Tending to my Garden

Sitting with feelings, telling the truth, and nurturing what is needed

Hello wild ones,

It has been a very long time since you have heard from me, 5 months actually. While I could offer you an apology for my absence from this platform, I’m choosing to remain tethered to my values of honouring my capacity, rhythm, and seasons that ask for my presence instead of my productivity.

I don’t think I am alone in feeling that 2024 has been a wild ride, in varied ways, and an unpredictable pursuit of sorts.  From January to June, I was in a vortex of feelings - some familiar, some new - and every time I tried to move through it quickly, I was reminded to give things time and space.  I love a slow-cooked meal that’s been marinating for hours, with flavours bursting on my palette, but I can’t say letting emotions marinate for just as long is as enjoyable. But, I was reminded of the beauty of stillness and the power of the pause.  

For months I was asked to meet myself, over and over again, even if I didn’t want to.  Of course, it’s easier to keep moving at the pace we’re familiar with, or the one expected of us, but it’s when we slow things down just enough to catch a glimpse of a new detail that invites us into a deeper place within ourselves.  

This is where I met fear, an old familiar friend who has stifled me in many ways, one that has kept me caged.  This is also where I met sadness, a depression of sorts, that had me withdrawing from people and places, and feeling unable to move forward - feet cemented in place.  Loneliness grew here.  

And so I sat with it.  

When I sat at my altar, I let the tears fall.

When I watched the trees sway with the wind, I felt the ache in my heart.

When I moved my body, it told the stories I was carrying.

It was a homecoming of sorts, but not the bubbly energized love type of homecoming - it was an honest one.  Honesty isn’t easy, but avoiding the truth is harder to hold.   I didn’t want to feel the hurt, pain, and anger, but I had to if it meant inviting in more joy and peace - something I deeply yearned for.  Inviting pain in doesn’t make it grow, it helps it metabolize.  And from there, we create more space for goodness to follow.  

As the days and weeks passed,  I slowly started to feel some of the fog lift - like that first tiny glimmer of light when the sun rises to meet a new day.  The sky is still filled with the darkness of the night, but small flickers of light slowly emerge and for a moment, all of it exists at once, in harmony.  Both beautiful, both real.  

And so I let them both have a seat at my table - the pain and the joy, both worthy of my presence. 

Honouring the polarity of life keeps me tethered to what it means to be human - to welcome all of what life offers us, not just the shiny bits.  I spent years believing that only my shiny parts are welcomed, valued, and loved - and this year I have come to understand that some may prefer those parts too, so I continue to situate myself in the places that invite all of me.  The places where I can be wild and messy, joyful and silly, sad and angry, honest and real.  There is grief in knowing that not everyone can hold such polarities, and there is relief in remembering I’m not responsible for changing that. 

I finally started my vegetable garden, and what a joy it has been to tend to the fertile soil and get my hands dirty.  Each day I visit my garden and watch its growth, how satisfying it is to witness things start to sprout.  We have spinach, rocket, lettuce, and spring onion thriving - and tomatoes, carrots, and surprise pineapples on the way. The more I water our garden with love and care, the more it blooms - and the same applies to our relationships, with Self and others.  If we plant the initial seeds and expect the garden to grow without providing the nutrients it depends on to sustain itself, everything will dry up and be depleted.  Nothing is sustainable in this place of stagnancy.

Tending to my new garden

When the rainy season hits and a storm rolls in, our gardens will inevitably get damaged. The netting may tear or rip, the framing may rot, or debris may fill the garden bed - all needing tending.  Our garden can’t keep growing if unwanted debris is left behind. We must remove it to create more space for the fertile soil to support the blooming of new sprouts. Some will welcome this process of excavating and replenishing, others may find it too difficult to manage and move on to starting a new garden.  New gardens are nice, shiny perhaps, but inevitably a storm will roll in again, so at some point we must learn how to weather them if we want to keep the ones we have. 

Winter is coming to a close over here in the southern hemisphere, however, we are experiencing some unusually warmer days that I’m not quite ready for yet - I’m still yearning for some cooler cozy days as I slowly emerge from my cave. It feels good to be writing again, expressing myself, and sharing my heart with you all, and I plan to continue to do so as there is much to write about these days. For now, my words rest in my journal, and little by little they will land here for you to read. 

Thank you for your support, patience, and grace as I’ve weathered some of my own storms throughout this year and I’m excited for things that are blooming within me. 

I’d love to hear from you. How has 2024 felt for you so far?  

Until next time, stay wild. 

With love,

Laurita