I was taking a morning stroll through my newly built garden the other day when I noticed something new: my kale plants had tiny holes in their leaves.
My first thought wasn’t, “You’re a bad plant. I should rip you out and throw you in a fire.”
It was, “Oh, sweet little one… what happened? Something has disturbed your growth. Let me see if I can figure out what’s going on.”
Sure enough, I found the culprits—spring cankerworms, floating down from our neighbor’s oak tree on silken threads.
And just like that, the garden handed me another life lesson.
When a good gardener sees a sick or struggling plant, they don’t shame it for failing to thrive. They don’t say, “You should be doing better.” They check the environment. They investigate the soil, the sun, the water, the pests. They get curious, not cruel.
Couldn’t we treat ourselves the same way?
When we see signs of distress in our bodies or minds, we're often quick to blame ourselves. Even doctors sometimes treat symptoms as if the body itself is the problem, rather than asking why the symptoms are showing up in the first place.
As someone who has deconstructed from toxic religious beliefs, I now see how much of my suffering came not from being “broken,” but from the environment I was in—physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually.
I blamed myself for my unhappiness, my poor emotional regulation, and my low self-worth.
But imagine the kale blaming itself for the holes in its leaves… berating itself for not being able to heal faster.
How often do we do that to ourselves? How often do we assume we’re failing, when really—we're just responding?
And here's a heavier question: Why do good gardeners treat their plants better than some believe a “good” god treats his followers?
This garden is teaching me, slowly and sweetly, how to stop blaming the plant and start tending the soil.
I only wish I’d learned this sooner—especially when my kids were little. But better late than never, right? My teens and young adult children are getting this more attuned version of me now and it shows in how they are thriving.
But, my hope is that you will learn this while your babies are still babies. I have no doubt it would make for a better parenting experience for parents and kids alike.
When my teens are struggling, I don’t assume they’re broken or bad. I look for signs of distress. Do they need rest? Food? A safe space to just be?
The answer isn’t, “Tough it out.” The answer is: “Check the soil.”
So how’s your soil today?
Do you need warmth? Rest? More light? Less pressure? Do you need to let go of comparison and simply notice the beauty that’s already blooming around you?
Plants don’t thrive in punishment or pressure. Neither do people.
Be the good gardener—and watch what love can grow.
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