The Garden Is Fine. It's Me I'm Worried About.

I have this garden.

And I've been hovering over it like an anxious mom with a newborn.

Every morning, I walk outside to check on everything. Every evening, I do it again. I inspect leaves. I look for weeds. I stare at tomatoes that somehow haven't doubled in size since breakfast. I pull a weed here, pinch off a dead leaf there, and convince myself that what I'm doing is very important business.

The truth?

Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm taking care of the garden or if the garden is taking care of me.

Lately, I've caught myself using gardening as an excuse to avoid other things. The job search. The uncertainty. The questions I don't have answers to yet.

Instead of scrolling job boards, I go outside.

Instead of worrying about what comes next, I pull weeds.

Instead of sitting with my anxiety, I water tomatoes.

And honestly? There are worse coping mechanisms.

At first, I thought I kept checking the garden because I was worried about the plants.

Now I'm starting to think that's not true.

Maybe I keep checking the garden because the garden keeps reminding me that growth happens whether I obsess over it or not.

The tomatoes don't grow faster because I checked on them six times today.

The peppers don't care how many gardening videos I've watched.

The basil doesn't need me standing over it wondering if it's happy.

The plants are going to do what plants do.

They'll grow.

They'll struggle.

They'll get eaten by bugs.

They'll surprise me.

They'll produce fruit.

And most of that is going to happen whether I'm hovering over them or not.

There's probably a lesson in that somewhere, but that's a thought to unpack another day.

As someone with ADHD, anxiety, and a lifelong habit of overthinking absolutely everything, I don't always trust that things are working unless I can see them happening. I want proof. I want progress reports. I want guarantees.

Gardening doesn't offer any of those.

You plant a seed.

You water it.

You wait.

And somehow that feels a lot like healing.

You read the book.

You do the journaling.

You show up for therapy.

You keep trying.

And then you wait.

Not because you know exactly when the breakthrough will happen, but because you trust that it eventually will.

That's the part gardening keeps teaching me.

Not patience. I'm still terrible at patience. Even though I've been told my patience is great! Haha

Trust.

Trust that growth is happening underground even when I can't see it.

Trust that not every yellow leaf is a disaster.

Trust that not every bad day means I'm back where I started.

Trust that not every negative thought means I'm failing.

Trust that growth can still be happening even when things don't look perfect.

Trust that I don't have to micromanage every living thing in my care.

Trust that some things take time, like being a human.

The funny thing is that my garden has given me more than vegetables this year.

It's given me exercise.

It's given me sunshine.

It's given me something to do with my hands when my brain won't sit still.

It's given me a reason to get outside.

It's given me tiny hits of dopamine when I spot a new flower, a new tomato, or the first harvest of something I've been waiting months to enjoy.

Most importantly, it's given me peace.

Not perfect peace.

Not "my life is completely figured out" peace.

Just enough peace to get through most days.

And honestly, that's enough.

So if you've been obsessively checking your garden, your flowers, your houseplants, or anything else you're growing, maybe you're not doing it because you're worried about the plants.

Maybe you're doing it because part of you needs the reminder that gardening is for mental health too.

Growth doesn't happen because we obsess over it.

Growth happens because we keep showing up.

The garden is fine.

Maybe we're going to be fine too.