Last April, when I was visiting my mom, I bought two tiny tomato plants for James's Dad who had mentioned he wanted a pair for his patio.
"You'll have to keep them inside until June", she said. "The frost at night is a killer."
"Don't worry," I assured her, "I'll baby them."
Then I promptly forgot them in my truck overnight.
The next morning I remembered and ran to get them.
“That one’s not going to make it,” Mom said, pointing at the smaller of the two.
My heart dropped.
I could see she was right.
Still, I took him home.
I put the healthy one into the sunroom, then took a careful look at the one still in shock. The colour wasn’t right. The green was traumatized, darkened like a frostbitten thumb.
"I'm so sorry," I said, carrying him to the compost bin.
But when it came right down to it, I couldn't throw him out. Instead, I snipped off the dead, shrivelled leaves and put him into the sun.
"You can do it," I told him. And slowly, he did.
Tiny green leaves, bright with hope, emerged from his torso.
It was growth in slow motion.
The other plant, who hadn't been damaged, doubled, then tripled in size.
In June, I gave it to James' Dad but kept the little one with me.
He was barely seven inches tall, but fuzzy with leaves.
"Look at YOU," I said, proudly, touching every one with affection.
He only grew a couple more inches, but in August, I understood why.
He wasn't putting his energy into his height. He was putting it into his purpose.
Tomatoes!
I was stunned.
I didn't think it was possible.
And yet there they were—tiny miracles—each one perfect and bursting with life.
I've never appreciated a cherry tomato more.
They were sweet and delicious.
Oh thank God, I hadn't thrown him out!
I thought of my own life then—of all the moments I had wanted to give up on myself.
How many times had the shock of life's trials drained the joy out of me—darkening my world-view?
How many times had I compared myself to others—and always the successful ones who were flourishing more than myself?
At least a hundred, if not more.
I'm guessing you've probably done the same.
Because as beautiful as life is, it can also be brutally hard. Suddenly, all you see is the rot and decay.
But life moves in cycles, remember? Even when it seems like you're headed straight for the compost bin, new life is right around the corner.
So . . . take a breath.
Give life a chance to regenerate.
Be gentle with yourself.
Tend to your needs with love and kindness.
Put yourself in the LIGHT, dear one.
There are seeds of purpose deep inside you. And I have no doubt, that if you allow the process of your life to support you—if you rest and take care of yourself—those seeds will bear fruit and nourish everyone around you.
So please keep on going.
Sending you so much love,
P. S. A lot of us are still partially frozen by some kind of early childhood (or recent) trauma. Many of my clients have amazing therapists but turn to me for support while they integrate everything they've learned. If you're interested in doing the same, let's talk. It takes a village, my friend! I've done my recovery work and hold a compassionate space where all your inner parts will be loved and welcomed. CLICK HERE to book a Free Consultation.