10 Healing Hobbies That Helped Me Survive Trauma

May 30

Because healing isn’t always found in therapy rooms. Sometimes, it blooms in backyards, sketchbooks, and silence.

Trauma changed me.

Not all at once…but slowly, like fog creeping into a familiar room.

It rearranged the furniture in my brain, dulled the light in my chest, and left me wondering if I’d ever feel at home in my body again.

And yet, here I am.

Not because I “got over it,” but because I found ways to live beside it.
I stitched peace back into my days using thread made of color, soil, rhythm, and ritual. I didn’t know these were hobbies when I began. I only knew they helped.

This is a list of practices that held me when I couldn’t hold myself. Maybe they’ll meet you where you are, too.

1. Watercolor Painting

Because healing, like water, resists control.

Watercolor taught me what therapy sometimes couldn’t: how to release. Unlike acrylics or oils, it doesn’t obey. It flows where it wants, bleeds across paper like emotion. There were days I just watched the paint move, brush untouched in my hand. That was enough.

I painted when I didn’t have words. I painted skies I wished I could live under. I painted pain…blue and jagged, then soft and transparent. And somehow, in the smudges and spills, I started seeing myself.

Winsor & Newton Cotman Watercolor Set – Beginner-friendly, compact, and forgiving…like all good healing tools.

2. Gardening

Because I needed to remember that life still grows from dark places.

My hands first touched soil when I could barely get out of bed. I wasn’t thinking about healing, I was just trying to keep a basil plant alive. But day after day, I checked on it. Watered it. Whispered apologies when I forgot. And still, it grew.

Soon, I had mint. Tomatoes. Strawberries. My kitchen filled with the scent of living things. I watched leaves unfurl like trust. Flowers opened like lungs. My grief didn’t go away…but it had company.

Start here: Indoor Herb Garden Starter Kit

Related Read: Hydroponic Tomatoes

3. Hiking

Because I needed to move forward, even when I didn’t know where I was going.

Nature doesn’t care what you’ve survived. The trees don’t ask questions. The trail doesn’t judge. In the forest, I could cry without apologizing. I could rage without consequence. And in between the dirt and the sky, I began to feel human again.

Some days I walked fast. Other days, I just sat on a rock and breathed. I learned the names of birds. Watched mushrooms appear after rain. My mind slowed to match the pace of moss.

4. Journaling

Because the page listens without flinching.

There were things I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even myself, at first. But a blank journal doesn’t look away. I filled mine with rage. With gratitude. With poems that didn’t rhyme. I wrote to the version of me that hadn’t yet been hurt…and she wrote back.

Journaling didn’t “fix” me. But it helped me witness myself. And sometimes, being seen (even by ink) is enough.

Trusty tool: Leuchtturm1917 A5 Dotted Journal

Related Read: Trauma Surviving

5. Cooking

Because nourishing myself became an act of rebellion.

For a while, I forgot how to eat. Food lost its color, its comfort. But slowly, dish by dish, I came back to my senses. I started with soup. With roasted carrots. With tea.

Cooking became meditative. The rhythm of chopping, the perfume of garlic…each step returned me to the present moment. I wasn’t eating for survival anymore. I was eating to care for myself.

Make it lovely: Our Place Always Pan

6. Playing Sounds

Because some emotions are louder than language, and some healing happens in tones without words.

For a long time, I couldn’t listen to music. The lyrics cut too close. They said too much. Gunshot noises are in so many songs. Or worse…they said exactly what I couldn’t.

So I turned to sound, not song.

Whale calls. Wind chimes. Tibetan singing bowls humming low against the bones of my body. These were the frequencies that didn’t ask questions. They just were. Vibrations that moved through me when nothing else could.

I lay on the floor with headphones on, letting the resonance of gongs and bowls wash over my chest like waves. The ache didn’t vanish, but it softened. It stopped screaming. And in that hush, I could feel myself existing again.

Try this Tibetan Singing Bowl Set – A healing tone that bypasses logic and speaks straight to the nervous system.

7. Reading

Because stories became a sanctuary.

There were days I couldn’t connect to my own life, so I borrowed someone else’s. Fiction offered escape. Memoir offered understanding. Poetry offered grace.

I curled up with books the way you’d curl up in someone’s lap. I re-read favorite lines until they became mantras. I learned how to hope again, one chapter at a time.

Night reader’s friend: Rechargeable Book Light

8. Archery

Because I needed something to aim at, even if it wasn’t a target.

There’s something sacred about pulling a bowstring. The inhale. The tension. The release. I started archery not to hit bullseyes, but to find stillness in the draw.

Every shot asked for my presence. My focus. My breath. There was no room for spiraling thoughts when my hands were steadying a bow. I didn’t need to be strong. I just needed to align…my posture, my energy, my intention.

Some days I missed completely. Other days, the arrow landed true. Either way, I walked away taller.

Recommended: Takedown Recurve Bow Set – Smooth, quiet, and beginner-friendly with just enough weight to remind you you’re alive.

Related Read: Why I Took Up Archery

9. HIIT Classes at F45

Because I had to sweat out the static.

Trauma left my body charged, like I was always bracing for impact. I needed a place to move with purpose. Somewhere I could burn off adrenaline and remind myself what strength felt like.

F45 became that place. Short bursts. Loud music. Timed stations. I didn’t need to think…just move. And in that movement, I found release. Rage turned into reps. Grief dripped into sweat. I left each class breathless, yes, but also lighter.

I didn’t go to compete. I went to reclaim. To feel powerful again, even for just 45 minutes.

10. Stargazing

Because sometimes you need to feel small to feel safe.

Looking up saved me. It reminded me that my problems, while valid, weren’t the whole universe. That stars explode and still shine. That the same atoms in galaxies swirl in me.

I started learning constellations. Tracking moon phases. Making wishes, even when I didn’t believe in them.

See further: Celestron PowerSeeker 127EQ Telescope

You Don’t Need to Master These.

You just need to try.

You don’t need to be good at painting. Or take perfect photos. You don’t need to write beautifully. Or hike far.

You just need something that brings breath into your body. Something that makes the morning a little more bearable. A little more yours.

Healing isn’t a straight line. It’s a mosaic. Some pieces are colorful. Some are sharp. But each one has its place.

These ten hobbies helped me find mine.

They reminded me that trauma didn’t end me. It broke me open…and from that opening, new things grew.