I was in the garden today, pulling weeds and digging out shrubs that had found their way into my yard.
Some had spread beneath the fence from my neighbor's side.
Their roots were incredible.
Strong.
Deep.
Determined.
As I dug them out, I found myself feeling a little conflicted.
They weren't doing anything wrong.
In fact, they were thriving.
Part of me felt guilty for pulling them up.
I caught myself quietly saying,
"Thank you for growing."
"Keep thriving…"
"Just not on my side of the fence."
And as I said it, something became clear…
For much of my life, I believed I was making my own decisions.
But when I look back, I wonder how many of those choices were actually mine.
The beliefs I inherited.
The expectations I absorbed.
The roles I learned to play.
The definition of success.
The way love was expressed.
The things I thought I had to become.
None of those appeared overnight.
They grew.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Root by root.
Not because anyone was trying to hurt me— simply because they were teaching what had been planted in them.
Our parents taught what they knew.
Their parents taught what they knew.
Generation after generation, the roots continued to spread.
Some of them were beautiful.
Some of them gave me strength.
Some of them helped me become who I am today.
But some of them no longer belong in my garden.
They do not nourish what I now choose to grow.
It doesn't make them bad.
It simply means they aren't for me.
Just because something is beautiful…
doesn't mean it's beautiful to me.
Just because it flourished in someone else's yard…
doesn't mean it needs to grow in mine.
I don't hate the plants I've decided no longer belong on my side of the fence.
I can appreciate where they came from.
Thank them for what they taught me.
And still choose something different.
That's one of the greatest gifts of becoming an adult.
We finally get to become conscious gardeners.
To notice what we're watering.
What we're feeding.
What we're pruning.
What we're planting.
And little by little…
our garden begins to look more like us.
Because we chose it.
What has been growing in your garden simply because it found its way there?
What would you plant…
knowing you are allowed to choose?
Healing doesn't always mean pulling up every root…
just becoming intentional about what you continue to nurture.
What has served its purpose?
What have you been longing to grow?
Give that a place to bloom.
It's your side of the fence.
