La natura che cura: neuroscienze e benessere outdoor

Simonetta Sandri · 15 September 2026

Le neuroscienze e la neurobiologia hanno rivelato che l'esposizione agli ambienti naturali non è solo una piacevole sensazione soggettiva, ma produce una vera e propria riorganizzazione neurofisiologica del nostro cervello

According to a broad study conducted by a team of researchers at the European Centre for Environment and Human Health at the UK's University of Exeter Medical School, spending at least 120 minutes per week in nature represents the minimum "dose" to ensure our physical and psychological health and well-being. The study revealed that:

• Threshold for benefits: Those who spent less than 120 minutes a week in nature showed no significantly higher benefits compared to those who did not go at all. Starting from 120 minutes, the likelihood of reporting good general health increased by 59% and high psychological well-being by 23%.
• Flexible accumulation: The pattern of accumulation did not affect the outcome: the same benefits were achieved with a single 2-hour weekend outing as with daily 15–20 minute visits to an urban park.
• Optimal range: Benefits increased progressively up to a range between 200 and 300 minutes per week. Beyond 300 minutes, health advantages stabilized without showing further significant gains.

In short, nature is good for us. Why? What does immersing oneself in nature entail?

• Stress reduction and hormonal rebalancing: Immersion in green spaces deactivates the amygdala (the fear and threat center) and turns off the sympathetic nervous system. This leads to a drastic drop in cortisol (the stress hormone) levels and a simultaneous stimulation of neurotransmitters such as serotonin and dopamine, which are linked to mood and well-being.
• Attention restoration (Attention Restoration Theory): In the city, our mind constantly uses "directed" or voluntary attention, which fatigues the prefrontal cortex. Nature activates so-called soft fascination (involuntary attention guided by elements like leaves, water, and wind), allowing the prefrontal cortex to rest and regenerate concentration and cognitive abilities.
• Deactivation of the Default Mode Network: Spending time in nature reduces hyperactivity in the brain network associated with "mental rumination" (the obsessive, repetitive thoughts typical of anxiety and depression).
• Induction of alpha waves (relaxation and creativity): Natural sounds and geometries (e.g., the sound of wind) stimulate the production of alpha brain waves—typical of states of meditation and deep relaxation—fostering intuition and creativity.
• Inhalation of phytoncides: Plants release volatile organic compounds (phytoncides) to protect themselves. When inhaled, these substances reduce blood pressure and calm our nervous system's "control panel."

To understand the connection between the environment and human neurobiology, we met Silvia Margoni, founder and owner of Links4Brain srl, a professional with experience in marketing, management, and the world of behavioral sciences. An economist by vocation, she later earned a Master's Degree in Work and Organizational Psychology. An expert in applied neuroscience to human behavior and communication, Margoni studies how the brain processes linguistic, visual, and emotional information to optimize message effectiveness, leadership, and interpersonal relationships. She also analyzes the impact of environmental factors on neurotransmitters and the brain's physiological responses. We asked her a few questions.

Silvia, from a neuroscientific perspective, what exactly happens in our brain when we immerse ourselves in a natural environment?

First, a caveat: I will try to bring some order to the data, because sometimes it's presented with a bit too much marketing spin. However, the impact of natural environments on our nervous system is real, and I'll explain why in the end.

In the brain, there is no dedicated "nature module" or structure. There is no "forest button." What the brain does continuously is ask itself if everything is fine—and the forest simply gives it far fewer reasons to worry. The systems don't change; what changes is the workload we are asking of them.

The study I recommend for anyone looking for solid data is from 2022, published in Molecular Psychiatry. Sixty-three healthy adults in Berlin were sent for a one-hour walk: half in the Grunewald, the city's large urban forest, and half along a busy commercial street. The destinations were assigned randomly, with MRI scans (a device that takes a sort of picture of the brain) taken before and after the walk. In the forest group, activity in the amygdala—our alarm system—dropped significantly. In the street group, it remained exactly where it was.

