Re-membering — Finding Our Way Back to What Still Belongs

Amy Oledzki on November 3, 2025

November ushers in a profound shift. The days grow shorter, darkness lingers longer, and the cold begins its slow settling in. For many who are grieving, this seasonal descent mirrors the inner landscape of loss. We become aware of what has been taken, what feels missing, and what life has made painfully out of place. Loss, in many ways, dis-members us—pulling apart what once felt whole, steady, or deeply anchored in love.

But November, with its gentle cultural invitation to gather, to reflect, to break bread, and to give thanks, offers another path forward. The path of Re-membering. Not remembering, as in merely recalling memories, but Re-membering, as the opposite of dismembering: bringing back together the parts of our story, our identity, and our love – ours still to keep.

When the Heart Can’t Look Back (Yet)

In the early throes of grief, memory can feel unbearable. I worked with a male client who lost the love of his life. The photographs of their travels, the souvenirs of family adventures, and the once-treasured albums sat untouched. He asked me through tears, “Will I ever be able to look at these again?” In that season, he could not. The memories brought searing pain, not comfort. He judged himself for it, wondering why love had become so intolerable to look at.

The truth is this: in early grief, protecting ourselves is not avoidance—it’s survival. With time, compassion, and gentleness, shifts. Months later, he told me he sat down with those same albums, this time with a candle lit beside him. He smiled. He cried. He paused. He continued. But he could look. The memories, he said, “came back like warm waves instead of cold knives.” This is Re-membering—when the story becomes integrated again, and love, not shock, sets the tone.

The Role of Nature and the language of plants is something we incorporate in our model of care. Periwinkle is the flower for the month and has long symbolized fidelity, everlasting love, and spiritual connection. Its evergreen nature reminds us that some bonds—especially those forged in deep love—do not die. Even in the coldest months, its presence whispers, “what is rooted in the heart remains.”

Bringing periwinkle imagery, dried flowers, or watercolor art into your space can act as a gentle anchor during November. Nature not only reflects where we are—it helps guide us to what’s next.

Another grounding companion is the doTERRA Balance® Essential Oil. For those grieving, grounding is essential. The doTERRA Balance® blend, with its steady, wood-forward aroma, offers emotional centering when life feels unmoored. A drop to the wrists, over the heart, or on the bottoms of the feet can support the nervous system and create space for calmer breathing, emotional stability, and greater connection to the present moment. When we are grounded, we are more capable of Re-membering gently, without drowning in the past or bracing against it.

The November heart can bring gratitude and giving. It brings thanks-giving—not just as a holiday, but as a posture. Gratitude does not erase grief, but it can coexist with it. Neuroscience shows that giving thanks and engaging in altruism can increase serotonin and dopamine levels, elevating mood and nurturing a sense of meaning and connection. When we give of ourselves—especially while grieving—we momentarily step out of our pain and into purpose.

Some of the most healing practices in November can include:

  • Writing one simple gratitude each day.
  • Helping someone anonymously.
  • Sending a card to a caregiver, widow, or grieving friend.
  • Volunteering, even in a small capacity.
  • Sharing a meal or donating one.

Altruism helps stitch the heart back together. It reminds us: We still matter. We can still contribute. We are still connected.

As we transition into the giving season and the colder start of the change of season, may you Re-member what is still yours, ground yourself with breath, earth, and calming aromatherapy, honor memories at a pace that is gentle, not forced, receive the symbols of nature as teachers and companions, and give and give thanks, not to bypass grief, but to let light in.

As winter approaches, may you find that what once felt broken can become rearranged—not as it was before, but as something whole in a new way. Love remains. You are still here. Your story continues, and it still deserves warmth, connection, and peace.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Founder & Clinical Director

Focus of the Month: Re-membering
Essential Oil: Balance
Flower: Periwinkle

Beyond Yourself: Finding Ground in Grief During Autumn

Amy Oledzki on October 6, 2025

Autumn carries with it a unique duality—a beauty that invites reflection and a reminder of inevitable change. Leaves shift from vibrant greens to fiery reds and golds, daylight wanes, and the air grows crisp. For caregivers, this season can mirror the internal landscape of grief: moments of vivid memory, tinged with loss, and a sense of transition that can feel both beautiful and unsettling.

Caregivers experience loss throughout their journey—not only the eventual passing of a loved one but also the slow erosion of familiar routines, physical independence, and shared dreams. Often, the weight of this emotional labor is carried quietly, and reaching out for support can feel like an indulgence rather than a necessity. Yet, it is precisely during these moments, when life feels beyond your control, that stepping outside yourself to seek support creates a profound opportunity: the chance to live in a moment beyond yourself.

