For much of my life, I’ve wrestled with perfectionism. The kind that makes you triple-check emails, abandon creative projects halfway through because they’re “not good enough,” or hesitate to start something new for fear it won’t go exactly right. To be honest, I didn’t realise how much of a grip it had on me until I started gardening.

I didn’t set out to cure myself. I just wanted some fresh vegetables, herbs and a few flowers. But that simple act - sowing seeds in soil - ended up planting something else entirely: the beginnings of a new mindset.

Nature doesn't rush

Gardening forced me to slow down. In a world that thrives on instant gratification, watching a seed become a sprout and eventually a plant requires patience. You can’t rush a tomato. You can’t micro-manage the roots. Things take the time they take, and no amount of worry will speed them up. That lesson alone began to unwind some of the tight knots in my thinking.

Every day, I’d check on my plants. Some days there was visible growth. Others, nothing seemed to happen. But I kept showing up. I watered. I waited. I adjusted when the sun shifted. Slowly, I started applying that same gentle consistency to myself.

Imperfection is part of the process

Gardening is messy. Leaves wilt, creepy crawlies show up, and sometimes a plant just doesn’t make it. In the beginning, each setback felt personal - like I’d failed. But plants don’t judge you. They just keep growing, or they don’t. Eventually, I realised that not everything in the garden thrives and that doesn’t mean the gardener is a failure.

This mindset shift was huge for me. For once, I allowed myself to do something imperfectly, to experiment, to not know all the answers and still keep going. This change seeped into other areas of my life - I became more forgiving of mistakes, more open to learning, and more resilient when things didn’t go to plan.

Trusting the unknown

There’s something about tucking a seed into the soil and having no idea if or when it will sprout that feels like an act of faith. It taught me to be okay with uncertainty. To plant anyway. To trust that effort and care can yield something, even if I don’t control exactly how or when.

And maybe that’s the heart of it - gardening reminded me that I don’t have to control everything. That growth, both literal and personal, often happens quietly, gradually, and imperfectly.

What gardening gave me

It gave me dirt under my nails (a dirt manicure) and a little more peace in my head.
It gave me dead plants and the courage to try again anyway.
It gave me quiet mornings with a watering can and a new definition of success.

Most of all, it gave me permission to slow down, show up, and grow - just like my garden, one small step at a time.

Love Julia (with a fresh dirt manicure)