Honoring What Has Grown
Lessons from a shy little plant on my windowsill
A few weeks ago I sat on the floor at my daughter's preschool back-to-school night, criss-cross applesauce, while her teachers walked us through a day in the life of our kids. On the way out, they handed each family a small envelope of seeds: Mimosa pudica, better known as the Shy Plant.
If you've never met one, here's the magic: brush its feathery leaves and they fold inward, one tiny pair after another, the whole stem bowing as if to say, not right now, thank you. Give it a few quiet minutes and it slowly opens back up, on its own terms.
My daughter was thrilled. I'll be honest, so was I. We went straight out for pots and soil, and she chose them with the seriousness of someone picking out a house. About a dozen seeds, four to a pot.
Tucked in, watered, set in the sun. And then we waited.
The Watching Season
That first week, we checked constantly. Before breakfast. After school. Right before bed, her little nose nearly touching the dirt. Anything? A sprout? A crack in the soil? Something??
By the end of the week, there was exactly one sprout. One, in one pot. We celebrated it like a birthday.
And then a funny thing happened. Or rather, nothing happened, at least nothing we could see. About a week and a half in, the thrill started to fade. We stopped rushing to the windowsill. Watering became something we did because it was on the list, somewhere between packing lunch and putting on socks and shoes. Not out of excitement. Not out of curiosity. Just routine.
From where we stood, nothing was changing. So we stopped looking.
The Day I Actually Looked
A couple of weeks later I was watering it, half distracted and probably drafting a to-do list in my head, when I actually saw it.
That little sprout wasn't little anymore. It had gotten so much bigger. A sturdier stem, fuller leaves, reaching toward the light like it knew exactly where it was going. It was finally ready to become the thing that made it sound so delightful in the first place. I called my daughter over and we took turns running a fingertip along the leaves, watching them fold shut, then waiting, breath held, for them to open again when they were ready.
It had been growing the whole time. Every single day we'd stopped checking. The growth was never missing. Our attention was.
When It Seems Like Nothing Is Happening
This week our theme is Honoring What Has Grown, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about that pot.
Because isn't this how it goes with us, too?
When we start something new (a habit, a healing, a dream, a relationship, a version of ourselves we're reaching toward), we're so eager. We check constantly. Is it working? Am I different yet? And when the answer seems to be not yet, the excitement quietly drains out. We keep showing up, sure, but out of obligation. Meanwhile life is loud: emails, commitments, deadlines, the thousand urgent little things that tug at our sleeve. The slow, quiet work of growth can't compete for our attention.
So we assume nothing is happening.
But most growth doesn't happen where we can watch it. It happens underground first: roots before shoots. It happens on unremarkable Tuesdays, in the routine waterings, on the days we showed up without feeling anything special about it. And sometimes the only way to see how far we've come is to slow down and look on purpose.
The same is true for the people we love. The friend who's been quietly doing hard inner work. The partner who's been trying. The child who, somewhere between September and now, learned to say "thank you" without being asked. When we're close to someone every day, their growth can be as invisible as that seedling on the windowsill. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is notice out loud.
If this stirred something in you, we'd love to hear it. What helps you find peace in the middle of your own chaos? You're welcome to bring the answer — even the messy, unfinished version of it — into our next Sister Circle.
As Chief Growth Officer for Honest Heart Journeys, Brie’s mission is to help cultivate a community where women can experience deeper connection, greater clarity, a place of belonging and lasting personal growth.
She believes transformation isn't about becoming someone else—it's about remembering and reclaiming who you've been all along. Learn more about Brie >>
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