Fresh Roses

After a quiet afternoon at the art museum, I wandered into the rose garden. Some roses were already opening, others still tightly closed, holding their time. I was reminded - like every child, every flower blooms in its own time, given respect and freedom.

Growing with my daughter has shown me this again and again. Like gardening, there’s no one formula - only care, patience, and trust in each child’s unique rhythm.

1. Every seed carries its own DNA

Each seed has a unique growth pattern - some love the sun, others thrive in shade. Trying to understand my child’s temperament and natural rhythm often feels more grounding than measuring against anyone else’s path.

An introverted child doesn’t need to be more “outgoing.” Maybe their gift lies in deep thinking, or quiet creation.

2. Soil and surroundings - nourish, not control

A sense of safety, like rich soil, gives roots a chance to settle. Love and encouragement - like sunlight and rain - don’t need to be loud to be nourishing.

I’ve realized it’s not about shielding her from every storm. Sometimes, letting her navigate her own small struggles builds a kind of quiet strength I couldn’t have taught directly.

3. Growth has its own pace - and that’s okay

There were times I worried when other children seemed to “bloom” earlier. But early jasmine and late-blooming wintersweet each carry their own fragrance. Skills like reading or math unfold best when they align with where the mind and heart are - not just the calendar.

Like watching a bud slowly swell, I’m learning to wait for those tender windows - like a burst in language or a sudden curiosity - and gently offer what’s needed, without rushing.

4. The gardener’s path - growing alongside

The more I walk this path, the more I realize - just like gardeners study soil and seasons, I, too, need to keep learning and unlearning.

Check in with my own “emotional pH” - when I’m anxious or restless, it’s like over-fertilizing the roots - well-meaning, but too much. Calm, I’m beginning to see, is its own kind of nourishment too.

5. The ultimate goal - to bloom freely

She’s not mine to keep, not a pot to place neatly on a windowsill.

One day, she’ll find her own light, her own weather, her own wild garden, and to bloom in ways we may never fully see. That, I think, is the quiet beauty of it all.

You’re watering the days, quietly waiting through years.

There’s no sacred manual for gardening.

Only this: learning to read each leaf, each soul, for what it truly is.

To be the stake in the storm,

to step back under clear skies,

and to witness life - finding its own way toward the sun.

No flower starts out in full bloom.

May every child unfold in their own time, in their own way -

a blooming that’s wholly their own.