One year ago, a quick photo upload to social media changed my life forever. I didn’t know it at the time. You see, my plants had started talking to me, teaching me wisps of wisdom. Then, spirit led me to publish these small stories on social media.

This first post was accidental. I just wanted to share a window into my happiness, where my succulents soak up the sun. I was in awe of how little I had to do to make them grow. I didn’t have to say, “Please GROW!” I didn’t have to feed them bottled food. All they need is a replication of their natural environment: sunlight, small sips of water and a bit of dirt to let their roots relax.

Just before I hit the send button – I spontaneously added a header: “Plant Diaries #1.” It was quick and innocent. Perhaps God was working through me, like Magnolia reminded me a few weeks ago.

The innocent entry into the Plant Diaries writing series.
© Kathy J. Sotak

“Well that’s odd.” I wondered. “Why on earth did I put ‘#1’ on that post?” I went about my day, then it dawned on me, coming in the form of a shooting pang of fear coursing through my body: I was supposed to write #2. These pangs continued all day as I kept hearing, “Go deeper, Kathy.”

The next morning, I turned to my ice plant, one of many special plants in my sunroom as I sip my coffee. She wrote Plant Diaries #2 and told the story of my grandmother, as she gave a clipping of this plant to her daughter, and my mother to me.

My plants then went on to share vulnerable, scary and even embarrassing moments. They told stories of loss, like donkey tail #4, pothos #6, tropical palm #10, spider plant #15 and another tropical palm in #26. They taught self-forgiveness, like my morning glories in #13. My garden taught humor, like my baby carrots #16. The ease of change, like my hydrangea tree in #22. Deep regrets of mine, told through my pass it on plant in #24. Finally, meaningful ancestral connection, as told in numbers 2, 8, 14, 21 and 26.

Over the past year, I’ve published around 28 Plant Diaries on social media, and a few more on my website, as a result of friendly nudges by friends to “Keep going, Kathy.” Each plant forced me to be vulnerable. Each plant taught me how to serve up compassion, how to release judgment and how to forgive the past.

Why was spirit making me do this? After all, I’m a private person. I am not one to shout out my opinions. I am not one to display my hardships. So why are these stories and feelings being unearthed, then put on display?

I’ve realized that I was looking directly into the eyes of my fear. Fear of letting my voice be heard. Fear of taking a stand. Fear of being judged by others. You see, what if someone disagreed with my voice? What if someone judged my writing, or judged why I was putting silly stories on the internet?

A year later, I’ve banished chronic fear. It’s been replaced with an understanding that the open wound of vulnerability is where the healing occurs. Do I sometimes get a pang of fear before hitting the publish button? Absolutely. Only now, instead of being paralyzed in it, I use it as an opportunity to ask, “Where do I need to apply the healing salve now?”

My salve jar contains an infinite supply of love and light. It has ingredients such as self-compassion, forgiveness and joy. The label says:

“Warning: This salve jar contains life-changing ingredients. Apply at your own risk. Your life will change forever from regular application.”

The label also says:

“Directions: Take off the band-aid, and look at your wound. No, really. Look at it. Take a deep breath. What do you feel when looking at your wound? Whatever the feeling, it’s okay. Where is that feeling lodged in your body? Breathe into it, say “thank you” for the lessons you have learned, and release it into the air. You don’t need to carry it any longer. Then, apply this salve regularly, to transform this scar point into a sliver of light that not only lights the path for you, but also for others that share your path.”

So, yes, I’ll continue my writing journey. Together, we’ll see where my salve jar and slivers of light shine to carry me next. I’m excited to share this path with you, and to see where yours takes you.