Read by Michael Flamel

I never considered myself a plant person. Those #plantmamas on social media seemed a bit off, trading their marbles for expensive dirt, or so I thought. But life has a funny way of sneaking up on you, and after moving to the eastern foothills of Tennessee, I found myself slowly—ever so subtly—drawn to the greener things in life. However, that newfound appreciation took a backseat when I hit a rough patch.

My husband and I bought a charming old farmhouse from the 1890s, dreaming of becoming the next off-brand Chip and Joanna Gaines. But just one month into making the house livable, I began growing something far more precious—a baby boy.

Naturally, priorities shifted. My rookie garden filled with corn, tomatoes, and beans often went neglected because I was too busy battling morning sickness (which, by the way, lasts all day and all night for nine months). The wild lilies that graced our yard went unnoticed as I helped my husband lay down flooring in the nursery.

Yet, amid the chaos, one plant survived my pregnancy and became an unexpected lifeline. Enter Prince William, my Marble Queen Pothos.

New to Greeneville, Tennessee, I was eager to explore all the locally-owned boutiques and shops. That’s how I stumbled upon The Greene House, a quaint plant shop that completely changed my perspective on being a plant mama. The shop was cozy, earthy, and beautiful—so much so that I couldn’t help but ask the owner, “What plant is easiest for me not to kill?”

With a warm smile, she led me to a Marble Queen Pothos. I bought an 8-inch hanging planter for the little guy (Why I named him Prince William, I’ll never know.) and brought him home as the focal point of our farmhouse sunroom. Nurturing both my growing baby and the vining pothos became a strange form of nesting. Little did I know, it was therapy that I would desperately need just days after my son was born.

Postpartum depression is a heavy, hard thing. It’s not to be undermined, ignored, or left undiagnosed. Even though I was head-over-heels for my 7-pound boy, a thick, heavy fog settled over me—a sense of hopelessness that seemed to have no origin. It’s difficult to address an issue, let alone heal from it, when you don’t know where it’s coming from.

I started therapy, which I highly recommend to any mama facing postpartum depression. But one of the most healing aspects of my journey came when I remembered my love for Prince William, rekindled by a quick trip to a nearby outdoor plant nursery.

A crucial part of my recovery was noticing the beauty of growth—seeing how nature refuses to let outside circumstances hinder its blossoms and wonder. As I felt the warmth of the sun and showed my baby all the colors, bugs, and bits of nature, the softer yet stronger parts of my heart began to mend.

Isn’t organic medicine often the best? Perhaps God knew I needed nature’s gentle nudge to remember that regardless of my headspace, everything around me—earth herself—is championing my growth, urging me to push beyond what I feel and see who I can become.

Plants don’t toss or turn at night, worrying about the future. Flowers don’t let bitter cold or pests stop them from opening each morning. Nature welcomes the sun with a subtle courage that whispers, “I believe in today and all it holds.”

My journey to the other side of postpartum depression was intense and intimidating, yet I marvel at the simple things that brought so much healing. Of course, my therapist, the family and friends who checked on me, and the medication I took all played a role. But now, looking back at that day when I proudly took Prince William home, I realize he was preparing me to nurture myself, celebrate growth, and when the darkness seems heavy, shift myself into the light. ❖

About the Author: Peyton Garland is a Tennessee homesteader and boy mama passionate about plants, WWII fiction, and God’s grace in all her mom-fail moments. Follow her on Instagram @peytonmgarland and check out her latest book, Tired, Hungry, & Kinda Faithful, to discover hope in life’s everyday moments.