A second widely cited study is Bratman's from 2015: a 90-minute walk reduced blood flow to a specific region of the prefrontal cortex associated with ruminative thinking and overthinking—that repetitive thought process that often strikes at 3 AM or when falling asleep. There were thirty-eight participants in total, so it was a small sample size. However, the result points in the same direction as the Berlin study.

I would add the question that researchers themselves are asking, which is what makes the topic so interesting: are we observing nature doing good, or the city doing harm? Experimentally, both hypotheses produce the same result, and current literature does not separate them. My view—which remains an impression rather than data—is that much of the effect is subtractive. In the woods, we remove noise, traffic, surfaces to monitor, people to evaluate, and decisions about where to step. The brain stops doing, rather than starting to do something new that requires extra energy.

Which brain areas or neurotransmitters are activated or modulated by the presence of nature, and how does this contribute to psychophysical well-being?

The areas where we have the best measurements are the ones I just mentioned: the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex. The amygdala consists of two small, almond-shaped structures that act as an alarm system, continuously monitoring the environment to detect threats before we even consciously register what is happening. The prefrontal cortex is the outermost layer of the brain behind the forehead; it plans, decides, holds multiple things in mind, evaluates consequences, and inhibits impulses. It is also the most resource-intensive area to run in terms of calories, so it tires easily. When it is fatigued, its control over the amygdala weakens. That is why we tend to lose our patience or get angry more easily in the evening.

The two work as a pair in a specific dynamic: the amygdala sounds the alarm, and the prefrontal cortex decides whether it's worth responding. It's like when the home alarm goes off at night and you get off the couch to see if it's a intruder or just the cat.

On the hormonal side, the most studied marker is salivary cortisol. Cortisol is known as the stress hormone, though with a nuance regarding speed: it isn't the first to arrive. First come adrenaline and noradrenaline, which trigger a reaction within a fraction of a second; cortisol follows, peaking in twenty to thirty minutes and subsiding within about an hour and a half. Its function is to sustain the response over time by mobilizing and maintaining available glucose, as a prolonged threat requires fuel.

In short, stress itself isn't the issue, nor is cortisol: acute stress is useful, keeps us alive, and helps us perform better in certain situations. The problem arises when the release never stops. Bruce McEwen called this allostatic load: it isn't a single event that wears us down, but the cumulative toll of a system that never returns to a resting state.

However, measuring this marker is harder than it seems for two reasons. First, cortisol is not solely a stress hormone; it has a marked circadian rhythm, peaking within the first thirty minutes of waking and gradually declining until evening. Thus, in forest bathing studies, the collection time is a critical variable: two measurements taken at different times of day cannot be compared. Second, regarding results: a 2019 meta-analysis aggregating multiple studies found a reduction in cortisol following forest exposure. Yet individual studies often conflict; in a forest study, participants know they are in a forest, so part of the effect may stem from the expectation of feeling better. Despite these limitations, the reduction exists and moves in the expected direction: the forest shifts cortisol levels; it doesn't erase them.

What scientific methods and tools currently allow us to measure and concretely demonstrate this link to health?

Keeping in mind that I don't use these professionally and that other experts can offer more detailed technical explanations, here is an overview of the main methods. I observed some of these used by colleagues in a previous role at a neuromarketing company.

• Neuroimaging: Techniques that look inside the brain, such as functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI), which shows active brain regions, and more refined methods measuring blood flow to specific areas—since an active region demands blood, much like a muscle under exertion. However, there is a practical limitation: besides being extremely costly, an MRI machine weighs several tons and requires staying completely still inside a tube. You can't take it into a forest. Thus, these studies follow a pre/post design: participants are measured before a walk, sent out, and remeasured upon return. We know nothing about what happens live in the forest.
• Electroencephalography (EEG): A cap with electrodes that records electrical activity from the outside. It is the most widely used because it is relatively inexpensive and portable, making it the only tool that actually tracks a person in motion.
• Autonomic nervous system indicators: Measures governing involuntary functions. These include blood pressure, heart rate variability (HRV)—measuring fluctuations in time intervals between heartbeats rather than just beats per minute—and skin conductance. The latter elegantly measures sweat production; skin becomes more conductive when aroused, which is the same principle behind lie detectors.
• Biochemical markers: Primarily salivary cortisol, as discussed earlier.

