Psychologist Geoff Beattie’s new book explores how eco-anxiety is affecting our mental health, why it’s not officially recognized, and what we can do to cope.
There’s a name for that lingering dread you feel after reading about another record-breaking heatwave or seeing footage of wildfires on social media: climate anxiety. And according to psychologist Geoff Beattie, this eco-anxiety is not only real — it’s an affliction that’s on the rise.
In his new book Understanding Climate Anxiety, Beattie lays out the psychological toll of living on a warming planet. The former professor at the University of Manchester and current academic at Edge Hill University wants us to know that this kind of emotional response — marked by insomnia, guilt, despair, and a persistent sense of helplessness — isn’t simply “worry.” It’s something deeper, and millions are feeling it. “Climate anxiety is growing. It can be overwhelming and induce a form of psychological ‘eco-paralysis’, impacting on both sleep and daily activities,” Beattie writes.
His book arrives just as 2024 officially took the title of hottest year on record, with average global temperatures rising about 1.55 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels, according to the World Meteorological Organization. For those who have been quietly suffering with this sense of unease — or openly spiraling — Beattie’s message is clear: you’re not alone, and you’re not overreacting.
When eco-anxiety looks like grief
More than one in five young people are afraid to have children because of climate change, research shows. Others feel guilty flying, eating meat, or even buying new clothes. The emotional toll has been compared to grief. But the problem, as Beattie points out, is that this grief doesn’t have a formal home in our healthcare systems. The DSM-5 — the standard guide used by doctors and therapists in diagnosing mental health conditions — doesn’t currently recognize climate anxiety as a disorder, and that lack of validation can leave people feeling even more isolated.
Beattie draws a provocative parallel between the early days of climate anxiety and the trauma experienced by soldiers during World War I. Then known as “shell shock,” the symptoms were dismissed for years before the condition was officially recognized as post-traumatic stress disorder. Climate anxiety, Beattie argues, is following a similar path. “Extraordinary now, when we look back,” he says of how those soldiers were once treated — and warns that we may one day look back at climate anxiety with the same hindsight.
It’s not just the lack of clinical recognition that’s fueling the problem; it’s also the persistent cultural and political denial. Beattie points to the way high-profile figures have ridiculed the idea of climate change altogether, making it even harder for people to speak openly about how it’s affecting their mental health. The result? Stigma, self-censorship, and what he calls “eco-paralysis,” a state in which people are so overwhelmed they do nothing at all.
Tools for moving from dread to action
Despite the bleakness, Beattie’s book offers action — mental, emotional, and practical. He walks readers through techniques for managing difficult emotions, with one of the simplest but most powerful tools being writing. “Reducing climate anxiety, and helping people deal more effectively with their negative emotions regarding climate change, is a pressing issue for us all,” he writes. “We need people to overcome their feelings of helplessness through this disinhibition of thoughts and feelings, and understand that positive action and change is possible.”
The concept of “disinhibition” is key: by writing down our fears, whether through journaling, storytelling, or even just venting, we give ourselves the opportunity to process what’s happening internally, instead of letting it stew. Beattie cites psychological studies showing that people who engage in narrative writing about emotionally difficult experiences show measurable improvements in mental health, including reduced stress and improved mood.
That idea of processing an emotion in order to move through it aligns with what many experts are now recommending, especially when working with young people. The American Psychological Association acknowledges climate change as a “rising threat” to mental health and urges adults to take young people’s fears seriously. According to a 2024 AP report, 57 percent of U.S. youth are “very or extremely worried” about climate change, and 66 percent believe it’s morally wrong to have children in a world that’s getting hotter.
Worldwide, the numbers are just as stark. In a survey spanning ten countries, more than 59 percent of people aged 16 to 25 said they were very or extremely worried about the climate, and 84 percent reported at least moderate concern. Roughly half said these fears impacted their ability to function on a daily basis.
What makes climate anxiety different
What separates climate or eco anxiety from other forms of stress, Beattie argues, is that it’s not rooted in something imagined or irrational — it’s grounded in observable reality. This makes it hard to treat using conventional frameworks for anxiety, which typically focus on managing exaggerated or intrusive thoughts. “Climate anxiety,” he says, “is a new type of anxiety shaped by the modern world and the high carbon economies and industries that have flourished since the industrial revolution.”
This type of distress is chronic, cumulative, and at times socially contagious, especially online. Doomscrolling — consuming endless digital content about environmental disasters — has become a common digital habit, exacerbating the emotional toll.
But there is a path forward, and Beattie believes that the key lies not in denying the fear, but in redirecting it. He references activist Greta Thunberg’s famous “our house is on fire” speech at the 2019 World Economic Forum, which stirred emotions globally. But he also critiques the way her message was received. “Greta Thunberg was trying to remove all doubt with her simple message, with no ambiguity and no window dressing. But the problem is that too much fear in any message without addressing the issues of self-efficacy is also not an effective way of gaining compliance,” Beattie writes.
His point? Fear alone isn’t a motivator. If people don’t feel like they can do something, they shut down. What’s more effective is helping individuals feel empowered — to know that their choices matter and that collective action is possible.
This empowerment can take many forms: choosing sustainable products, voting for climate-conscious policies, participating in community programs, or even having open conversations with friends and family. Therapists and educators working with anxious youth are beginning to shift toward this approach, helping them turn eco-grief into eco-agency.
In classrooms and clinics, that might mean creating climate timelines to visualize progress, or offering activities like community gardening that build both resilience and connection. Some even recommend what’s called the “positivity sandwich”: for every dire piece of climate news you consume, follow it with a story of progress or innovation to help maintain emotional balance.
Beattie’s broader message is that this isn’t just about self-care; it’s about survival. A society unable to process and respond to existential threats is a society at risk of stagnation. But if individuals learn to metabolize their climate fear, they can begin to push for real, structural change.
And while his book is deeply researched and academically grounded, it doesn’t require a psychology degree to understand. Beattie writes with the urgency of a scientist but the empathy of someone who knows that even the most informed minds can be overwhelmed. He pushes for recognition not just in psychiatric manuals but in the way we talk to each other. “There is hope,” he insists, “but change begins with us.”
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