8 Lessons From 8 Years of Writing About Nature

What have I actually learned after more than eight years of writing about nature? What’s worked? What hasn’t? And what would I tell myself if I were starting this blog again today?

Yesterday was my birthday, and COP17 is in full swing in Armenia. Between the two, I’ve been in a reflective mood.

When you write about the same cause for years, you start noticing patterns. Some things you thought would work didn’t. Some things you stumbled into turned out to be the most important lessons of all.

So here are eight of them. One for every year.

1. Start with a question, not a statistic

People lean in when they’re asked something. They switch off when they’re lectured.

“Around a million species face extinction” is a true and terrifying fact. But “Have you noticed fewer butterflies in your garden lately?” invites a reader into the conversation. It makes them think about their own life before they think about the numbers.

The statistic still matters. It just shouldn’t go first.

It’s why so many of my posts open with questions. Do you think wildlife can protect itself? Have you ever wondered where your rubbish goes? A question makes room for the reader. A statistic, on its own, can make them feel small.

2. Give every piece a next step

Awareness without action is just noise.

Early on, I wrote posts that ended with “we must protect nature.” Then I’d wonder why nothing changed. Of course nothing changed. I hadn’t told anyone what to actually do.

Now every piece ends with something concrete. Plant this. Ask that. Skip one thing. Small steps people can take today, not someday.

3. The people closest to the problem are the best storytellers

The farmer who lost her crop to elephants. The ranger who found the snare. The child who watched his school tree survive the dry season.

They tell the story better than I ever could, because it’s their story.

My job isn’t to speak for them. It’s to hand them the microphone, and make sure their names are on the credit.

4. Data earns trust. Stories earn action

You need both.

A story without data can feel like an emotional appeal that’s easy to dismiss. Data without a story feels like homework.

With policymakers and funders, I usually start with the numbers and follow with a face. With everyday readers, I start with the face and follow with the numbers. Same message. Different doorway.

5. Repetition beats virality

I used to dream about a post going viral. Then a few did, a little. And I learned something surprising: one post travelling far didn’t change much.

What changed things was showing up again. And again. Week after week, on the same topics, until people started to recognise the voice and trust it.

Movements are built by people who keep showing up. Not by one lucky post.

Think about the people who taught you something important. Was it one dramatic speech? Or was it someone who kept saying the same true thing, kindly, until one day it finally made sense? For me, it’s almost always the second. Consistency builds trust in a way a single viral moment never can.

6. Follow-through matters more than the launch

This is true for tree planting. Planting day is easy. Keeping the sapling alive for three years is the real work.

It’s true for campaigns too. And for communications in general. The launch gets the applause. The follow-up gets the results.

If I could tattoo one lesson on every new advocate’s arm, it might be this one.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: launches are fun. They come with excitement, photos, and congratulations. Follow-through comes with none of that. It’s the quiet check-in, the second watering, the email nobody wants to send. And it’s exactly where most good ideas either survive or die.

7. Disagree kindly

You will meet people who don’t care about the environment. Or who care, but disagree with your solution. Or who think the whole thing is exaggerated.

How you respond decides whether the next person joins the conversation or quietly leaves it.

I’ve watched angry online arguments push people further away. And I’ve watched one calm, kind reply change someone’s mind. Tone isn’t decoration. It’s strategy.

8. Rest is part of the work

I’m still learning this one.

Environmental work can feel endless, because it is. There’s always another species in trouble, another forest under threat, another policy to fight.

But advocates who burn out can’t advocate. A tired voice is a quiet voice. Taking a break isn’t giving up. It’s how you make sure you’re still here next year.

So this year, I’m practising rest on purpose. Not as a reward for finishing. As part of the job.

Nothing clever, just what held up

None of these lessons are clever. Most of them sound obvious when you write them down.

But they’re the ones that actually held up, post after post, year after year, long after the hashtag days that inspired them were forgotten.

And watching COP17 this week, I can see the same lessons playing out on a global stage. Follow-through matters more than pledges. The people closest to the problem deserve the microphone. And repetition, showing up at every review, every report, every meeting, is how promises turn into progress.

Thank you

To everyone who has read, shared, funded, mentored, or challenged this work along the way: thank you. Every one of these lessons came from you, in some way.

I’m still learning. I suspect I always will be.

If you’ve been doing this kind of work for a while, I’d be curious which lesson you’d add as number nine. I have a feeling some of the best ones haven’t been written down yet.