Tending the Garden of the self
Lessons from the Oregon Coast
JUL 16, 2025
I recently returned from a much-needed getaway to the Oregon coast. My husband’s daughter arranged it; she rented an Airbnb and invited us—her mom and stepfather, her brother and sister, and their families. Her husband and children are so much fun, and I love them more than anything. This was an escape that was greatly needed for us all, and we were enchanted by its natural beauty and serenity. The sound of waves crashing against the shore, the breeze rustling through the trees, and the perfect temperatures teasing my skin made every moment magical. We spent our days wandering the beach, collecting driftwood, and seashells, and playing in the water with the children. It was everything we needed and more.
But then, reality hit when I returned home. My sense of rest was dashed by the horrid state of my garden, once green and flourishing, now actively dying in the summer heat. As I investigated the situation, it became clear that my sprinkler system had gone awry during my absence. The heat wave had tormented my plants, leaving them brown and nearly crispy.
I dragged out the trusty garden sprinkler, started watering it with a hose, and was determined to diagnose the situation. I discovered a faulty valve and a broken sprinkler head that had become disconnected from the system. With the broken sprinkler, water was just pouring onto the ground and not providing enough pressure to nourish the garden and yard. After fixing the valve and reinstating the sprinkler, I witnessed the magical moment when the system began to flow properly again, nourishing the garden that had endured so much in my absence. Now, I am faced with the daunting task of clearing away all the dead debris clinging to my once-vibrant space.
This experience quickly morphed into a powerful metaphor for how we navigate our own lives. Neglect has a way of leaving us parched. Just as my garden was brown with all the dead plants, we too often allow the burdens of life to build up—emotional hangups, toxic relationships, unfulfilled dreams. Without tending to our inner garden, we dry out, losing touch with the essence of ourselves.
So how do we fix the breaks in our own irrigation systems—the parts of our lives that have fallen into disrepair? It starts with assessment. Just like I had to confront the reality of my dwindling garden, we need to take stock of our emotional landscapes. Identify the "dead things" that no longer serve us—a nagging self-doubt, a friendship that has soured, a job that drains rather than nourishes.
Taking action can feel overwhelming, and often, the thought of pruning back the dead weight leaves us paralyzed. However, we must remember that pain is a part of growth. The choice to eliminate what no longer breathes life into us may come laden with discomfort, but it paves the path for new beginnings.
Once we've identified the dead things in our lives, we are obligated to take proactive steps to let them go, allowing ourselves to heal and make space for new growth.