I first noticed the connection between plants and breathing when my nephew Jake was diagnosed with asthma. He was six, bright-eyed and dinosaur-obsessed, but suddenly struggling to catch his breath during simple games of tag. My sister was beside herself, installing air purifiers, ripping out carpets, and frantically researching triggers.
During one of my weekend visits, I brought over several spider plants and a small Boston fern – nothing fancy, just divisions from my apartment collection. “They’re good air cleaners,” I explained, remembering a NASA study I’d read about plants filtering indoor air pollutants. I didn’t expect miracles, just wanted to do something helpful in that helpless family moment.
Three months later, my sister called. “His doctor asked what we changed,” she said. “His numbers are better.” Of course, they’d made multiple changes – new medication, removed dusty curtains, added those purifiers – but it got me thinking about the relationship between our built environment, natural elements, and the very air we breathe.
I’m not suggesting houseplants cured his asthma – that would be ridiculous and irresponsible. But that experience sent me down a research rabbit hole about how the spaces we design affect respiratory health. It’s become something of an obsession in my practice.
When we talk about biophilic design – the integration of nature and natural elements into our built environments – we often focus on the psychological benefits. And yes, there’s solid research showing that connections to nature reduce stress, improve mood, and enhance creativity. But the physiological impacts, particularly on respiratory function, deserve just as much attention.
The air quality in our homes and workplaces is typically 2-5 times worse than outdoor air, according to the EPA. Think about that for a second. We spend roughly 90% of our lives indoors, breathing air that’s significantly more polluted than what’s outside, even in urban areas.
It’s mad when you really consider it. Last year, I worked with a corporate client in Manchester who wanted to “green up” their office space primarily for aesthetic reasons – they wanted to look sustainable for clients and attractive to potential new hires. Fair enough.
But I convinced them to let me approach the project through a respiratory health lens first, aesthetics second. We started with baseline measurements of particulate matter, VOCs, carbon dioxide levels, and humidity throughout their three-story office building. The results weren’t terrible but certainly weren’t great.
CO2 levels routinely exceeded 1000 ppm by mid-afternoon in conference rooms, a level associated with cognitive impairment. VOCs from cleaning products, furnishings, and office equipment created a constant low-level chemical soup. Rather than simply adding plants everywhere (which helps, but isn’t a complete solution), we implemented a comprehensive biophilic approach focused on respiratory health: First, we reconfigured the ventilation system to maximize fresh air introduction while minimizing energy loss.
Nature doesn’t separate systems the way humans do – in natural environments, air circulation, temperature regulation, and filtration are integrated processes. We mimicked this by creating subtle convection currents through strategic placement of plants and water features. In areas where we couldn’t modify the mechanical systems, we installed living walls – not the plastic-intensive modular systems that often create maintenance nightmares, but simple, soil-based vertical gardens planted with species known for air-filtering capabilities.
Snake plants, peace lilies, English ivy, and rubber plants became functioning members of the office team. Water features were strategically placed not just for their calming sound (though that’s a lovely bonus) but to increase ambient humidity to the 40-60% range that research shows is optimal for respiratory health. Too dry, and our mucous membranes become irritated and less effective at filtering pathogens; too humid, and we risk mold growth.
Nature maintains this balance beautifully in healthy ecosystems. We replaced synthetic furnishings and finishes with natural materials wherever possible – wool carpeting instead of nylon, solid wood desks instead of laminate, mineral-based paints instead of those high in VOCs. And honestly, this is where clients often balk because of cost implications, but I’ve become quite good at showing the return on investment through reduced absenteeism and increased productivity.
Six months after implementation, we repeated our air quality measurements. Particulate matter down 34%. VOCs reduced by 51%.
CO2 levels rarely exceeding 800 ppm even in crowded conference rooms. But the numbers that mattered most to the client? Sick days reduced by 23% compared to the previous year, and self-reported respiratory comfort improved significantly in staff surveys.
