Tender Growth

Lisa Story on April 15, 2026

The Misunderstood Language of Care

“Rest, Relax, & Restore!” and “Take care of yourself.”  Words Hope Grows has uttered over the course of their mission. Words that are often offered with the best of intentions. And yet, for caregivers and those grieving, they can feel hollow—even frustrating.

At Hope Grows, we understand the difficulty, we know that your world has shifted, rest is not always restorative. Stillness can feel loud. And balance is not something you find—it is something you practice, moment by moment. Emotional regulation, too, becomes an ongoing act of patience. Not perfection. Not control. But gentle returning.

April arrives with a quiet insistence. Like the slow unfurling of a petal. Again, and again. Like breath. Not the bold certainty of summer, nor the deep stillness of winter—but something far more delicate. A season of becoming. A season of tender growth.

Fragile Beginnings

There is a moment—often quiet, often unnoticed—when caregiving begins. It may not feel like a beginning at all. It may feel like an interruption, a disruption, or an overwhelming shift. But beneath it, something new has taken root.

Tender. Uncertain. Fragile.

The same is true in grief. When we lose someone we love, the world does not simply pause—it changes. And in that change, we find ourselves at the beginning of something we never asked for. A new way of being. A new landscape to navigate.

Like April soil, recently stirred, we are not yet steady. We are not yet strong. We are simply… beginning.

A Lesson from the Garden

This week, I planted lettuce and herbs—my first planting of the season. It felt hopeful. A small act of trust in what is to come. And yet, as April reminds us, hope requires attention. Freezing temperatures are in the forecast. Which means I must remain vigilant—watching the weather, covering the plants, protecting them from forces beyond their control. 

And as I tend to them, I am reminded of what it means to care for something in its early stages. This is what it means to honor fragility. Not by forcing growth, but by protecting it.

In nature, this tenderness is easy to see. The soft emergence of tulips, their petals still learning how to open. The tulips, bright yet vulnerable, bending with each passing wind. The earth, recently thawed, offering just enough warmth to invite new life forward—but not without risk.

This is not a season of full bloom. This is a season of fragile beginnings. And so, it is for caregivers. And so, it is for those who are grieving.

Protecting Your Tender Growth

Shielding, protecting, defending. There are seasons in life where we, too, require this kind of care. Where nourishment is disrupted. Where energy is depleted. Where even the idea of reaching out for community feels distant—misaligned with what our soul is quietly asking for.

Confusing?? For sure!! This concept is unclear because we are told that connection is healing. And it is. But there are moments when what we need first is not outward connection—but inward protection. A covering, a boundary, a gentle tending to our own internal climate.

Like placing a cloth over young plants to shield them from frost, we are allowed to create spaces of safety for ourselves.

This may look like:

  • Saying no without explanation
  • Stepping away from noise or expectation
  • Choosing rest in a way that feels right, not prescribed
  • Allowing emotions to come and go without urgency to “fix” them

This is not withdrawal. This is wisdom.

The Symbolism of April: Tulip & Geranium

It would not be me if I didn’t bring in some symbolism with this month’s flower and essential oil pick. The tulip, April’s flower, carries the essence of gentle emergence. It does not rush its bloom. It responds to its environment—opening when conditions allow, closing when they do not. There is much to learn from the rhythm of nature. There is some level of permission with this flower. There is permission to open slowly, permission to close when needed, and permission to honor your own timing.

Geranium, April’s essential oil, speaks to emotional balance—not as a fixed state, but as a living rhythm. It reminds us that steadiness is not the absence of feeling, but the ability to move with our emotions rather than against them. In part, the reason we put Geranium essential oil in our Signature Blend that we sell here at Hope Grows. Together, they offer a quiet message of not having to be fully open to grow and not having to feel balanced to find your way.

Continue through April with a Gentle Reflection

April is not asking you to bloom.

It is asking you to tend.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Director

At Hope Grows, we support those grieving a loss. If you are struggling, reach out to connect. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email [email protected].

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Founder of Hope Grows

Focus of the Month: Tender Growth
Essential Oil: Geranium
Flower: Tulip

Disclaimer: This site offers information designed for educational purposes only. You should not rely on any information on this site as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, or as a substitute for professional counseling care, advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you have any concerns or questions about your health, you should always consult with a physician or other healthcare professional.

