Let's talk about dirt, disappointment, and defying the voice that whispers(screams), "You're stupid! Stop trying!".
Now, we live in a duplex, so our backyard ain't exactly the Garden of Eden. But we figured, even a little patch of dirt can grow some dreams, right?
Last year, right when Summer was about to head out the door, we got the idea to try our hand at growing a veggie patch. Talk about fashionably late to the gardening party! We threw caution to the wind and planted potatoes, peas, cucumbers, carrots, and crossed our fingers.
Sure, our duplex ain't exactly a sprawling ranch, but a little space wasn't gonna stop us! We knew from the jump that this garden wasn't gonna be winning any county fair ribbons. And guess what? It didn't.
We didn't exactly end up with a cornucopia of veggies but we get inspired to channel our inner green thumbs come springtime.
This year, we decided to play it smart and consulted the Farmer's Almanac. We mapped out our garden, then played the waiting game for that last frost to take a hike. Now, here in our neck of the PNW woods, spring can be a real tease. One minute, Mother Nature's all sunshine and rainbows, and the next, she's throwing a frost tantrum.
Even though I swore up and down that I wouldn't be starting seeds indoors (because who needs that kind of stress) my impatient self decided wait out the frost, throw caution to the wind (and maybe ignore my own nagging voice) and try my hand at growing seedlings indoors. Who needs patience when you've got ambition (or delusion)!
If you're a curious or creative person, you know that starting something new can be a freaking rollercoaster. Especially for a hot mess express like yours truly, Miss Impatience herself (which, let's be honest, is how I got into this whole mess in the first place).
But here's the thing: I'm on a mission to cultivate some patience and possibly calm my inner critic. You know, that voice in your head that's like a backseat driver from hell, constantly pointing out every pothole and wrong turn, and reminding you of all the other times you got lost? Yeah, that one!
With a sprinkle of enthusiasm and a dash of "don't mess this up" nerves, I did what any self-respecting newbie would do: I hit the books, stocked up on supplies, and followed those planting instructions in hopes of a good start. Phase one? Crushed it! Those seeds were set up with everything they needed to germinate, and those little sprouts emerged right on schedule. High fives all around!
Within a week, most of those little sprouts were living their best lives. Some of them were speed demons, others took their sweet time, but we all bloom at our own pace, right? Everything seemed to be on track.
But then, just as quickly as things were growing, they also seemed to...stall. And that's when the "fun" part began.
One day, I'm checking in on the seedlings, and what do I see? Mold. In the soil. Of like, most of the seedlings. Cue the inner monologue of doom and gloom. But then, just as that inner critic was getting ready to unleash a verbal beatdown, I took a deep breath and gave myself a little pep talk: "Girl, you've never done this before. Mistakes are part of the learning curve. So what if there's a little mold? We'll figure it out. You got this."
I'm not one to shy away from a challenge. So I put on my detective hat and scoured the internet to figure out what to do next. Turns out, even seasoned garden gurus get a little moldy sometimes.
Then things got really messy. Everyone and their abuela had a different opinion on how bad this mold situation was and what to do about it. Some folks were ready to burn the garden to the ground, while others were like, "Chill, it's just a little fungus." It was a cacophony of conflicting advice, enough to make your head spin!
But here's what stuck with me: mold isn't always the enemy. It's just nature's way of saying, "Something's off here." Maybe there's too much water, not enough air circulation, or the temperature's a bit off. Your plants are giving you valuable information through mold.
Then there's this whole microclimate situation. Basically, it's like your backyard has its own little personality with its own unique weather patterns. So basically, whether your garden starts are thriving or diving depends on a whole bunch of factors.
I also learned that the first leaves that emerge are called Cotyledons, and their job is to collect nutrients to feed those growing seedlings. Next, true leaves emerge and when one true leaf sprouts, that's your cue to move the party to a bigger pot. In the meantime, it's all about keeping things just right – temperature, water, light. Easy, right? Wrong!
After weeks of horticultural hocus pocus, adjusting light, water, and temperature, my seedlings started looking like they belonged in a Tim Burton movie – all leggy and pale, with not a single true leaf to grace their spindly little stems. To top it all off, no matter what I did, those little sprouts were still stuck in Neverland, with everything refusing to grow except the mold. That mold just kept coming back!
Defeat loomed large, and I wondered, did I go full helicopter parent on these sprouts? Am I fussing with them so much they're totally stressed? Maybe I should just chill out and let them do their little plant thing. I mean haven't seeds been doing their thing without human intervention since forever?
By now my inner critic was doing a victory lap around my brain, gloating with its vicious and relent condemnations. When it begin to thrash, those harsh criticisms of being a failure feels so true. I mean, look at the evidence! For a hot minute, I was ready to throw in the towel and declare myself the "Black Thumb of Botany" – everything I touch withers and dies.
