The honeyed scent of spring lingers as the snowdrops I bought at Imbolc are lowered slowly and reverently into the bare patch of earth beside our new home, pure white petals filled with the promise of a new beginning.
And yet beneath all the sweet I am bitter, body and soul depleted by the rush and bustle of the last month. For the first time in a long time I long to be held in the arms of someone stronger, to feel the weight of the responsibility I carry divide and dissipate.
Once again I am grieving that same dream, that life that in moments felt so close but was never made flesh. Fresh resentment rises within me for all the ways the man I once loved cheated and mistreated me and I am reminded that, like all things, healing is cyclical: often we are required to dress and address the same wound more than once.
Outside, new shoots are emerging from the earth, the arrival of spring feels imminent. Meanwhile, I’m still extending my roots in search of stability, taking in the nourishment I need after such a shock to the system.
Planting ourselves somewhere new might invite us into a new way of being but it also provides us ample opportunity to stop and take stock of our lives: sometimes there is pain transplanted alongside the possibility, root systems woven together so closely that they are all but impossible to untangle.
Many of the plants we’ve come to see as weeds hold the most potent medicine. Dandelion contains antioxidant properties and soothes the body by lowering inflammation. Cleaver aids the lymphatic system, improving its ability to remove toxins. And nettle, while painful to touch if you brush against the underside of its leaves, can alleviate the symptoms of seasonal allergies when brewed in a tea.
We can reject pain as a weed, try to wrench it out at its root but it always seems to resurface somehow. If we allow it its place, perhaps even learn to embrace its presence, we may come to see that it can make the joys of this life that much sweeter.
I believe that there is profound wisdom in our pain points, a phenomenon so many of us now describe as our triggers—a term I’ve come to despise. I use the word phenomenon here with intention, because when you think about it how miraculous is it that our bodies are so attuned and responsive to our environment, to one another?
I no longer wish for an existence free from challenging emotions. In fact, if I’m striving for anything it is the strength to be soft and tender with myself when those emotions erupt within me. For the grace to remember that they are here for a reason, a season and a lifetime.
I’m not sure that any beginning is entirely new, maybe each one carries an echo of the ending that came before it. New roots, new shoots, but they all spring from the same beautiful, fertile earth. Right now, I’m beyond thankful for all that she provides.