The Power of Emotional Support

Grief can be isolating, but it does not need to be endured alone. Emotional support—whether through a trusted friend, a counselor, or a support group—offers caregivers a space to share, reflect, and be witnessed without judgment. It allows for the release of pent-up feelings, the validation of experiences, and the gentle reminder that grief is not a linear process. By reaching out, caregivers’ step beyond the self-imposed isolation and embrace a moment of shared humanity. In this act, even the heaviest moments of loss can become slightly more bearable.

Nature as a Grounding Force

Autumn’s natural rhythms mirror the journey of loss, offering a quiet guide toward a feeling of being grounded. I know I have mentioned this many times in my blogs, and maybe I am starting to sound like a broken record, but connecting to nature works. While I share my experience from the other day, please know that this is not meant to be a comparison to the grief we all feel as described above; it merely is an example of how powerful connecting to nature can be.

I was at Hope Grows over the weekend helping my spouse with the leaves and cutting the grass when the utility vehicle we were using would not start. We were back in the woods when we realized the battery was the problem. We were far enough away from an electric source for jumping the battery that caused annoyance and frustration. We were both tired and almost done with the work, and we started to experience a sense of defeat: a loss of time, as we both saw it, time that we thought we couldn’t spare. Instead of expressing the emotions, I suggested we lean back in our seats and look up into the trees, and take some deep breaths. WOW! Within a few minutes we both could feel the benefit from connecting to nature. It truly is a grounding force.

Moments of loss and the emotion that comes with it is overwhelming. It doesn’t have to be if we choose another path, such as walking among the shifting trees, noticing the crispness of the air, or observing the slow descent of falling leaves. This process encourages mindfulness—a way to root oneself in the present. Nature gently reminds us of life’s cycles, the inevitability of endings, and the quiet persistence of renewal. These encounters do not erase grief but provide a tangible anchor, a steadying presence amidst emotional turbulence.

Living Beyond Yourself

When caregivers engage with emotional support and connect with nature, they participate in a practice of living beyond themselves. It is an acknowledgment that grief, while intensely personal, is also shared across the human experience. These practices create moments where the weight of caregiving and loss can be set down, even temporarily, allowing space for reflection, compassion, and hope. Autumn, with its transitional beauty, becomes a companion in this process—a reminder that change, loss, and renewal exist side by side.

For caregivers, embracing support and the grounding presence of nature does not diminish the depth of their grief. Instead, it offers a path toward resilience, mindfulness, and the quiet revelation that even in the midst of loss, life—like the turning of the seasons—continues, offering moments of connection, insight, and healing. In the moment that both my spouse and I had with staring into the trees, it calmed our brain enough to spark a creative fix to getting the utility vehicle started. Thank you, God, for helping us take those deep breaths and to nature for giving us the opportunity to go beyond ourselves.

Hope Grows offers emotional and mental health support to caregivers and those grieving a loss by way of mental health counseling, support groups, both virtual and in-person, education, and phone check ins.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Founder & Clinical Director

Focus of the Month: Beyond Yourself
Essential Oil: Cedarwood
Flower: Fuchsia

Autumn Equinox Reflections: Tethered in Transition 

Amy Oledzki on September 12, 2025

Look out your window.

Every falling autumn leaf is a tiny kite

with a string too small to see

held by the part of you

in charge of making beauty out of grief.

-Andrea Gibson

Autumn is often described as a season of letting go, but late poet Andrea Gibson shifts that perspective: the leaf is not severed, it’s tethered. Even as it drifts, it remains bound by an invisible string to “the part of you in charge of making beauty out of grief.” This reframes loss as continuity rather than absence. The autumn equinox, too, is not simply a point of light diminishing but a hinge moment. In caregiving and grief, this resonates deeply: the people we love don’t simply “fall away.” Their lives, rituals, or even the exhaustion and tenderness of caregiving remain tethered in memory, shaping us. What’s lost still pulls on us, even if the string is too fine to see. Gibson’s leaf-as-kite image shows autumn as a season of staying tethered in invisible ways. That’s exactly what the equinox is: a balance point we can’t quite see, but that still holds us. 

Summer often drives us outward into endless lists and tasks fueled by long daylight hours. I always start summer with a long list… that I never quite complete. The abundance of light can feel like pressure to do more, achieve more. Autumn arrives as a gentle course correction. Days shorten, and instead of “get it all done,” the season invites us to ask: What’s worth gathering in? What matters most to keep tethered before the darkness deepens? Where summer stretched us into endless doing, autumn invites us into choosing—what do we gather in, what do we let lie, what invisible strings do we honor before the darkness deepens? 

