Digging Deep

Getting into gardening these past five years has taught me more about being a human on this earth than most things. My garden offers me a glimpse into the tiniest thrummings of life that crawl among the soil, the way it so delicately and yet boldly holds life and death, and its need for seasons and rotations.

My garden most recently guided me to the realization that I was in need of a crop rotation. I was not growing as I should. I was on the heels of having a harmful experience with a man I trust deeply, and my healing efforts were proving fruitless, so to speak. I had experienced harmful and unsafe moments with men before, so in reckoning with this one, I instinctively looked for time to heal…to no avail.

Sensing this was connected to something deeper within me, I tried to let God in. However, the loudest and most used voice of Father God felt disconnected from where I was, and to be honest, I did not want or need a man’s voice to lead me through this.

I required not just an amendment of soil, but a new set of tools as well.

When I had my first child, I became acquainted with the presence and voice of Mother God during the long, quiet night feedings. She was new to me, yet so familiar. As her presence accompanied me through those days of soothing, sacrifice, and strength, I looked back to see She had been with me far before becoming a mother, guiding and strengthening me.

I now tried to listen for Her again; to remember, to look out at the soil, and to see what I could learn from Her about healing this time. What I heard were the whispers and stories of strength and voice and power and forgiveness and bravery and redemption—from Her and so many women before me. I saw a garden full of ravishing, brilliant, and lush plants that had been sown over generations through their small shifts of change and healing work. Where before I might have only seen the tools of acceptance and partial mending, I now saw the opportunity of communication, understanding, and growth on both sides of this healing story.

So I dared to use those tools, to share my hurt and experience with this person, and to also listen. It seems so simple, really. But that action was revolutionary for my life. And in doing so, I felt I was sowing a new seed not just for me and my own healing, but for my daughters and the women I love—to add my own bloom to this radiant garden.

I ended this season of reckoning by planting my voice in the soil, nutrient-rich and full of its needs and aches and grace. I won’t so easily forget now to listen, watch for, and dig deep for Her again.

Toes + Shoulders
I fell face first into the Pit of Lies again.
The hole was covered well this time,
Swiss Family Robinson style.
Branches of half-truths laid perfectly over the top,
shadows hid it in plain sight.
One snag of a toe and I was falling down.

At the bottom I lay there frozen at the pain of my sudden fall.
My body bound once again by the rules they ingrained in me.
‘Be good’ clasped my wrists tight.
‘Be smaller’ strapped my stomach in.
‘Be quiet’ taped my mouth shut.
‘Don’t tempt me’ tied my legs together.
Just one snag of a toe, goddammit. That’s all it took.

What about all the hours, years, I spent retraining?
Scrubbing the caked, self-loathing shit off of me,
the reps to grow back atrophied muscles of beauty and power,
exercising my voice box to reclaim its full volume?
I watched as I began shriveling back to an all-too-familiar warped shape.

But one day, the fools forget to cover the pit,
and She came.
Her beam of light shone down to warm my cheek.
One eye opened slowly at a time,
and I remembered.
I heard the beat of her wings.
I saw the faces of the women who came before me.
“You can get up, child. You must. You are stronger than they’ll ever be.”
“Sister, haven’t you seen? Your love and being is changing this world. Do not be afraid.”
“Mija, you are not alone. Stand on our shoulders.”

With one deep breath, remembering our strength, I rose.
The ladder before me came into focus—each wrung a beautiful set of shoulders.
Was it there all along?
Of course.
And once again, I climbed.

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Jordan Cañas Ramsay lives in Austin, Texas, with her husband and three children. She is living fully into her “Señora era,” enjoying gardening, quilting, and cooking, with a splash of cocktail making. Jordan loves to create space for intention and marking life’s moments through her work and business called Marking Goods.