On the Familiar—and Familial—Comfort of Parks

“Do they know I’m crazy?” My mom has asked me this self-deprecating question countless times over the course of my life, typically before meeting someone for the first time—a friend of mine from work, a college roommate, a new boyfriend. My mom isn’t crazy, but she does suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). She’s dealt with a severe form of it for nearly five decades, and it can make get-togethers with family and friends difficult.

My mom’s compulsions revolve around cleanliness, which includes the avoidance of dogs (though other animals are off limits too) and anything related to the floor or the ground. When I was a kid, this had an undeniable effect on my social life. It meant no hosting sleepovers, no pets, and decontamination during and after outings. It meant, among other things, an ever-present supply of disinfecting wipes. (In a wry stroke of luck, my mom was incidentally very well-trained for dealing with COVID-19.)

To this day, my brother and I are well aware of the “rules,” so to speak, and how to behave to reduce her triggers and stress. For instance, we know whether to hug someone or just shake their hand (and then wash ours) when our mom is present. Others certainly aren’t expected to know these parameters, but their unintended missteps cause her—and, by extension, us—anxiety nonetheless. It’s complex and, for my mother, both embarrassing and distressing.

To complicate matters, my mom is an incredible cook. She loves to make and share food. Yet she’s so uncomfortable having people in her space, touching her belongings, sitting on her furniture, that the idea of hosting a dinner party is a nonstarter. It would elicit more worry than it’s worth—and outweigh the joy that comes with breaking bread at your own table.

During and after college, I lived on Chicago’s west side; my mom lived in nearby Oak Park; and my brother bounced around the western suburbs. For anyone not enduring mental illness, it might seem natural to have your kids and their friends over for food and games. But this wasn’t natural to my mother.

After I joined Trust for Public Land and began thinking about how I connect to TPL’s mission, it occurred to me that parks and the outdoors have helped our family navigate my mom’s OCD and the ongoing challenges it presents. They’ve allowed me to spend time with my mother—and introduce her to other people I care about—in settings where she feels at ease.

A homemade picnic at a park, a game of euchre at an outdoor table, and some bocce ball on a patch of evenly mowed grass—that was more my mom’s speed. Taking family and social gatherings outside was fun and less stressful for all of us.

A homemade picnic at a park, a game of euchre at an outdoor table, and some bocce ball on a patch of evenly mowed grass—that was more my mom’s speed than hosting dinner at home. Taking family and social gatherings outside was fun and less stressful for all of us. At a park, we could simply be together. It was more comfortable because we were outside, and—an added bonus—my mom’s quirks could fly under the radar. I mean, who’s to bat an eye at someone cleansing their hands between a game of croquet and sitting down to eat lunch?

Fortunately, my mom loves the outdoors. I recall wandering Illinois riverbanks with her as a child, looking for fossils and fungi; exploring trails at Starved Rock State Park; and spending hours enjoying local parks while my parents played tennis nearby. Later, I joined my mom and stepdad on summer trips to Colorado for trout fishing, hiking, and biking. Meeting up outside came easily, which is perhaps why I never really considered the mental health benefit of our family picnics in Chicagoland.

The National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) estimates that 2.3 percent of adults exhibit a lifelong prevalence of OCD, defined as “a disorder in which a person has uncontrollable, reoccurring thoughts and behaviors that he or she feels the urge to repeat over and over.” It’s an affliction that can be socially and emotionally devastating.

You’re likely familiar with some version of the quote, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” It’s true. Many of us are dealing with challenges behind the scenes, and the symptoms of mental illness aren’t always pronounced. Thankfully, nature is a salve in many ways—including this park perk that inadvertently snuck up on me.

Amy McCullough is managing editor and senior writer at Trust for Public Land. She is also the author of The Box Wine Sailors, an adventure memoir.

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