“Equinox” comes from the Latin aequus (equal) and nox (night). On this day, night and day are nearly the same length. The balance is fleeting—it tips almost immediately. This teaches us that equilibrium isn’t permanent, but a moment we pass through. What a kindness this revelation is. 

My soul expands whenever nature surrounds me. This morning, the scent of fall was on the breeze. It was a mix of damp, pre-rain air, dying leaves, late-summer blooms, and something I can’t quite name. While September often feels like an extension of summer, this morning felt right. Something deep in my soul reached toward the autumnal pull and found a friend, a compassionate knowing in the shifting season. I exhaled into the dark gray blanket, and it surrounded me with the comfort of a mother. Nature has a way with us, doesn’t she? 

When I left my house an hour earlier, the sky was ablaze—the kind of sunrise granted only on bright mornings before a storm. Summertime streaked the sky in pinks, oranges, purples, and reds. The cozy gray of autumn swallowed the colors whole, and my soul exhaled.  

Autumn carries a feeling of liminality. It is neither hot nor cold, but it can be each at times. It begins fully green and ends fully bare, delivering its bounty to carry us through cold, dark months. Autumn is a season of unveiling, of showing what’s been inside all along. Leaves reveal hidden colors as chlorophyll breaks down. Symbolically, this is powerful: the green of summer isn’t lost; it’s stripped away, allowing what was always there to shine in red, orange, and purple brilliance. Fall’s palette isn’t just beauty before death. The hues are truth revealed at the moment of transition. 

The gentleness of fall steadies us… if we choose to embrace it. Yes, it signals the approach of barren cold, but it is also mild and gentle. It doesn’t scorch or freeze. It allows for natural release, quiet dying, lingering goodbyes. The leaves that fall to reveal bare branches create a blanket over the hard, dusty ground, promising nourishment for the growth to come. What we let go of during our fall seasons isn’t lost forever. As it disintegrates into the ground, its lessons, wisdom, and richness soak into the places that will sprout new life. Whether losses or gains, highs or lows, failures or successes, the things we shed in preparation for life’s darker seasons become the nourishment that will emerge again in the spring. 

“To let go, I allow life’s brevity to be its magic.“

Another line inspired by Andrea Gibson, a masterful weaver of words whose life on earth ended this past July, one month shy of 50 years old. These words reorient me on days that pass too quickly. If we don’t let go, we drag the past into the coming winter. Rather than nourishing the ground as it naturally falls apart, it becomes deadweight, frozen in place.  

We can be afraid and unravel chaotically, or we can trust the process, embrace letting go, and believe the things we’ve held onto will become the nourishment that brings forth tomorrow’s beauty. We can bemoan the cooler temperatures and dead leaves underfoot, or we can see these days as gifts—a cushion between the heat of summer and the cold of winter, a time to prepare for all that is to come. 

Sometimes a season ends long before we notice. We don’t always get to choose our “lasts.” We don’t always know. Tomorrow looms mysterious—that’s a universal truth. There are always looming goodbyes, in every season. We just don’t always get to know what they will be. Lasts are so hard… and so are firsts. Both are necessary components of living, moving, and being. 

And we will be asked: Are you willing? Are you willing to step into this change, this new chapter, this new season? Sometimes the question has the audacity to come after the change—it doesn’t ask our permission before shaking our comfortable lives. Sometimes it must… because we’d never choose it for ourselves, even if it’s what we need. 

I want to exist in the present without sacrificing the beauty of the past or my hope for the future. I want to continue to learn how to dance in the both/and of grief and gratitude, to swim in the waters of tension and unknowing with a heart that trusts and says yes to what comes next. Like the light and dark of the equinox, these are realities that can be held simultaneously. 

Written by Laura Gamble
Clinical Administrative Coordinator

Collaborative Healing

Amy Oledzki on September 3, 2025

In a world where the landscape of caregiving continues to grow more complex, the need for collaborative, holistic approaches to mental health has never been greater. Families caring for medically complex individuals are often navigating a terrain of emotional exhaustion, grief, and chronic uncertainty. These caregivers are not only managing physical care but are also wrestling with questions about meaning, suffering, and identity—questions that existential therapy invites us to explore.

When we layer this therapeutic lens with the principles of collaboration and the healing reciprocity found in nature, we begin to see a multidimensional approach to caregiver support: one that doesn’t just treat symptoms but honors the whole human experience.

