Beneath the Bloom | Healing in Stillness

The Gardener
May 29
2 min read

Updated: Aug 15

A Quiet Reflection from the In-Between

A barefoot woman in a strawberry-print dress—the Gardener—stands quietly at a window. Soft light spills in, illuminating her peaceful figure as she gazes outward. Her posture is calm, reflective, as if listening to something beyond the glass. The scene feels still, tender, and sacred, like a moment of waiting or quiet prayer.

I used to chase healing like a storm—

fast-footed, wind-whipped,

believing it lived in the next thing,

the next place—

the next version of me

who wasn’t so tired.

But this time,

I didn’t run.

This time, I stayed.

Ache had a voice.

Grief bloomed slow.

Silence spoke

without needing me to fill it.

And something shifted—

not in a loud, cinematic way,

but like a door inside me unlatched

without needing to swing open.

I stopped asking,

“Who am I supposed to be?”

and began asking,

“What still feels true?”

Now, I gather what matters

with gentler hands.

I move slower,

but with more intention.

I know now:

burnout is not a badge.

And survival isn’t the same as living.

I am tired.

But not defeated.

And I’ve never felt

more ready to begin again.

What It Reveals

This is not a story of grand arrival.

It’s a story of remaining—

in the ache, the slowness,

the moment just before bloom.

It reveals how healing doesn’t always look like movement.

Sometimes, it’s stillness that heals.

Sometimes, it’s staying that saves us.

What It Asks

Where have I confused stillness with stagnation?
What if the healing I’m chasing is already at work—beneath the surface?
Can I trust that God does some of His deepest work when I stop running?

What It Undoes

The myth that healing always announces itself loudly.
The myth that growth always looks like motion.
The myth that rest is laziness.
The lie that staying still means being stuck.
It untangles rest from passivity and reveals the holy kind of rest that is active, sacred, and strong.

What It Plants

A seed of rootedness.
A quiet kind of strength that doesn’t need applause to be real.
The slow bloom of wisdom that only shows up when we pause long enough to see it.
It plants the kind of faith that says: Even here. Even now. I am not behind.

Seed for Thought

Some of the most sacred growth is hidden, happening beneath the bloom.

You don’t have to be moving to be becoming.

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