The Happiest Weeping Willow
When I was a little girl, I spent countless summer afternoons lying on a cool, crisp sheet underneath the curtains of the weeping willow in my grandmother‘s backyard. The yard itself was nothing short of a Secret Garden for a little girl who sought refuge among the roses, lilacs, wildflowers, and strawberries that grew by the creek. I used this sacred space to escape many things, most notably a childhood that was wrought with trauma. So, it seems only natural that I would spend my adult life longing to recreate the same sort of refuge in my own backyard.
Several weeks ago, I purchased a weeping willow tree on sale at a local garden center. I discovered it in the section known as the sad little plant sale. It had been a recent return, and because it was rather large, it was discounted to a rate that I could afford in the hopes that someone would take it off their hands before winter. When designing our landscaping in our backyard, my husband and I often said that the one thing we were missing was a weeping willow tree. So, we were thrilled to plant it in the wettest corner of our yard, where we knew it would thrive!
As the weeks went by, we noticed that the willow did not appear to be faring well, as the long tendrils started to turn gray and eventually brown. I feared the worst. Each morning I went outside to check on the tree with my coffee, and one day I was pleasantly surprised to notice some new growth sprouting on some of the branches. Soon, almost all of the branches had signs of new growth, but the ends had definitely suffered. A friend suggested that it might’ve been shock from planting, so I began to research ways to revitalize a weeping willow tree through pruning.
I have never been the type of person who can simply prune a plant without feeling some amount of grief. Even when I know that it’s in the best interest of the plant, I often feel immense guilt for cutting any portion of it away. This morning, I finally gathered the courage to take the gardening shears to the branches of the weeping willow.
As I cut away the dead branches and leaves, I couldn’t help but consider the metaphor of this simple act and how it was in play in my own life. So often in therapy and even yoga, we encourage others to discard what no longer serves them. And if you’ve ever been the person to have to create boundaries or eliminate relationships in your life that were no longer healthy for you, you know. And you likely understand how much grief this emotional and mental pruning can cause. Even habits that we have formed out of self-protection or comfort can prove to be detrimental to us when we really analyze ourselves and our lives from a distance. It can truly grieve us to step away from them because they’ve become engrained as a part of our identity without our express permission.
I have experienced a shift similar to this myself, almost cyclically, since I’ve been mindful of it. Once again, I’m taking a long, hard look at the areas of my life where some of the branches may be struggling to survive and need to be pruned away because they no longer serve me. As I slowly trim away these parts that I’ve clung to out of habit, out of familiarity, and out of comfort, I’ve experienced such profound new growth in other areas that had probably been starved.
Often, for women, we take on the role of doers of all things until our mental and physical bandwidth suffers, and even then... We instinctively prioritize the needs of everyone else around us before even considering our own. I have been a practitioner and instructor of various modes of education pertaining to wellness for decades. I am learning now to not only follow my own advice but to dig in deeply to see what areas of my life no longer serve me. Sometimes this comes in the form of unhealthy relationships or habits that too often consume me, and what I’ve learned is that in the space between the pruning, there’s so much to be discovered. In the midst of the chaos of our lives, it often feels messy.
As Brené Brown so eloquently states in her book, Rising Strong, “The middle is messy, but it’s also where all the magic happens, all the tension that creates goodness and learning.”
What new growth is waiting to be discovered for you?
Update: What was once a weeping willow from the sad little plant sale has now become a happy little tree. I think Bob Ross would approve.
