Autism and a love of gardening are meshed together as part of who I am. My garden gives me the things I need for a sense of wellness.
It’s a calm and quiet space when I feel anxious or overwhelmed, and it offers a wonderful sensory outlet without being overstimulating.
Having a special interest is often a central pillar of feeling well for an autistic person, and gardening offers endless opportunity to focus.
I found out I was neurodivergent when I was 27, but it wasn’t a surprise. Growing up, my school reports said I lived in my own world and didn’t easily make friends. It didn’t matter when I was very young but, as I got older, I began to realise it wasn’t the norm.
Secondary school felt like a bombardment to the senses and the stress of social expectations made me unwell with anorexia.
Visits to my grandad’s Somerset smallholding felt like a sanctuary. I can remember the feelings vividly: the smell of tomatoes, the warmth on my skin in the greenhouse and the crunch of the paths he’d made with broken terracotta pots. It was the escape I needed after a week at school.
In my teens, I watched episodes of Gardeners’ World, making a note of all the public gardens they mentioned. I got a real sense of purpose by planning trips to see them at their peak. The magic of visiting the gardens felt like a lift from the heaviness I often felt and they were somewhere peaceful, where I didn’t have to speak to people.
My autism diagnosis came shortly after my partner and I had bought our first house, so my journey with gardening and autism has run in parallel. We live in a small terraced cottage in Somerset. The gardens are part of one big smallholding that was divided up, so they are all long but very narrow. You can still see remnants of their past life in some stone barns and a drainage system that stretches across them.
The garden has had its challenges. When we moved in six years ago, there were huge clumps of bamboo that had spread everywhere. I’m still digging out bits of the roots. Crocosmia had formed a thick mat of bulbs, while yellow flag irises in the pond were so knotted that I couldn’t remove them even after going in with my waders. In the end, a landscaper got them out using a pulley system. He said they were the weight of a motorbike!
I’m glad I never had a vision for the garden. It would have made me feel stressed that I had to achieve a certain goal. Instead, I have enjoyed how it has evolved over time. It is divided into little rooms, and I tend to immerse myself in one bit at a time, gardening it intensively before moving on to the next. I’ve never had any formal training – I’ve learned through secondhand books and lots of advice – and this process has allowed me the freedom of learning through mistakes.
Like many autistic people, a lack of structure can make me feel anxious. Every day at 11am, I’ve got to have my cup of tea in the same mug – I even take it on holiday with me – so people are often surprised that my garden is not at all regimented. I think it’s helpful because this allows me to experience something that makes me uncomfortable, but I’m able to sit with it and realise that it’s okay. I can then transpose that experience to my everyday life.
There is a sense of structure in nature that I find comforting. When my mental health feels turbulent, the cycles of the garden through the seasons is a predictable constant. Being able to tap into those rhythms provides a sense of familiarity and reassurance in an unpredictable world.
Jason Ingram
I started my Instagram account a few days after my mum died 14 years ago. It was another example of using nature as a coping strategy during a very difficult time. I would go to National Trust properties and photograph what was in bloom. Social media gets a lot of criticism, but I found supportive communities in those early days and now with people who share their love of the natural world.
However, I have learned to ignore comments from people about the moss in my lawn. Wildlife is important to me and I create areas to encourage it in – like the pond, which is full of newts. I have also discovered that wildlife often gets to call the shots. Last year, I planted lots of lovely ‘Ice Follies’ daffodils. The squirrels then replanted them for me throughout my neighbours’ gardens…
‘There is a sense of structure in nature that I find comforting’
Every season brings me different benefits. In summer, I get such joy from the vegetable garden, picking bowlfuls of tomatoes on those long evenings. I made a path from old flagstones between the raised beds and I love to lie on them and feel the warmth of the sun.
Everyone can gain benefits from green spaces. Turn off your phone and lean into the sensory experience of the sun on your face or the birdsong. Look at the tiny things – petals or insects – and realise how beautiful and important they are. I guarantee it will lift your spirits.
Growing by Ramona Jones (Ebury Press, £26), with photography by Aaron Gibson and Ramona Jones. Follow Ramona on Instagram @monalogue.
5 ways gardens can help autistic people Gardens can provide an escape when social conventions and people’s expectations feel overwhelming.They offer a safe sensory space. Appreciating the smells, textures and sounds can feel like meditation.Plants can be a great passionate interest, helping you to build resilience and meaning in your life.Gardens can be somewhere you can unmask without feeling any judgment.The seasonal rhythm can be a predictable and reassuring constant when your mental health feels turbulent.Gardening essentials
Gardeners HandkerchiefsCredit: Country Living Marketplace
Lamb’s Ladies Gardening ClogCredit: Country Living Marketplace
Large Garden Scissors in Leather HolderCredit: Squirrel
Recycled Leather Seed OrganiserCredit: Country Living Marketplace
Grow Your Own Thai Chef’s GardenCredit: Country Living Marketplace
Split Waist ApronCredit: Country Living Marketplace