Okay, so I accidentally kept a plant alive… for six months. 😳 Let me explain why this is more shocking than the time I tried to “bronde” my hair during lockdown (RIP, bathroom tiles). Three years ago, I couldn’t nurture a plastic fern. Today? My balcony’s a jungle, my therapy bills dropped 60%, and I’ve got photographic evidence of actual butterflies visiting my pansies. This isn’t a Pinterest lie – it’s grief gardening magic.
The Seed Cracker Incident
It started with a funeral and a rogue bird. After losing Mom, I became a human burrito – bed, tears, Uber Eats wrappers. Then one Tuesday, a sparrow dropped half a pretzel into my abandoned herb planter. When a sunflower sprouted weeks later (from SEASONED SNACK SALT, people!), I took it as cosmic shade: “Get. Up.”
Science nerds, back me up: Digging in soil increases serotonin. My neuroscientist friend (who I now trust more than my horoscope app) says Mycobacterium vaccae in dirt literally mimics antidepressants. But let’s get visceral – ever ripped weeds so hard your shoulders burned? That’s anger transmuting into compost, baby.
How Dead Things Teach Living
Winter taught me radical patience. I mourned wilted dahlias until learning their bulbs were secretly regrouping underground. Now when grief ambushes me at Trader Joe’s, I whisper: “Dormancy isn’t death.” Sprouting tulips in March felt like getting a postcard from Mom: “PS – I’m just composting elsewhere.”
The 3am Watering Club
Insomnia’s different when you’re whispering apologies to dehydrated hydrangeas. Those moonlit rescue missions became meditation. Pro tip: Talking to plants isn’t crazy if you’re also listening. My lavender taught me about resilience through scent – even crushed leaves release perfume.
Failures That Fertilized
RIP zucchini plant 4. Your dramatic demise taught me when to surrender. Modern wellness culture lies about constant growth. Real healing looks like:
– Burying moldy lemons as “citrus compost therapy” 🍋
– Laughing when squirrels behead your sunflowers (they’re just floral barbers!)
– Cheering for ONE surviving tomato like it’s your Olympic athlete
Why Your Brain Needs Worms
No metaphor – actual worms. Vermicomposting forced me to confront decay’s purpose. Rotting food scraps became black gold. Tell me that’s not alchemy. My therapist nodded approvingly when I raved about red wigglers: “You’re externalizing the decomposition of grief.” Sure, Jan.
Seasons as Snarky Life Coaches
Summer’s abundance mocked my scarcity mindset. Fall’s leaf drop screamed “Letting go isn’t loss – it’s photosynthesis prep.” Now I spot grief cycles everywhere: composting relationships, pruning toxic habits, letting some dreams go dormant.
Your Turn (No Green Thumb Required)
Start with a $5 succulent. Kill it gloriously. Try again. Track how nurturing something alters your nervous system. Notice when you reach for the watering can instead of wine. Document the weird moments – like crying over radish sprouts or naming your rake.
Today, my garden’s messy. So’s my healing. But the ladybugs came back, and so did my laugh. The soil-stained pages of my journal hold more truth than any “10 Steps to Beat Sadness” listicle. Grief didn’t shrink – my capacity to hold it grew, one seedling at a time.
So yeah, I talk to plants now. They’re better listeners than my ex anyway. 🌱