Maybe This Is What Healing Looks Like

Lately I’ve been spending an embarrassing amount of time thinking about plants.

Not world events, though important. Not major life decisions, also important. Not some existential (to me) crisis…again, important.

Plants.

How privileged am I?

I’m out there wondering if my hostas are happy, checking tomatoes that looked perfectly fine an hour ago, and daydreaming about flowers before I fall asleep.

And then there’s my Roxy girl.

My tiny, pregnant doodle who has somehow become the center of my world right alongside my wife.

Every day I’m busy videoing her belly trying to catch a glimpse of the little nugget(s). Counting down the days until her X-ray and worrying about things she hasn’t spent a single second worrying about herself. At least she doesn’t appear to be...

Meanwhile, her daily agenda consists of sleeping, dreaming of pup cups, and being mildly offended whenever I point a camera at her.

Needless to say, she’s handling it a lot better than I am. 😅

But when I really stop to think about it, I realize the funny thing about all these privileged “worries” is that a little over a year ago, none of this felt possible.

It wasn’t because I didn’t like gardening. I tried it last year and it didn’t turn out great.

It wasn’t because I didn’t love my dogs.

It was because I was busy surviving. (If you know, you know…go read some older blogs to find out about it.)

And when you’re in survival mode, your attention gets very small.

You focus on the next problem.

The next crisis.

The next thing that needs fixed.

The next thing that might go wrong.

You don’t spend hours researching shade perennials or getting excited about native plants.

You’re not obsessively snapping pictures of your dogs baby bump.

You aren’t lying in bed mentally rearranging flower beds three years into the future.

You’re too busy trying to keep your head above water and remember to breathe.

Somewhere along the way, though, something shifted for me.

Not overnight.

Not dramatically.

Just gradually.

And after some reflection, I realized my brain has room for things that are not emergencies.

I have room for hobbies.

For projects.

For growing things.

For plans.

And for extra cuddles from my doodle girl.

But y’all, the truth is, I still worry.

Excessively sometimes.

Hello, ADHD brain.

Ask my wife, who has listened to me talk in circles about all the things that could possibly go wrong with Roxy’s pregnancy.

And the guilt! 😬

Because I wanted this.

I wanted her to have puppies and be a momma.

And now that it’s happening, my brain has apparently decided its my full-time job to prepare for every worst-case scenario imaginable.

See? I still overthink.

You’re reading it in real time.

I still catastrophize.

Again…real time.

I still check on things far more often than necessary.

But y’all, I’m learning that healing may not be about becoming a person who never worries.

Maybe it’s having enough peace in your life that the things occupying your mind are a flower bed and a pregnant doggo.

Maybe it’s less about having everything figured out and more about having the space to care about things that bring you joy.

Maybe it’s having enough peace in your life to notice the little things again.

The first tomato.

A new bloom that opened overnight.

The way your dog curls up beside you on the couch.

Getting excited about next year’s garden before this year’s garden is even finished.

Maybe healing isn’t some big dramatic moment where everything suddenly clicks into place.

Maybe it shows up quietly.

Maybe it sneaks in disguised as hobbies, projects, and dreams for the future.

Maybe it looks like caring more about things that no longer feel like emergencies.

And maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking so much about plants and puppies lately.

Not because my anxiety disappeared.

Not because I have life all figured out.

But because somewhere along the way, life became bigger than survival.

These days I’m not just trying to get through the day.

I’m making plans.

I’m growing things.

I’m looking forward to things.

And if I’m being honest, that feels like a pretty good sign.

Maybe this is what healing looks like.