology. My then-boyfriend (shocking revelation, we did not last) had to endure my rants on how humans never evolved to live in environments devoid of nature, and modern office buildings are sensory deprivation chambers that slowly drive us insane.
As you may have already figured out, let me explain my findings, starting with the conclusion. Biophilic design revolves on the premise that mankind has an intrinsic bond with nature, and our built environment are way more pleasant for us bodily, psychologically, and cognitively when they incorporate natural features or motifs. It is not simply putting some plants here and there – even if that helps. Biophilic design is using nature to support our fundamental needs as living organisms to have a connection with the natural world.
Turns out, it’s well-supported by science. I had been blazing through research studies like they were captivating page-turners. And I came across this one from the University of Oregon claiming that hospital patients with views of nature recovered faster and required less pain medication than those staring at brick walls. There was another study which concluded that office workers with access to natural light and windows slept an average of 46 minutes more per night than their windowless colleagues. Just being able to see outside during the day increased sleep by 46 minutes!
My favorite was this research from Stanford that measured cognitive function in people walking through different environments. The walkers in nature showed significant improvements in working memory and attention compared to city walkers. I mean, for crying out loud, their brains literally worked better after being outside for a mere 50 minutes. I remember reading that study at two in the morning and thinking, “Holy crap, we’re designing ourselves stupid.”
I became incredibly passionate about this, so much so that I eventually quit my marketing job and went back to school for environmental design. My parents thought I was experiencing a quarter-life crisis. Perhaps I was. But it was a crisis…with purpose, dammit.
Now, I partner with businesses to turn their workplaces into spaces that promote employee well-being. I have learned that people do not recognize how deeply their physical environments impact their lives until they finally get to experience something better.
Consider my client Rachel, who’s the owner of a graphic design firm located in North Portland. Her team was missing deadlines and experiencing creative blocks, something they had never struggled with in the past. She thought it might be something to do with a lack of motivation or perhaps some burnout. In reality, they had recently relocated to a “modern” office—a white box with the absolute bare minimum design. Gray carpet. Energy-efficient LED lighting that, instead of producing light, left everything feeling lifeless and flat, like a hospital mortuary.
“We selected it because it seemed so pristine and polished in the listing pictures,” she recounted to me. “But for some reason, everyone has been complaining ever since we moved in, and that’s something I couldn’t put my finger on.”
After three months, their creative output had risen by 34% (which Rachel measured) and employee sick days sharply decreased by nearly half. This was after we redesigned their main work area with natural wood desks, large potted plants for visual connections to nature, gentle small water features in the background, and best of all, a lighting system that mimicked natural daylight patterns throughout the day.
“It felt like we all took a deep breath for the first time in months.”
Rachel, following these three months, stated “I had no idea our environment was suffocating us.”
These transformative stories never get old, but my favorite part of it all remains the same; the astonishing surprise at the impact these changes had on people. While it is common to think about optimizing diets, routine exercises, or sleep, it’s remarkable how the physical surroundings that people are encased in are completely ignored when it comes to assessing the impact on the body and brain.
A good part of the problem, in my opinion, is that socially ruthess climates have become acceptable. We glee at life in the office “cubicle farms,” dealing with glaring lights and stale air as if they are just part of modern-day woes. We do not acknowledge office spaces as containing biologically unfit terrains.
It seems we have somehow undergone a collective amnesia: mammals with nerves systems forged over millions of years to function in natural setups do exist. Everyone would agree that confining a tiger in a concrete box devoid of any plant life is cruelty. Unfortunately, we believe humans to be exempt from these basic requirements.
Biophilic lens is one perspective that is quite hard to remove once it is worn. I now have an opinion about almost everything regarding how spaces are designed, ranging from the absence or presence of natural light, materials, to air quality and even sounds. I have become quite annoying at hotels.
I personally believe that spending time outdoors is necessary because of the risks involved. It is common knowledge that the average American spends their time indoors, which makes up around 93% of their life. If we take a moment to think about it, 93% truly is a staggering number! This goes to show the importance of trying to spend time outdoors. It is quite alarming if that environment is biologically designed to counter a person’s rhythm, and as you might have already guessed, that is a principal public health problem.
There is no denying the fact that feeling good or being more productive is a huge motivational boost to encourage spending time outdoors, however, as nice as those benefits are, there are considerably worse ones. Research has shown that lacking exposure to nature can directly increase the chances of suffering from anxiety, depression, obesity, heart disease and the list goes off. Dr. Martinez from OHSU said that he now questions his patients struggling with depression regarding their home setting because he experience tremendously positive results when people made slight adjustments to boost nature contact.
