Wellness & Antiques

I’ve long believed there’s a quiet, powerful link between antiques and wellness. It’s not something you hear discussed in design circles or wellness retreats—but perhaps it should be. Because to me, this connection is not only intuitive—it’s essential.

As someone who values both health and interiors, beauty and function, story and stillness, I’ve come to see antiques as far more than decorative. They are, in a way, a form of care. Of nourishment. A kind of medicine for the senses and soul.

My background is in healthcare—I trained and worked as an occupational therapist for several years, supporting people in hospital and clinical settings. And while treatment plans and medications were central, what often made the most impact—especially in recovery—was environment. Where someone slept. What they could see. What surrounded them.

The clinical term for it is environmental enrichment—but it’s really just common sense. Studies show that people heal faster in more beautiful, natural spaces: rooms with sunlight and airflow, with views of nature, with colours and textures that feel human, not institutional. Recovery is faster. Mood improves. Outcomes change.

And yet, this insight rarely finds its way into our homes. Especially in an era of fast furniture, synthetic surfaces, and anonymous design, the spaces we live in often lack the very things that support our wellbeing.

That’s where antiques come in.

The Psychology of Permanence

To live among antiques is to be reminded—gently, daily—of continuity. These pieces have endured. They’ve passed through hands, rooms, even centuries. There is something deeply grounding about that. In a world that moves quickly, breaks easily, and constantly chases the next new thing, antiques are still. Steady. Unrushed.

There’s also a kind of psychological safety in permanence. It’s not just nostalgia—it’s about having a visual, tactile link to craft, to history, to the long arc of human making. It gives your home emotional weight. Not heaviness, but substance.

These aren’t just objects. They’re witnesses.

Antiques as Sensory Wellness

From a sensory perspective, antiques offer a kind of peace modern design often can’t. They’re usually made from real materials—porcelain, wood, brass, glass, silver, linen—not plastic, laminate or petroleum-based synthetics. The way an antique chair creaks slightly, the chill of a marble tray in the morning, the worn softness of hand-washed cotton—it’s tactile. Textural. Alive.

Unlike mass-manufactured items, antiques rarely emit toxins. Many contemporary furnishings contain volatile organic compounds (VOCs)—off-gassing chemicals used in glues, foams, paints, and finishes. These can contribute to poor indoor air quality and irritate the respiratory system. Antiques, by contrast, have had decades (sometimes centuries) to air out—and were often made with traditional finishes like shellac, beeswax, and natural oils.

The air around them feels calmer. You can sense it.

Environmental Wellness, Too

Antiques are inherently sustainable. They don’t require new resources, no new mining or manufacturing or shipping from across the world. They’re already here—and have proven their longevity. Choosing to furnish or decorate with antiques reduces demand for cheap, fast, resource-intensive goods. It keeps items in circulation and out of landfill.

In short: buying antiques is one of the most elegant forms of recycling.

But more than that, it’s a rejection of disposability. And that mindset shift—away from convenience and toward care—is, in itself, a wellness practice.

Beauty as a Health Metric

We often separate beauty from health, as if one belongs to vanity and the other to virtue. But I’ve come to believe that beauty—especially the kind found in craftsmanship, history, and detail—is health. Not in a performative or polished way, but in the quiet, private sense of inner alignment.

There is wellness in waking up to a room that feels layered, storied, and lived in. In sipping tea from a porcelain cup made decades ago by someone you’ll never meet. In placing your jewellery each night into a tray painted by hand.

These moments aren’t just aesthetic—they’re regulating. They bring us back into our bodies, into slowness, into care. That’s nervous system support. That’s mental health. That’s ritual.

Connection, Craft, and Story

To surround yourself with antiques is to live among stories. A little sugar bowl, made in 1890. A portrait framed in cracked gilt. A carved chair with someone else’s fingerprints worn into the arms. These things connect us—not just to history, but to each other.

They also connect us to the idea that beauty can be made slowly. That value can be earned through age, not diminished by it. That what is human—fallible, handmade, unique—is worth preserving.

And in a culture obsessed with optimisation and digital efficiency, I think that reminder is not just refreshing—it’s radical.

Curating a Life That Feels Good

I don’t think wellness is something we can buy in a bottle, or even achieve by perfecting a routine. It’s a rhythm. A way of moving through the world with softness and integrity. And I believe our spaces—and the objects in them—play a central role in that.

Antiques aren’t the only way to create a well environment, but they’re a poetic and powerful one. They invite stillness. They honour time. They offer beauty that’s quiet, but lasting.

So yes, I believe there is a deep and nuanced link between antiques and wellness. Not because it’s trendy. But because it’s true.

And because living with things that have soul helps us remember that we do too.