The most recent summary I know of is a systematic review published this year that gathered thirty-three studies averaging sixty participants each, following predefined inclusion criteria. Over four out of five used the same tool: the EEG. So we are not reading "the brain confirms," but rather "the cap confirms." Furthermore, the alpha wave recorded by an EEG increases even with closed eyes or drowsiness, meaning it reveals less than it might seem. The effect exists but is small, and 88% of those studies had methodological weaknesses. This doesn't mean the results are false, but that they rest on fragile foundations—a distinction science communicators have a duty to disclose.

That said, in forty years of research, virtually no study has ever found that nature makes things worse. The literature may be slightly fragile, but it is unanimous in its direction. Some numbers are quite solid: a 2023 review in Lancet Planetary Health covering ninety-two studies reported an average drop in systolic blood pressure of nearly 5 mmHg—a clinically relevant effect comparable to a dietary intervention. Meanwhile, the UK's green prescription program has worked with over eight thousand real-world patients, with more than half coming from the country's most deprived areas.

I would add the argument that, for me, settles the matter: the cost of error. We demand robust evidence when something carries potential harm. For a drug, that makes sense because of side effects and monetary cost. Walking in a park for two hours a week has no side effects, costs nothing, and does not replace other therapies.

Could you share some of your experiences with successful health-nature integrations?

I believe small habits make the difference. As a native of Trentino, I take every opportunity to walk in the woods, but in a corporate context, what proves valuable is much more modest: taking a lunch break in the park instead of in front of a screen.

In our programs, we try to incorporate at least one outdoor experience per year because stepping outside breaks ingrained office behavior patterns. The same people interact differently in a new setting. I've also noticed a geometric factor: when working while walking side-by-side rather than sitting across from one another, conversations shift within ten minutes. Face-to-face seating can feel confrontational; direct eye contact carries an evaluative weight. Walking side-by-side removes that pressure and gives both people something neutral to look at. In delicate sessions, the landscape isn't just scenery—it acts as a third presence that lowers the tension.

There is also a local paradox: here, nature is twenty minutes from any office, which should make access easy, but instead makes it easy to postpone. When something is always available, people delay doing it. The organizations where we've seen the best results aren't those that added greenery to the office, but those that made it permissible to step outside and experience it.

To be clear: I haven't measured anyone's cortisol, nor have we put participants through MRI machines or other tracking tools. What we have observed through light, consistent work over time—both in the classroom and in the woods around the company—is an improvement in conversation quality and in what people report in the following weeks.

Recommended reading?

For anyone wanting to dive into stress physiology without shortcuts, Robert Sapolsky's Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers remains unmatched, with the rare virtue of being entertaining. The original came out in 1994, but the third edition from 2004 is the one to look for.

On the connection between body, emotion, and decision-making, I recommend Antonio Damasio's Descartes' Error (1994) or his more recent Feeling & Knowing (2021). This is the framework I use most often to explain why well-being isn't an optional add-on to performance. Also, Daniel Kahneman's Thinking, Fast and Slow (2011) offers great insight into the resource cost of deliberate attention—even though it doesn't discuss nature at all.

Regarding stress, inflammation, and cellular aging, The Biology of Kindness by Immaculata De Vivo and Daniel Lumera is accessible while relying on solid research—De Vivo studies these mechanisms at Harvard. It was given to me by an entrepreneur I admire and with whom I share many values.

Cover image by Jonathan Emili, pexels

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