September carries with it a quiet shift; the angle of sunlight softens, the days grow shorter, and the air turns crisp with early hints of autumn. Nature, once ablaze with summer’s fullness, begins its slow descent into stillness. This seasonal threshold is very similar to the emotional and psychological shifts experienced by those caring for someone with medically complex needs. In fact, this natural turning point offers profound metaphors and opportunities for reflection.

The Existential Terrain of Caregiving

Existential psychotherapy centers around the human experience of meaning, isolation, freedom, responsibility, and mortality. For caregivers of medically complex individuals—whether a child with a rare genetic condition or a partner with a progressive illness—these themes aren’t theoretical; they are lived realities.

Caregivers may silently ask:

  • Why is this happening to someone I love?
  • What is my role in this?
  • Who am I beyond this responsibility?
  • Will life ever feel “normal” again?

Existential theory acknowledges that these questions don’t necessarily have clear answers. Instead, healing comes in exploring them together—with a therapist, within a support group, or through personal reflection in nature. When we stop trying to escape the pain and begin to witness it, transformation can begin.

The Power of Collaborative Mental Health Support

Supporting caregivers in isolation is not enough. Just as caregiving itself is collaborative—coordinating with physicians, specialists, therapists, and sometimes even educators—so too must be the model of mental health care. Collaboration between psychotherapists, medical professionals, support organizations, and families ensures that care is both informed and person-centered. This is the model with which Hope Grows, The Iris Respite House & Healing Gardens, and The Root of Good Care Counseling practice offer caregivers. The Hope Grows Model of Care doesn’t promise to erase suffering, but it does offer the scaffolding for caregivers to live through suffering with meaning, connection, and moments of peace.

Collaborative care within the medical/mental health community at its core is a reminder than none of us are meant to carry our burdens alone.

  • Therapists integrating psychoeducation on chronic stress, traumatic responses, and compassion fatigue.
  • Physicians recognizing the psychological toll on caregivers and referring appropriately.
  • Nonprofit organizations offering therapeutic horticulture, respite programs, or grief-informed services.
  • Mentorship/Mentee programs offering a connection for past caregivers to be a guiding voice to those currently caregiving. The Caregiver2Caregiver program at Hope Grows helps to connect individuals in this way.
  • Caregivers themselves participating in their own mental health planning, empowered to voice their needs.

Nature as a Therapeutic Partner

Alongside professional collaboration, there exists a quiet, enduring collaborator: nature.

Nature offers more than just a setting for respite—it mirrors existential truths in ways that gently support integration and healing. The natural world does not deny the cycles of birth, growth, decay, and death. It embraces them, honors them, and allows them to unfold.

Caregivers often report feeling grounded when taking their shoes off and pressing the bare feet into the earth, digging in the earth, or simply watching birds. These aren’t small moments; they are sacred exchanges. Nature gives us permission to slow down, breathe, and witness life unfolding without expectation.

This reciprocal relationship is powerful. As caregivers give of themselves, nature gives back—through beauty, stillness, or a seasonal metaphor. If you experienced tending a garden this season, the act of gardening can reflect the process of tending to one’s own inner life. Last but not least, considering the seasonal change from winter to spring: the return can echo the hope that life, even when altered, still holds possibility.

Closing Reflections

To truly serve medically complex caregivers, we must weave these threads—existential theory, collaborative therapy, and the natural world—into an integrated framework.

At Hope Grows, we believe healing is not a linear path, nor is it one that any person should walk alone. When we collaborate across disciplines and include the natural world in our caregiving and therapeutic practices, we honor the full spectrum of human experience—pain, purpose, and presence.

In the quiet moments among the trees, in the shared tears during counseling, and in the courageous questions caregivers ask each day, we find a profound truth: healing is not always about fixing; sometimes it’s about holding space, together.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Founder & Clinical Director

Focus of the Month: Collaboration
Essential Oil: Neroli
Flower: White Jasmine

Stretching Yourself in Grief

Amy Oledzki on August 4, 2025

In August, as summer begins to exhale its last full breath, the world around us slowly starts to quiet. The heat lingers, but the light subtly shifts. Gardens begin to dry. Cicadas sing their steady chorus. Nature gives us signs that change is near.

And in this seasonal in-between, there is an invitation: to stretch yourself.

Held in the Heart of Grief

Amy Oledzki on July 2, 2025

Grief, in its truest form, is not a problem to be solved or a wound to be quickly bandaged. It is a sacred unfolding, an experience of love’s deepest cost. It can feel raw and relentless—like waves crashing against the shore of our very being. And in those crashing moments, it’s easy to feel like we’re unraveling. That we are completely, utterly alone.

But grief, while deeply isolating, also carries within it a quiet truth: we are meant to be held.