A daily walk through the terrain of your mind
We want to fix ourselves.
Of course we do. We want the pain to stop. We want the patterns to change. We want to feel better—now.
But real healing isn’t always quick. And it doesn’t usually start with fixing.
It starts with understanding.
And understanding can take years—even decades.
So here’s what I’ve learned:
What if healing begins with a daily walk through the garden of your inner life?
Not a metaphorical stroll, but an actual practice.
A ritual of noticing what’s growing in the landscape of your thoughts, feelings, and beliefs.
Every morning, I take this walk.
And every day, I discover something new about what’s been quietly taking root in my mind.
The Daily Garden Walk: What You Notice
Picture yourself stepping onto a familiar path.
This is your inner terrain—part wild, part tended, all yours.
As you walk, you start to notice the weeds and seeds—things that were already growing before you ever thought about healing.
What You Repeat: The Woodland Sorrel
There’s woodland sorrel everywhere—carpeting the path, creeping into every flower bed.
You didn’t plant it, but somehow it’s taken over.
Delicate little heart-shaped leaves, almost pretty—until you realize it’s absolutely everywhere.
That’s what your repeating thoughts are like.
They show up quietly, innocently:
“You’ll never get this right.”
“People don’t really care what you think.”
“There’s no point in trying.”
You didn’t consciously plant these thoughts.
But they seeded like crazy, and now they’re the background soundtrack of your mind.
What You Believe: The Buried Junk
You notice a bare patch where nothing grows.
You’ve tried planting there, but the soil won’t cooperate.
So you dig a little. And you hit something hard. Not a rock—an old pipe.
You keep digging and start unearthing the most ridiculous things: rusty farm equipment, a single tennis shoe, and—I kid you not—a bra that someone apparently buried before moving out.
That’s what your buried beliefs are like.
They’re not visible on the surface, but they’re absolutely shaping what can grow:
“You’re too much.”
“Love has to be earned.”
“It’s not safe to want things.”
These beliefs weren’t meant to be planted in your garden.
But there they are, taking up space underground.
What You Feel: The Wilting Corner
Something’s drooping in the corner.
Not because it’s a bad plant, but because it’s been ignored.
You water the showy flowers, the ones everyone sees.
But this little corner? You forget it exists until you notice the wilting leaves.
That’s your emotional landscape.
The feelings you don’t make time for—loneliness, disappointment, that low-grade sadness that never quite goes away.
They’re not dying, exactly. Just… thirsty.
What You Absorb: What Flows Downhill
There’s runoff seeping into your garden from uphill—road salt, fertilizer from the neighbor’s lawn, whatever got washed down from higher ground.
Your soil absorbs it whether you want it to or not.
That’s what absorbed patterns are like—the family rules, cultural messages, and social expectations that flow into your life without asking:
“Don’t make waves.”
“Be grateful for what you have.”
“Good people don’t get angry.”
You didn’t plant these rules.
But you’ve been living by them for so long, they feel like natural law.
What You Produce: The Demanding Beauty
And then there’s the plant that’s absolutely thriving.
It’s gorgeous, productive, everyone compliments you on it.
But honestly? It’s exhausting. It demands all your water, all your attention, all your best soil.
It produces beautiful fruit, sure—but you’re depleted.
These are the consequences of everything else—what you produce as a result of your repeating thoughts, buried beliefs, ignored feelings, and absorbed patterns.
The results that look good from the outside but cost you something essential.
The Practice
This walk isn’t a one-time garden tour.
It’s a daily ritual.
I don’t march through with pruning shears, ready to hack everything down.
I just… notice. What’s spreading? What’s struggling? What’s been planted by someone else’s hands?
Some days I pull a few weeds.
Other days I just water what’s wilting.
Sometimes I discover something beautiful I’d never seen before, hidden behind all that sorrel.
The point isn’t to have a perfect garden.
The point is to know what’s growing in yours.
Because once you can see what’s there—really see it—you can start making choices about what deserves your attention, what needs to be composted, and what you’d like to plant instead.
Your inner life is a garden.
It’s been growing all along, with or without your conscious participation.
What’s growing in your inner garden right now? Take a moment this week to walk your own path and notice what you find.