From Hairdresser to Healer: My Journey into Biophilic Design

Written by Jo Caughtery

My journey into healthcare and design wasn’t a straight path. I began my career as a hairdresser, working with people, listening to their stories, and creating an experience that made them feel good. 

But life had other plans. When my father suffered a severe stroke, I became his carer. That experience changed everything for me. I saw firsthand the impact of healthcare environments, not just on patients, but on families, caregivers, and staff. It led me to retrain as a nurse, stepping fully into a world where care was everything.

Through nursing, I found myself working in aged care and hospitals, eventually moving into commissioning new facilities. On paper, these spaces met every compliance requirement. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. I watched residents in aged care retreat into their rooms, not because they wanted to be alone, but because there were no spaces designed for community, connection, or joy. I saw patients in hospitals become sicker, not just from their conditions, but from the sterile, unwelcoming environments around them. I saw staff burning out, struggling in workplaces that didn’t support their well-being.

One moment that stands out to me is when I was involved in handing over a newly built aged care home. It was a beautiful building with large windows, designed to bring in natural light and showcase the views. But as soon as the staff moved in, I watched as they arranged the furniture, not facing the windows, but turned inward, away from the light and the outside world. Curtains were drawn at 3 pm, shutting out the afternoon sun. The very features designed to create a connection with nature were ignored, hidden, or seen as inconveniences.

I kept asking myself, Why? Why did we build these spaces to look good on paper but fail the people inside them? Why were healthcare and aged care environments so often designed for efficiency rather than humanity? And, most importantly, how could we do better?

That search led me to biophilic design, the practice of creating spaces that connect people to nature and, in doing so, enhance their health, well-being, and happiness. I retrained, immersing myself in the research and design principles that prove what I had long suspected: nature isn’t just nice to have, it’s essential. Exposure to natural light, greenery, fresh air, and views of the outdoors has measurable effects on recovery rates, mood, cognitive function, and overall quality of life.

But nothing could have prepared me for what I recently experienced becoming a patient myself.

Walking into the hospital, I saw it through both a designer’s lens and a patient’s reality. The entrance was uninviting, more like a car park than a place of healing. Inside, the walls were stark, the spaces windowless, the air stale. In my pre-surgical area, there was no natural light, no connection to the outdoors, just a white, clinical box. I felt the emotional and physical toll of the environment immediately. If I, someone who understands these design principles, was affected so profoundly, how much worse was it for vulnerable patients with no choice but to endure it?

This experience reinforced what I’ve known all along: our environments shape us. They can make us sicker, or they can help us heal. They can isolate us, or they can bring us together. They can wear us down, or they can uplift us.

Now, my mission is clearer than ever: to transform healthcare, aged care, workplaces, and learning environments into places that truly support people. Biophilic design isn’t just an aesthetic choice, it’s a necessity for well-being.

I’ve seen what happens when we ignore the human need for connection, nature, and comfort. I’ve also seen what happens when we embrace it. And I know which future I want to build.