Chapter 7 Plant Therapy
Plant Therapy
Holly
“So, Jake is dreamy,” I announce to my plant-filled living room as I snuggle into my reading nook with a fresh cup of tea.
There, I said it.
It’s only been a few days since we met, but I’ve seen him every day. He’s brought me coffees and pastries and offered to help with little things around the shop. I’ve tried keeping things professional, but I can’t keep ignoring the way my body reacts to him every time I see him.
Heck, even when I think of him.
There’s this… softening, for lack of a better term.
A softening that happens when he’s around, or when I replay our interactions in my mind after the fact, like right now.
There’s a warmth in my heart space whenever I think of him.
An effervescence that radiates throughout my body.
It’s like his very presence somehow soothes this ache I’ve lived with for years.
The ache of loss. Of unrequited care. Of shattered dreams.
I feel hopeful when I’m around him. Buoyant. Safe. Dare I say, whole?
I know that’s ridiculous. I’ve always been whole.
“Everyone is a whole human after all,” I reason aloud. “And the idea that anything outside ourselves can somehow ‘complete’ us is a fallacy perpetuated by capitalism.” One we all buy into, unfortunately. Even me.
Goddess, especially me.
I totally went down ‘you complete me’ road at the beginning of my last relationship.
Lost myself entirely in the games. Ignored my inner guidance and believed all the lies.
Gaslighting can be hard to spot when you’re in the thick of it, smitten with the idea of love while only living a facsimile of it.
I reposition in my window seat, tucking the soft blanket closer around my body before taking another sip of tea. I don’t like thinking about that season of my life. Heck, I hated living it, and I think that’s what scares me here.
I don’t want a repeat of the life I worked so hard to leave. I don’t want to get into another all-in deep-dive situation with someone who doesn’t have the capacity to actually love anyone or anything beyond themselves. Goddess, I don’t want to be manipulated again. Or hurt.
I don’t think that’s what’s happening here though.
In my deepest self, the part I’ve tried to ignore, I know Jake is unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered before. He is a bastion of truth and calm. Unadulterated kindness and joy in human form. A rare breed of unicorn—the trifecta of wisdom, beauty, and solid character. Caring, consistent, cute.
Hot actually.
I can’t even with those forearms he’s always got on display with his shirt sleeves rolled up like he wears them for work. I never knew I was a forearm girl, but dang, his are sexy.
Pretty much everything about him is sexy, actually. Maybe even that beard.
He’s funny too, in his own way. Jake’s verged on dad-joke territory a few times, but considering his age, maybe it’s less about being a dad and more about finding humor in the small things.
“He’s older than me,” I tell the plants, focusing on the potted Cyclamen next to the stack of books on the shelf beside me. “That doesn’t matter, though. Love does.”
I can actually taste it in the coffee he’s brought me every day since we met. I can feel it in his helpful gestures, hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. That man is for real.
Which is unreal.
I’ve been fighting with myself for days about this, trying to ignore what my instincts are telling me, because I’m scared to get it wrong.
“What if I can’t get it wrong, though?” I ask the Cyclamen, wondering aloud. “What if I let myself choose this like I want to? What if…”
When I was a little girl, my aunt told me that ‘what if’ was a dangerous question, but a vital one. Dangerous because it challenges preconceptions, but also because it’s easy to cycle through circles without ever coming to any conclusions.
In that context, what if can keep you stuck in your head, but that’s only one side of the coin. That question is also vital because it holds the power to break cycles and open doors—first in the imagination, and then in the physical plane when we take action.
“Circle or spiral,” I muse aloud, cupping my hands around my mug. “I know which I will choose.”
Always the spiral.
We never end where we begin after all, and this beginning with Jake is fresh and new, and very right. Even if I can’t explain how I know that, it doesn’t change the truth of it.
“Jake is special,” I confess to the room at large. They don’t respond with words, but they’re all listening. I can feel their attention. Their energy.
From the plants on the shelves lining the room—the succulents and bromeliads, the ferns and the flowers—to the creeping fig and ivies forming a bower along the ceiling.
Even the tropical plants by the windows and this little Cyclamen and Purple Peperomia in the reading alcove are listening, witnessing my growth the same way I do theirs.
“You all are the best,” I praise them, letting my gratitude fill my voice. “Thank you for listening. It’s just such a challenge. He’s so… perfect. For me anyway. And—”
I stop myself before naming a struggle aloud. There’s no need to speak what I don’t want into existence. Besides, I know what this is. I know what’s been keeping me stuck, fighting against what is so obviously true.
At the end of the day, it’s about trust.
“I’ve been asking the wrong question,” I admit as clarity dawns. “What if all this is real? And what if everything actually goes right?”
The weight of that hits me in the chest, and tears prick my eyes, asking to be shed. All this time, I’ve been wondering if I can trust Jake, when he’s shown me nothing but truth and kindness. Been nothing but patient with me.
He’s shown up every day with coffee and pastries, and gentle words and helpfulness. And he’s let me push him away, only to come back again and again, bringing me a treat or helping me with another mundane task without being asked. Steadfast. Kind. Loving.
Safe.
And I’ve kept pushing him away. Kept shutting down, even while I’m melting for him inside. All because I’d been asking the wrong questions.
It’s not about trusting Jake. I know I can do that. He’s only been in my life a few days, but I know unequivocally that he is who he says he is and I am safe with him. He reminds me with every action, not just his words.
It’s myself I’ve not been trusting.
Suppressing my own instincts with a veneer of fear, because I focused on the wrong thing. It’s not about how bad things can get—I’ve already lived that. No, it’s about how good they can be.
“How good can I let them be?”
The Orchid on my coffee table sways in response to my new query, almost as though nodding their head in agreement, while a new excitement floods my system.
I can feel the love from the other plants too, the approval and growing delight.
And now that I’ve let myself sink into my Knowing, there’s another release, waves of emotion from elation to despair.
I let them all pass through me. Let the tears fall.
I weep for what has gone before and the role I played in my own oppression. I weep for the fear I let rule my life for so long. For the sheer terror of the unknown, and the elation of it too. For the endless gifts I’ve been given, and how I almost passed this one by.
I let the flood of emotions come, let them pass through me without judgement, letting the walls I’ve built up over the years to protect my heart come down with my tears.
Letting go is gentler than I imagined it would be, but I still feel tender and raw inside when the tears stop.
Vulnerable.
My thoughts immediately go to Jake, and I wish he were here to give me a hug. I pull the blanket tighter, imagining myself snuggled up close to him.
I can’t help smiling and feeling excited about all the opportunities in front of me now that I’ve decided to open myself to them. It’s still scary, but I think I’m ready to try. I want to.
I’ll bet those strong arms of his feel amazing.
Tomorrow, I’m going to find out.