Bloom where you are planted

– Saint Francis de Sales

Bloom where you are planted

Walking into my best friend’s college dorm freshman year, it was written in all-caps script that smacked you in the face as you entered. The encouraging command, Bloom Where You Are Planted, appeals to the driven, enduring, loyal parts of our nature. Bright flowers made of pastel tissue hung from the walls and the ceiling to drive the point home. Just as the roots of the vine in a drought year dig deep and produce extraordinary wine, its up to you to thrive if only you work hard enough, persist long enough, and adapt to the conditions around you. Grit, resiliency, and adaptability – all core values I’ve come to hold dear.

As young adults, these words fostered letting go of the past and committing to our present in pursuit of our future. Our lives were dramatically changing. Transplanted from our small hometown, we were now entering a whole new world. We were being uprooted from what was comfortable, uprooted from the way of life we’d grown accustomed to, and uprooted from the primary support systems that had sustained our growth.

Harnessing grit, resilience, and adaptability

For the most part, bloom where your planted has been good advice! It’s naïve to assume the grass is always greener, refusing to notice that the grass is usually greener where you water it! There is a lot to be said for harnessing grit, resilience, and adaptability in attempts to thrive.

Looking back on the decades since that day, I’ve uprooted myself a few times. My first major move was from amber waves of grain of North Dakota to the middle of corn field in Indiana. An overnight Amtrak ride away, the University of Notre Dame was a long way from home.

Armed with my older sister on campus and a pre-cellular stack of phone cards, I confidently stepped into the glorious bubble that was my undergraduate experience. Here those core values of grit, resiliency, and adaptability served me well. Surrounded by unwavering support, love, and shared faith, I found an environment that allowed me to flourish and grow into the person, mother, wife, and leader I am today.

Anchor in your roots when faced with adversity

Moving to the concrete jungle that is New York City after college was a whole different experience. Arguably it was my first encounter with a hostile growth environment, although I cherish my years in the city. Grit took on a new meaning. No stranger to hard work, the city’s pace demanded that I rise to a whole new level.

While it took me a little while to adapt, part of this were freeing and allowed me to explore the depths of the young woman I was becoming. Surrounded by the diversity of thought, culture, and backgrounds, my unique story anchored me in who I was and how I wanted to walk in the world.

Sure, there were weeds I needed to fend off. There were times of spiritual drought that I deeply questioned myself, my thoughts, and my beliefs. Critters scurried by causing me to toughen up and lose the naiveté that comes with being lovingly sheltered in one’s youth.

I might not have liked it. It may not have always felt good, but I bloomed where I was planted. I was growing, had adapted, and threw down some roots. My work was producing fruit and having impact. I remained true to myself and together with my life partner, Matthew, found our way and began raising a beautiful family. We were happy. Looking at how far I’d come, it felt like my life was living proof of the American dream of perseverance through hardship at the heart of Betty Smith’s “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.”

“People always think that happiness is a faraway thing…

Something complicated and hard to get.

Yet, what little things can make it up;

A place of shelter when it rains;

A cup of strong hot coffee when you’re blue;

A book to read when you’re alone;

Just to be with someone you love.

Those things make happiness.”

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith

Don’t blame the plant

Somewhere along the journey, particularly having endured the last few years, I find myself looking back on the command to “bloom where you are planted” with a slightly different lens. Inherent in the concept, the onus to thrive lies solely with the plant.

What if the conditions aren’t right for that plant to thrive? What if that plant stands little chance to bloom in a given location? Is it the plant’s fault?

Last summer, my husband bought my favorite color rose bush. It’s peach blooms were breathtaking when we brought it home from the nursery. We chose a location in the backyard placing it at the feet of a statue of Mary and close to a windchime we’d hung to honor the memory of my father.

Despite our best intentions and laudable vision, the plant did not come back this year. What a few months ago was a thriving beauty died a dry stick in the ground. Is it’s failure to bloom where it was planted the rose’s fault?

The rose bush wanted full sun. We planted her in the shade. Roses thrive with moist soil, we chose a dry spot not within reach of the sprinkler. The finger clearly points to the gardeners’ poor choice in placing the strong, but delicate plant into soil that couldn’t sustain her. If we had planted any other rose bush in this spot, it would have yielded similar results. It was not her fault!

Identifying when it’s not your fault

How often do we turn the blame inward? Particularly as women (and mothers!), we are often conditioned to assume fault and blame. I don’t know a well-intended mom out there who doesn’t also harshly judge and label her own behaviors as that of “a bad mom.”

There are times (insert 2020 and onward) I can strongly identify with that rose and that label! Times when up against unsustainable conditions, arguably impossible circumstances, I have turned the guilty finger inward and said “Bloom where you are planted!”

Are we not hardwired to believe that with enough grit, resilience, and adaptability, we should be able to get through this? We do our best, and then look back and judge every place we let something slide (i.e., too much tech time for our kids, the scale rising a little bit, not being a good enough friend, sister, daughter, wife, mother). We should be to carry it all, and also carry it flawlessly with grace. You always have, and so if you cannot this time, there is no one to blame but yourself. Right? Could we possibly be wrong?

When we step back and truly look at the evidence of the circumstances, whose fault is it? Is it possible that it was no one’s fault? Is it possible that the confluence of events that led to that moment in life was too much? Was not humanly possible? That anyone put in that specific set of circumstances would NOT have been able to thrive? Can we forgive ourselves for that? Can we free ourselves of that?