Once again, I had to take a beat, breathe deep, and tell myself, "Look, these ain't exactly new challenges, are they? You're still figuring things out. Sure, it's been a total frustration station, but even these so-called failures are teaching you stuff."
So, I hit the pause button, shook off the bad vibes (because let's be real, frustration can be seriously icky), and finally allowed myself to be frustrated without feeling like a total loser. Then a tiny voice chimed in, "These little sprouts may need a change of scenery. This environment ain't exactly helping them blossom, you know?"
But wait! The experts all say transplanting before true leaves is a no-go. But here I am, with a hunch and a serious case of "should I or shouldn't I?" swirling around in my brain. Ugh, the "should" voices are the worst! They waltz in with their know-it-all attitude and leave you questioning everything. Self-doubt is a total buzzkill, and frankly, it's getting us nowhere.
So, what's a curious (and slightly desperate) plant parent to do? The idea just kept getting louder, and wouldn't leave me be. The experts and hobbyists all said "don't do it!" But there they were, my leggy little seedlings with no real leaves to speak of. These seedlings were hanging on my a scrawny thread. If I didn't intervene, they were toast. So, I took a leap of faith because I figured that even a slim shot at survival was better than nothing.
Fast forward a day or two, and those little green guys pulled a surprise comeback! They each sprouted a single true leaf and the lanky stems started to bulk up. Those lonely leaves grew like wildfire, practically taking over their pots. Relief washed over me, but I wasn't popping champagne corks just yet. There was a big, green elephant in the room – for days, every single plant only had one true leaf. And that one leaf? Growing like it was fueled by rocket fuel and sheer willpower.
So, the question remained: would these little leafy Lone Rangers ever graduate from their one-leaf phase? Would these one-leaf wonders survive? Only time would tell.
I decided to trust my gut and give them some more time. My partner reminded me that their growth might be happening under the soil. Under the soil? Ohhh right! I completely forgot about the process of growth that we don't see. But more on that later.
Days passed with no change, and my inner critic was back and grumbling: "Nice work, champ. Looks like you're cultivating a stunning collection of dirt naps." But this time, its voice was faint compared to the small hope of what could be.
Fast forward a week, and those little champions were proudly sporting their second true leaves! From that point on, it was growth-central. The leaves unfurled, getting bigger and stronger by the day. But Spring was feeling sleepy and it was still too cold out to move them outdoors. So wait again I did.
Although the weather began to show small signs of warmth, it was still too soon to tell if they would survive relocation outdoors. The signs of them being root bound were clear and I had to make a choice. Do I transplant them outside to avoid further root damage, or keep them indoors to avoid death by cold temps? I decided that the root rot was priority enough for me to roll the dice on the weather warming up. I began a quick hardening off with 2 hour increases over 3 days. Day 4, arrived and those lovelies were finally transplanted to their new home outdoors.
It's been a week and those little green warriors are still kicking! They've been through a few weather fluctuations but a couple of them are showing some impressive growth spurts. We have other veggies in grow bags that were started outdoors, and their first little green shoots popping up are like tiny beacons of hope.
And they questions remain, will they make it? What other hurdles will we navigate? Will the work we've done be enough? I'm excited and little nervous to find out.
Lessons Learned
This indoor gardening adventure has been quite the emotional rollercoaster. It's been a messy mix of excitement, frustration, and ultimately, a surprising amount of self-discovery. But so far some valuable lessons emerged:
1. Listen to Your Gut (Even When the Experts Disagree): The internet is a treasure trove of gardening advice and it can be overwhelming and contradictory. This experience reminded me the importance of intuition in the heady realm of knowledge. While established knowledge is valuable, there's a place for listening to your gut feeling, especially when faced with conflicting information. It can feel scary to trust ourselves, and do not get me started on analysis paralysis. In this case, transplanting the seedlings without true leaves defied conventional wisdom, but ended up being the right move for my little green sprouts.
2. Befriend "Failure": Those seedlings weren't exactly thriving at first. There was mold, legginess, and no growth. But instead of seeing these as failures, I reframed them as learning experiences. Every setback was a chance to research, observe, and adjust. As the saying goes, "failure is not the opposite of success, it's part of it."
3. Practice pays off: I have an intensely cruel inner critic that I've been wrestling with for as far back as I remember. I'll be the first to tell you, habits die hard and these inner critics are habitual. When they pop off, it can feel like you have no control over them taking over your whole sense of self. I've spend many MANY years trying to reframe these negative thoughts but it can feel like a Herculean effort trying to reign them in. In this gardening adventure, I felt all those years of hard work were finally paying off.
