Gardening is healing
I have been thinking about something lately. Why don’t we consider gardening with the same care we give to medication for depression or anxiety? Rather than a substitute, gardening could be a complementary activity.
What would it look like if part of healing included time in the soil? A part of that process could be the essence of healing: slowing down, tending to something living, watching it change, and being part of it.
There is something about gardening that teaches lessons in the gentlest and most honest way. Growth takes time. Things do not always go as planned. Occasionally, you lose an entire crop. And occasionally, when you think something is completely gone, it comes back.
Out in the garden, you work through a lot of life. Stress softens somewhat. Grief has space to exist without needing to be fixed. There is no rush out there. Just small, steady reminders that life keeps moving forward.
Today was one of those days. Don’t we discuss gardening with the same consideration as we do
My grandmother’s roses are finally blooming this season. We brought them with us from Maryland to Georgia, and every time they bloom again, it feels as if a piece of her is still right here with me. There is something exceptional about that kind of continuity, in which memory and growth coexist.
In another part of the garden, my beans are sprouting in what used to be the old rabbit pen. Last year, that space felt worn out and, honestly, somewhat hopeless. Now it is one of the most fertile areas we have. It serves as a quiet reminder that even the places that feel depleted can be restored with time and care.
And then there are the pepper plants. After the last cold front, I was convinced they were gone. Completely done. But they are coming back. Slowly, but they are coming back. No big announcement, no dramatic moment. Just steady growth.
That feels like a lesson, too.
Healing does not always look like a big breakthrough. Sometimes it looks like small signs of life returning when you least expect them. Sometimes it looks like showing up again, even after being knocked down.
I do not think gardening is a complete solution. But I do think it is something we do not talk about enough. It is accessible and grounding, reconnecting us to something real in a world that can feel overwhelming.
Some days, a few quiet minutes in the garden can do more than we realize. It can remind us that growth is still possible, that we are still capable of starting again, and that even after hard seasons, life finds a way forward.