Spring: The Aftermath of the Storm…

We like to romanticise spring, the bloom, colours and beautiful newness.

Here’s the thing no one talks about, blooming is brutal. It’s not just pretty petals and fresh starts, it’s often the aftermath of seasons that nearly broke you.

I used to think spring meant I had to be ready.

If I wasn’t blossoming with bright eyes and big plans something was wrong with me thankfully, healing taught me that spring doesn’t ask for performance it simply asks for presence. Every flower you see isint not just beauty, it’s proof that something survived.

Before the bloom… There was rain.

The kind of rain you thought might never end and where inner winters made you question whether you’d feel light again. The grief that soaked through every version of yourself that you thought was permanent.

It’s not poetic when you’re in it, it’s heavy, lonely and invisible to most people around you but the rain was doing something even when you couldn’t see it, it was softening the soil of your life and preparing it to receive what was next.

Making space for something to grow and not in spite of the storm but because of it.

Real blooming is messy.

It happens when you’re still a little shaky, the memories haven’t all softened, your nervous system still flinches sometimes even though you’re safe now. When joy feels unfamiliar and peace feels earned. Blooming is the moment you say yes to life again and not just because you’re fixed but because you’re healing anyway.

Spring is not a reward, it’s really more of a remembrance that if we allow it to, remind us that everything works in cycles: The shedding, storming, stillness even sprouting.

Your life is not a straight line, your growth is not always visible and your becoming doesn’t need to be celebrated to be valid.

Some of the most radiant blooms grew out of wreckage, some of your softness is shaped by what tried to harden you and sometimes, the most sacred thing you can do is bloom quietly, on your own terms.

If you’re blooming right now…

You are seen, not just for the light in your eyes but for the nights you cried in the dark. The strength behind your softness, roots beneath your radiance and sacred storm that got you here. Spring didn’t happen without you surviving the seasons that came before.

Your bloom?

It’s not late, it’s right on time.

🧡 Mary