My new garden

Battling demons and self-doubt as I forge ahead semi-blindly

Christiana White

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Photo by Sorin Gheorghita on Unsplash

I moved recently. In fact, as of today, I’ve been quartered in my new abode for merely a week. And I’m assailed by waves of emotion. Fear, doubt — terror, even. Regret, fear of regret, confusion… and moments of grace.

I have a serious problem with decisions. They’re terribly difficult for me to make, and I tend to second-guess them in a way that is brutal to myself. It’s very painful.

But, I know this about myself. That should help me to navigate it. Theoretically.

Yeah, I’m a basket case. Or, can be, I suppose. My work is to claw my way out, on a daily, or second-by-second, basis as needed. To “do the work” of self-care and self-compassion.

I left my beautiful garden behind at Guido Street, and I miss it.

I’m therefore planting a garden at my new flat, which came with a small (very small) front yard and a bigger back yard almost entirely covered in concrete. Concertina and barbed wire in wide loops define the border at the back, protecting my property from ne’er do wells who may float up from Broadway in Oakland.

It’s not a pretty site. The colorful graffiti tagging the nearby building isn’t so great either.

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