Freeing ourselves from the blame and shame game

For me, this time came at the juxtaposition of being a healthcare worker in New York City’s COVID Waves 1-3, concurrent with being a working mom with two elementary school-aged children. Add in there, the death of a parent, the loss of a few close colleagues, and a child’s diagnosis of a learning disability – my world as I knew it came crashing to the ground. Giving up was not an option, but how was I going to be able to get through this?

Schools closed, childcare became non-existent, the support systems I’d built at work faltered just as I needed to rise to the occasion and lead in a war-times. I couldn’t see it then, but I can see it now. While I felt like I was utterly failing, turning all that judgement inward, I was so strong and carried much with grit and grace. I carried my family. I carried my team. I got us all to higher ground as the flood waters rose.

I didn’t shrivel up and die. Although at times, the thought was a bit tempting. I didn’t stick my head in the sand or go hide and shirk responsibility. I may have sat down a few times temporarily, allowing the waves to wash over me, but I kept standing back up with every ounce of strength I could muster to continue the work. To quote Teddy Roosevelt, I was the woman in the arena, “whose face was marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again.” In all things, I tried to do what I thought was right each day by those I was entrusted to lead and to love.

At what cost?

I am proud of how resourceful and resilient I was during that time prioritizing our patients, my team, and my family. I’m sure as the years pass, I’ll look back with a deep sense of accomplishment. And in the here and now, in doing so, I sacrificed so much of myself, my health, and my well-being. I share this as I know I am not alone. For many of us, it is only now that we are processing, rebuilding our lives, and coming to terms with the ramifications of the conditions with which we were forced to live through.

All in all, I came through it weary, worn, and a bit sad. An empty cup, unable to pour out much for anyone, I desperately needed to retreat, rebuild, and shamelessly restore myself. The lyrics of a song gave me hope for a time when I could look back with some perspective on what the trials had taught me.

“Weary traveler, beat down from the storms that you have weathered.
Feels like this road just might go on forever.
Carry on.

You keep on giving, but every day this world just keeps on taking.
Your tired heart is on the edge of breaking.
Carry on.

Weary traveler, restless soul, you were never meant to walk this road alone.
It’ll all be worth it, so just hold on.
Weary traveler, you won’t be weary long.

– Jordan St. Cyr

Where do we go from here?

The last six months has been a time of learning. For me, the healing has been physical, mental, and spiritual. That’s shown up in fighting cancer (malignant melanoma, caught early), getting back to a healthy weight, and tapping into several avenues of self-care. I’ve learned to better name my emotions, tame my anxiety, and recognize the self-blame that for me, if not managed, can lead to depression.

I’ve made huge progress in processing my grief, shedding some toxic shame, and beginning to lay down heavy burdens that I’ve been carrying. Recognizing, I don’t have to do it all, has allowed me to tap into the love and support that surrounds me. Forgiving myself for the inability to be super-human across domains of life grants me the grace to accept help and let my best be good enough.

Why do we fail to give ourselves the same compassion we would show anyone else? Why do we resist help when we could desperately benefit from it? If one of our best friends or employees was struggling, I doubt most of us would judge that individual with the same biting criticism. If our child was struggling with a school or camp environment, what parent wouldn’t intervene and make adjustments? We wouldn’t blame our friend or our child. With compassion, we’d plug in, pay attention, and make adjustments until things got better.

Armed with this self-knowledge, we can move forward to more quickly recognize when we’re being planted in non-optimal conditions and when things need to change. You don’t have to be the strong one for everybody, all the time. Yes, it’s hard AND you are not alone. It’s not your fault.

The right plant for the right spot

This past Saturday, despite the heat wave and adorned in sunscreen, my husband and I transplanted 20+ pots of lavender into our garden. Thinking of that poor rose bush, I had a laugh as I read aloud instructions on the back of the plant card. The label stated the obvious point that when designing your garden it’s imperative the choices you make show good judgement and reflect the natural conditions required by the chosen plant.

Isn’t the same true of our choices? We aren’t only the plant, but through our free will have a role in partnering with the Gardener to find that right spot to plant ourselves in the garden of our lives. We each have unique beauty that bring joy and goodness to the world and the lives of those we share it with. In deepening our self-knowledge of what’s necessary to thrive, we are better armed to use good judgment to align our choices with those conditions.

As the week rolled on, each plant had adapted to its new environment. Our attention turned to one that was withering away. Planted smack next to a sprinkler head, water pooled at its roots turning the soil into swampy clay. It’s beautiful purple flowers had turned brown and nose-dived toward the ground.

What struck me was how quickly the plant deteriorated in only four days of being misplanted! What was different about this plant than the other twenty? Nothing. Needless to say, I grabbed a shovel, dried out its roots, and moved it over to another part of the garden. Sometimes it doesn’t take a big shift to make a world of difference.

Cultivating optimal conditions for growth

My wish for you is, if you need to make some adjustments, tend to your own wounds, heal, and remove any conditions causing you to wilt. Accept the kindness and generosity of others looking to help you! Going forward, continue to take stock of your own environment and who you share it with. Evaluate what’s working and what’s clearly not working. Consider what’s healthy for you and what’s not. Give yourself the grace to be a human and keep working at it until you find yourself thriving.

If we learned anything from living through a pandemic, it’s that life is short and precious. Live it to the fullest. Share it with good company who is invested in your growth. Design conditions and a life that allows you to shine your unique beauty into the world. If you are struggling, remember that it’s not always your fault. As both plant and co-gardener, use good judgment and find that right spot where you CAN bloom where you are planted!

Thanks for reading! – Mary