“Rather than using the term a vaccination against illness or disease, I would put it as vaccination with limitations,” remarked one physician in December at a differential diagnosis conference. “But, I’ve had patients reduce their medication after making changes as simple as turning their desk to face a window or bordering their workstation with plants. There is a measurable impact to physiologic changes via natural constituents.”
The good news is that adding biophilic elements is not difficult or pricey. While a living wall or a rooftop garden is incredible if you can afford them, you don’t need these to make wonderful changes. Far-reaching results can be achieved, even from small modifications.
My client Miguel, for instance, converted his home office into an ideal workspace by adjusting his desk to face a window rather than a blank wall. He also added a tabletop fountain for gentle water sounds and six houseplants, all for under $200.
“While working from home, I got these truly crippling headaches in the afternoon,” he recounted to me. “I assumed it was due to the computer’s strain on my eyes. Ever since making changes, those headaches are now a thing of the past. My sleep quality has improved as well, which I never expected.”
When dealing with an office or a school and even with healthcare facilities, the approach is different for larger spaces. However, the concepts are still the same. It’s about forming spaces that align with the natural circumstances humans evolved with: lights which change and shift throughout the day, varying textures and materials, plants and water, natural airflow, gapped fractal patterns that resemble nature, and views that enable both prospect and refuge.
Currently, I am most proud of an elementary school library located in Southeast Portland. The pre-existing condition of the area resembled a book warehouse—blaring fluorescent lights, industrial-grade carpet, and no windows featuring generic motivational posters as the only decoration. I remember vividly how the principal, James, reached out to me for help because circulation numbers were through the floor. Kids were calling the library “boring” and “creepy.”
Using a very limited budget, we were able to completely change the perception of the library. Monetarily, we added two skylights to allow for natural light entry, crafted reading nooks from natural wood featuring live plants, and installed a small rock fountain. We also changed the solid walls of one section to windows that overlook the school garden. To top it all off, the carpet was replaced with natural materials that mimic forest floor patterns.
A different world is how James mentioned the most biomechanical design exhibition once said. “The children are more eager to learn, which has been greatly noted by our librarian. Students have begun to purchase more books and teachers have observed that the students are more relaxed after spending time in the library.”
I cannot stress enough how beneficial biophilic design is; it fosters a rare situation where everything aligns harmoniously; everything humans do benefit the planet. In caring for nature, humans tend to design buildings that are optimum for nature since they require less energy, employ better quality materials, and enhance environmental guardianship. It makes everything so efficient and easy to accomplish by tapping into our love for nature.
I do not mean to say that every problem out there can be solved by biophilic design; it is one option. While the world faces intricacies at a granular level, deep, structural issues exist, which using plants or natural light indoors will not fix. Regardless of the above, I believe that the places we inhabit impact our lives far more than we want to believe. If we intend to hide indoors for roughly 93% of our lives, it would make sense for us to design interiors in a way that synch with our bodies instead of against.
The panic attack that occurred in the conference room in the basement was, for me, one of the best career-wise events in my professional life. It certainly isn’t the case that none of my colleagues ever stop mocking me for it on company get-togethers like the one we recently had. Thank you so much again Marta. Even though I had to tolerate it, those outlandish happenings did allow me to work on things that I am greatly passionate about and that I am certain work out to help people in some profound manner.
As far as the matters are concerned on a personal note, that event has impacted dramatically in regard to the way I organize my living and working spaces. My apartment is not the most fabulous out there, but it sure has an abundant amount of sunlight, a wide array of plants on each and every counter (My cat, Percy, after some admittedly unfortunate early plant accidents, has adapted to share space with them), warm decorations like wool, stone, wood, and a WFH essential of mine, a small tabletop fountain. No, it’s not too much work to call it work these days. On days when I cannot go outside at all, I do try to spend a few minutes at my big window where I have a view of cedar trees that belong to my neighbor.
There’s a version of me huddled under a conference table, believing I was mid-dying, and I wish I could tell her that her body and brain were, in fact, trying to assist her. “This environment is terrible for you.” They told her. “You need trees, sunlight, fresh air, and not suffocating fluorescent lights accompanied with drop ceilings.” She was not broken. Her environment was.
And if there’s anything I want you to remember about my awkward burst breakdown in a conference room, it’s this: start noticing how different locations impact you. Your biology is constantly having conversations with you. If you find yourself anxious, drained, or foggy brained in certain environments, understand it is not just you. It might be your animal body objecting, in a very reasonable manner, to being placed in conditions it does not possess the ability to thrive in.
The good news? We can design better. It is entirely possible to create indoor environments that sustain wellness rather than deplete it. Altering the position of your desk so it faces a window can significantly boost wellbeing, and sometimes it’s as easy as that.
This one I would trust. My panic-attack loving self is incredibly grateful.