I noticed it was easier to catch the early rumblings of the critic and access my grounded self that knows there isn't some mythical being ready to label me as "good" or "bad"; "worthy" or "unworthy" (thanks Catholicism). The universe isn't playing some cosmic game of favorites .
I FINALLY get it on a deeper level that with enough practice, a new voice can emerge to counteract the negative messages so it doesn't tripwire the critic. Sure, the critic might still show up uninvited (rude!), but (and here's the really important part) with enough practice, you get good at spotting the B.S. Even when you're drowning in self-doubt, that inner voice of reason can be heard, and is ready to throw you a lifeline and remind you that you're way cooler than the critic will ever admit.
4. Growth Isn't Linear: Those seedlings didn't sprout overnight, and there were periods where progress seemed to stall. This experience mirrored life itself: growth happens at its own pace, with ups and downs along the way. There's gonna be stretches where progress feels like it's taking a nap, but there's unseen work happening underground, both literally and metaphorically. Celebrate the baby steps, and know that even the invisible work matters.
5. Enjoy the Journey: Sure, the ultimate goal is a semi-decent harvest, but this whole plant parenthood thing reminded me to calm down and enjoy the ride. Seeing a sprout unfurl from a seed is exciting and there's a satisfaction in battling those little challenges that come up. Every day brings a new lesson, and that's the good stuff.
But What if these little guys just… didn't? Denial might be stage one, followed by a full-blown pity party with my inner critic as the guest of dishonor. "See? You always mess up! Stop trying!" (Okay, maybe that's my mom's voice in there – and was probably because seeing your kid struggle hurts, like, a lot. You just want them to stop feeling that pain.) But even after the initial wallowing (because let's be real, I'd likely have a mini tantrum), there'd still be a flicker of "Maybe I can try again, but differently?" That's the thing, after the frustration hangover fades, there's always a chance to learn and grow from the experience.
6. Don't be afraid to experiment. Plants have their own preferences, and sometimes the best way to figure out what they dig is to, well, experiment! Pay attention to how they respond, and how they tell you what they need (or don't need).
7. Results aren't guaranteed. That's life, baby! Sometimes things just don't work out. Life is a beautiful, messy, unpredictable thing, and guaranteed results are about as common as unicorns with stock options. Sometimes, even the most epic plans take a nosedive. That's when you gotta take a deep breath, dust yourself off and remember that every experience, pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral, is a opportunity to learn and grow. Results aren't guaranteed, but that doesn't mean you can't keep giving it your best shot. Learn from your experiences, adapt, and remember, even the most successful people out there have their fair share of flops. The difference? They kept going.
Bonus: Unseen growth
So, remember that whole "growing happening underground" metaphor for personal growth we talked about earlier? Sometimes personal growth feels a lot less like a victory dance when you don't see results after putting in all that effort and dedication. So here are a few things to keep in mind when you're waiting for that change you've been working so hard for.
Hidden Progress: Just like roots are working unseen beneath the surface, personal growth often happens internally before it becomes outwardly visible. You might be putting in the effort (practicing, staying focused), but the results (accomplishing a goal, mastering a skill) might not be immediate. It takes time to re-wire old ways of being.
Patience is Key: Both the plant and personal growth require patience. You can't rush the process. Just like the plant needs time to develop a strong root system before it can grow tall, personal growth takes time and consistent effort.
Focus on the Process: When you don't see immediate results, it's easy to get discouraged. But see if you can be with the process. The learning process is crucial for growth and the invisible foundation you're building just might support future success.
Trust the Process: It sound like some motivational poster slogan, but it actually holds weight. Sometimes, even though you're putting in the effort, there might be setbacks or plateaus. Just like the plant might encounter periods of slow growth, personal growth can be uneven. It's important to trust that the work you're doing is still contributing to your overall development. Surrender is not a word I am drawn to, but there is a certain surrender that is necessary. It's a kind of letting go that allows you to accept that plateaus are opportunities to re-evaluate your approach, or rest
Celebrate Small Wins: Those mini-victories sometimes get lost in the shuffle when working towards goals. But those goals wouldn't be attainable without all the small steps along the way. Not only are they signs of progress in your journey, they are opportunities to manage the inner critic who only cares about the end result.
In our inner and outer work, our egos might get a little impatient, so it's important to remember that the unseen world is hustling just as hard as the visible world.
So, the takeaway? In any endeavor, you need patience, action, and trust in the process (even if it feels like nothing's happening). Most importantly, be kind to yourself, like a patient gardener nurturing a prize-winning pumpkin. Growth takes time, but with a little care and some elbow grease you and your leafy companions might surprise yourselves with what you can cultivate together.
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Disclaimer: This blog post is crafted with the assistance of Google Gemini for research and editing purposes. No advertisements or paid affiliations are associated with its content.
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