One employee, someone with chronic bronchitis, wrote in the feedback: “I used to dread coming to the office during flare-ups. Now I sometimes come in even when I could work from home because I actually breathe better here than in my flat.” I keep that comment saved in a folder labeled “Why This Matters” for those inevitable moments of professional doubt. Of course, not everyone has the budget for comprehensive office renovations.
I’m acutely aware of the privilege embedded in high-end design solutions. That’s why I’ve become increasingly focused on democratizing biophilic approaches for respiratory health. In my own rental apartment (yes, despite my professional focus, I’m still a renter in this ridiculous housing market), I’ve implemented budget-friendly interventions that have measurably improved my indoor air quality.
My bathroom fan died last year, and rather than wait for my landlord’s glacial response time, I installed a shower plant system with pothos, ferns, and peace lilies that naturally reduce humidity and filter air. Cost: under £50. Result: no more foggy mirror and significantly reduced mold issues in grout lines.
When my downstairs neighbor started smoking on his balcony (with the smoke drifting straight into my windows), I created a living screen of rosemary, lavender, and vertical strawberry plants that not only provides some filtration but also gives me herbs and occasional fruit. It’s not perfect – I still close the windows sometimes – but it demonstrates how even small-scale natural interventions can improve respiratory conditions. The principles of biophilic design for respiratory health aren’t complicated, though implementation sometimes is.
It starts with understanding that our lungs evolved in environments with certain air quality characteristics – specific humidity ranges, particular combinations of airborne compounds, natural filtration through vegetation, and regular air movement. Our sealed, synthetic indoor environments often lack these characteristics entirely. I once visited a client’s newly built “eco-home” that was so tightly sealed for energy efficiency that CO2 levels were reaching nearly 2000 ppm at night in the bedrooms – a level associated with headaches, poor sleep, and impaired thinking.
They’d created an energy-efficient sick building. We added a simple heat-recovery ventilation system and strategic indoor plantings, and within weeks they reported better sleep and fewer morning headaches. What fascinates me most about this field is how closely aligned good respiratory design is with other aspects of sustainability.
When we specify natural materials with minimal chemical treatments, we’re reducing occupant exposure to respiratory irritants while also reducing environmental impact. When we incorporate plants for air filtration, we’re also supporting biodiversity and reducing carbon footprint. When we design for optimal natural ventilation, we’re improving respiratory health while reducing energy consumption.
I’m not suggesting we all need to work in botanical gardens (though I wouldn’t complain). There’s a balance to strike between maintenance requirements, space constraints, and health benefits. But I do believe that every space can incorporate some elements of nature that support respiratory function.
For those with limited space or budgets, even small interventions help. A bedroom with proper cross-ventilation, a few strategic plants, and natural bedding materials can create a respiratory sanctuary for the 8 hours we spend sleeping. A desktop arrangement of air-filtering plants around a computer workstation creates a microclimate of improved air quality.
A shower plant system improves bathroom air while requiring minimal care. The pandemic brought respiratory health into sharp focus for obvious reasons, but I hope this awareness outlasts our current crisis. The quality of air we breathe indoors has always mattered, and biophilic design offers one of the most beautiful approaches to improving it.
My nephew Jake is twelve now, still asthmatic but better controlled. My sister has become something of a plant enthusiast herself, transforming their home into what Jake calls “the jungle house.” During a recent visit, I watched him doing homework surrounded by a lush collection of plants, breathing easily while concentrating on his maths. It was a small moment, but one that embodied exactly why this work matters to me.
We can’t all live in perfect natural environments, especially as urbanization increases globally. But we can design spaces that honor our biological need for clean, properly humidified, naturally filtered air. Our lungs evolved breathing air processed by plants, balanced by natural humidity cycles, and moved by gentle thermal currents.
Our built environments can either support or hinder this fundamental biological function. I believe the spaces where we live, work, learn, and heal should help us breathe, not make breathing harder. And that’s ultimately what biophilic design for respiratory health aims to do – not just add nature as decoration, but integrate natural elements and systems in ways that support our fundamental biological functions.
Because every breath matters, and design can make each one better.
