I didn’t have a word for it until recently.

For weeks now, maybe even years if I’m honest, I’ve been feeling a growing sense of sadness—something deeper than stress, more specific than general anxiety. It wasn’t about work. It wasn’t about a single event. It was something quieter, more persistent. A slow-burning emotional ache that settled in my chest whenever I looked outside and realized: this isn’t the New York I remember.

And then I learned the word: solastalgia.

Coined by philosopher Glenn Albrecht, solastalgia is the grief we feel when our home environment changes in a way that feels alien, threatening, or unrecognizable—especially when the change is outside our control. Unlike nostalgia, where we long for a place we’ve left behind, solastalgia is about mourning a place that’s still around you, but isn’t itself anymore.

Suddenly, everything I’d been experiencing clicked.

Grieving the City While Living in It

A few weeks ago, I wrote a reflection called New York’s Subtropical Future: A Grief for a City I Thought I’d Know Forever. In it, I talked about how the climate in NYC has changed—how constant rain, humid air, and unpredictable storms have become the new normal.

But just a few days ago, something new happened:
I saw parrots. Green, tropical parrots. In a fruit tree. In NYC.

Not pets. Not in cages. Wild. Loud. At home.

And it shook me.

Because parrots don’t belong here—not in the New York City I grew up with. They were comfortable, acting like the city was theirs now. And maybe it is.

When Weather Becomes Emotional

I used to find rainy days calming. But now, the endless gray, the heat, the weight of the air—it doesn’t feel cozy. It feels heavy. Suffocating. Like the sky is mourning, too.

There’s a name for this emotional connection to place and climate. Psychologists and researchers are now studying climate-related mental health impacts, and solastalgia is becoming central to that conversation.

It’s not “just” sadness. It’s a deep, existential kind of grief. The kind that hits you when:

Your childhood winters are gone, replaced by erratic heatwaves.
The trees bloom too early.
The birds you grew up hearing are replaced by strange new calls.
The skyline is the same, but the feeling is off.

The Mental Health Toll

Solastalgia doesn’t look the same for everyone. For me, it shows up as:

A lingering sadness that doesn’t have a clear “fix”
A sense of helplessness when I think about climate change
Emotional fatigue from constantly adjusting to a world that won’t stay still
Moments of dissociation, like I’m a stranger in my own neighborhood

For others, it may trigger:

Anxiety and panic attacks
Depression or numbness
Obsessive thoughts about the environment
Rage or despair over government inaction

And the worst part? There’s no one to blame. No closure. No undoing it.

What Helps Me Cope

Solastalgia is real, and pretending it’s not only makes it worse. But I’ve been trying a few things to stay grounded:

Naming it: Just knowing the word “solastalgia” helped validate what I was feeling.
Writing: Putting these thoughts into words gives the grief shape, form, and sometimes relief.
Taking pictures: When I saw those parrots, I took photos—not just to document them, but to remind myself that change is real. This isn’t just in my head.
Connecting with others: Talking about this publicly (like in this post) helps remind me I’m not alone.
Fighting back in small ways: I recycle. I plant when I can. I vote like the climate is on fire—because it is.

You’re Not Crazy. You’re Connected.

If you’ve been feeling “off” lately, especially in relation to the environment around you—you’re not crazy. You’re not broken. You’re connected. And that connection comes with pain.

But it also comes with meaning.

Solastalgia is proof that we care. That we notice. That we remember what our world was like before, and that we’re not ready to give up on it just yet.

So the next time you walk outside and something feels different—too hot, too quiet, too tropical, too unnatural—pay attention. That ache in your chest? That’s your humanity speaking.

And you are not alone.

Solastalgia: The Grief of Watching Your World Change