Engaging with Grief in the Garden: June/July 2025 Reflection
In April, I started a small produce and herb garden and it has been so restorative for me. Both a place of refuge and a portal that connects me to others, near and far, from my Portland backyard, to Gaza, to LA, to the Congo. Connection to the land has been a balm, where the earth meets me and makes room for my grief and reminds me that there's still room for joy.
When my hands are deep in the soil and I am watching my plants grow, I am moved that the earth insists on flourishing amidst all this violence. I believe the earth weeps when we forget our humanity and yet it remains a source for grounding, an invitation to return to ourselves. So for me, gardening is an act of resistance and a liberatory practice.
Pruning dead things so my plants can flourish, and watching my herbs grow after being cut and used in my meals; This commitment to engaging with the earth and witnessing the life cycle of nature's most abundant resources has helped me find hope while making room for my frustration and heartbreak at a society intent on destroying beloved communities.
I have spent most of my life living within the tensions and this season is no exception. I have come to embrace the melancholy and the splendor. I have both a right to my grief AND my joy, and I will not be rushed out of either. These are some of the things that are sustaining me in this season.
We all need care practices that give us space to be gentle and truly ourselves. We need places that are beloved community. Particularly in times like this, we need room to be undone, to witness one another’s humanity, to lay our weary, busy bodies down, while still maintaining our hope.
Reflection Question
What practices, beliefs, people or places are keeping you alive, helping you replenish in this violent and unjust time? If you’re not sure, take a moment to reflect and journal what those things are and/or could be. And remember your existence is already an act of resistance.
