In Full Bloom: Why Spring Feels Like Starting Over

My mother has always had a green thumb. When I was a kid, I loved being in the yard with her at the first sign of spring planting buds in her flower bed. For the petite woman she was, my mother had no problem pulling up weeds and hedging the bushes on any given Saturday afternoon. For the petite woman she was, my mom could still pull up weeds and shape hedges like a pro. You’d think I would’ve inherited this gift for gardening, but… not quite.

While I loved running through the sprinklers after she mowed the lawn, actually putting in the work? Not so much.

As I got older, my mom never stopped trying to pass the gardening gene on to me. Last Mother’s Day, she gifted me yet another potted plant—as if I didn’t still have the empty ceramic pot from the one she gave me the year before. “It’s a hosta fragrant, DeJ,” she said. “Those are hard to kill.”

My mom’s “white room” is basically a greenhouse. She has greenery for days—vines and blooms in every corner. Meanwhile, the only bouquet I had at home was artificial (and honestly, that’s how I like it). I barely have time to nurture the things I already care about—let alone a plant destined to wilt.

Still, she named her hosta Kaye, after herself, and nurtured it like one of her children.
“Kaye got a new bloom, I noticed,” she called to tell me one day. “It’s like… whenever I’m coming out of a struggle, she gives me a sign that something new is blooming.”

My mom has always been one for symbolism. Maybe that’s where I get it from.

The Season of Growth and Letting Go

Gardening tips aside, I’ve always loved the symbolism that spring brings. This season of renewal—the shift in energy, the sense that everything dormant is waking back up—hits a little differently when you’re coming out of an emotional slump.

This past week, I decided to do some spring cleaning. I’ve always felt that decluttering my space helps me declutter my mind. After conquering my two biggest clutter culprits—my kitchen and my closet—I gave my fireplace one last deep clean before the season changed for good.

As I gathered firewood to take to my outside storage unit, I spotted something in the corner: that same hosta plant from last year. Dry, forgotten, and still in its pot. “Since I’m going outside anyway, I may as well put it out too,” I said, softly to myself.

Emotional Renewal Can Start in Small Ways

The next day, I made a soft return to social media after taking a break to reset. I shared a little about hitting an emotional roadblock and needing space to process. That night, before heading to bed, I closed the blinds to my patio and noticed a shadow on the porch.

When I looked closer, I saw it: a tiny green leaf, sprouted overnight.
And immediately, I heard my mom’s voice in my head: “Those are hard to kill.”

It stopped me in my tracks. Somehow, that neglected plant—a symbol of everything I didn’t have the energy to care for—survived.

It gave me hope.

You’re Not Behind—You’re Blooming

The thing about spring is that it doesn’t rush you. It doesn’t demand you be in full bloom on day one. It just gently whispers, “It’s time.”

So, no—don’t be jealous of the rose.
You, my love, are a hosta fragrant bouquet. You may have been deprived of sunlight. You may have been overlooked or neglected, even by yourself. But here you are: still growing. Still rooted. Still blooming.

After all… roses come by the dozen. But hostas? They survive everything.

— xo, TheRealBlackCarrieBradshaw