The Garden That Grew Inside Me

I didn’t always believe in soil.

It just looked like dirt to me — messy, stubborn, hard to clean off.

I didn’t understand how people found comfort in it, how they bent their backs for hours, how they called it peaceful.

But then life broke me a little.

Not in a loud way. There was no single explosion. No drama. Just the slow erasing of joy — day by day.

Work drained me. People disappointed me. The world started to feel like it was whispering, not to me, but around me. I was there, but not really seen.

One morning, I walked past a small garden center, not meaning to stop. But something made me pause. Maybe it was the way the morning sun fell on the terracotta pots. Or maybe I was just looking for something — anything — to feel again.

I bought a packet of seeds. Basil and marigold.

I didn’t even have a proper pot.

The first time I pushed my fingers into the soil, I felt something shift.

It was cold, crumbly, honest. Unlike everything else I was dealing with.

I didn’t tell anyone. It was my secret. A small act of rebellion — against my numbness.

Days passed. Then weeks. Every morning I watered it. Sometimes I spoke to the little shoots that peeked out, not with words, but with silence. It felt enough.

Slowly, something began to grow inside me too.

I started noticing light again.

The way it hit the windows at 8 a.m., the smell of soil after rain, the sound of bees near my balcony.

My life hadn’t changed. But I was changing.

The garden didn’t solve my problems. But it taught me patience.

That some things don’t bloom in one day. That roots need time. That healing is not always loud. Sometimes, it's just a basil leaf opening quietly in the sun.

One day, a friend visited. She asked, “What happened to you? You look... peaceful.”

I smiled and handed her a marigold.

“I started planting things,” I said.

But I meant something else entirely.

If you’ve been carrying heavy things — grief, doubt, silence — maybe plant something. Anything. Even if it’s just in an old mug on your windowsill.

You might just grow a little too.

Not every healing looks like therapy or travel.

Sometimes it’s a seed.

Sometimes it’s dirt under your nails.

Sometimes, it’s the garden that grows inside you.