Beyond Yourself: Finding Ground in Grief During Autumn

Lisa Story 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

Collaborative Healing

Lisa Story 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

Tranquility

Lisa Story on April 2, 2025

Confidence in bloom is the vibe in the Healing Gardens of the Iris Respite House. The vibrant yellow of the daffodil flowers catch my attention as I contemplate how much I struggle this time of year with the transition between winter and spring. Just the other day, I had a burst of energy from the lingering of winter when a bit of snow flurries hovered over us. Opposite of what springing forth is about, I know, but the lightly falling snow, as it may, left me intrigued. It was definitely competing with the new growth of the changing season and that was exactly what my soul was doing.

The unrest of the soul is somewhat frustrating, as the weather flip flops during this time of year, wanting to stay a bit recluse still, but the change of season tells me a different story. I woke to a soft rain today as I began to write this blog. The temperature was a bit warmer than my body can handle. I am sure it is from the collide of the warmer temps with the rain, creating humidity. I’m not a fan of humidity, probably why I like Arizona so much. Humidity seems to drain my energy, but none the less, I persevered. I focused back to the sound and sight of outside, listening to the harmonious birdsong from the open window. The birds gave an uncaring impression regarding the unrest of my soul.

Spring is a beautiful example of nature’s resilience. The plants continue to be in full harmony with the season of equinox, bursting with hidden beauty from the dormancy of winter’s cold. Dormancy, a time of rest and conservation, ensuring the plant has the strength to flourish again, winter is akin to the concept of restoration that I value. My soul does what the month of April represents, a combination of tranquility and vibrant energy.

On the surface, the gardens feel calm, with gentle rain, soft blossoms, and the tender green of emerging leaves. Yet, beneath the calmness is a tremendous surge of life. Its almost as if one can feel the earth moving below, with this tug and pull of transition echoing my human experience. After the winter’s period of stillness and reflection, there is often an instinctual push to grow and reach. But growth doesn’t always feel graceful – it can be chaotic, raw, and powerful. The plants, though, seem to embrace this contradiction, thriving in both the calm and the intensity.

It makes perfect sense, winter’s stillness; it can feel like a sanctuary. Offering a kind of peace that’s hard to let go of when the change of season begins to rush forward again. The contrast between my inner rhythm and the outward surge of spring creates a desire to stay hidden, to linger in the restorative embrace of winter.

That feeling is deeply valid and if you recognize a similarity, you just might find comfort in seeking small ways to extend the sense of winter’s calm, even as nature’s landscape bursts around you. Try mindful moments in shaded spaces, connecting with the lingering coolness of early mornings, or simply honoring the slower pace your body craves. I have been finding peace and tranquility with the sounds that April brings in the mornings. The birds and the early morning chill in the air creates a special, calming atmosphere for me. When everything feels still, there is a unique kind of tranquility. As I retreat to nature in the morning, I’m surrounded by the calm, activating my senses and inviting a bit of serenity.

A little help from nature can promote calm; however, true tranquility comes from a deep sense of inner stability—one that isn’t dependent on external circumstances but is cultivated through presence, acceptance, and connection. For a caregiver, this might mean acknowledging the weight of responsibility while also allowing moments of stillness, no matter how brief, to replenish the spirit. It comes from embracing the ebb and flow of life rather than resisting it, finding meaning in both the challenges and the quiet spaces in between.

Spiritual connection can indeed foster peace. At least, that is what nature does for me; it speaks to my soul. Tranquility is often rooted in surrender—letting go of what cannot be controlled, breathing deeply into the moment, and finding solace in simple things, like the warmth of sunlight, the rhythm of breath, or the quiet companionship of nature, especially during moments of resistance.

You may also want to consider where you are placing the control. Is it external or internal? In reference to psychology terms, we can either have an External or Internal Locus of Control. It is about recognizing the balance between what you can influence and what is beyond your control. Each plays a role in shaping resilience. In caregiving, where the emotional and physical demands can be overwhelming, fostering an Internal Locus of Control is about empowerment and ownership. An Internal Locus of Control means believing that your actions, choices, and mindset shape your experience. It cultivates a sense of agency even in difficult circumstances.

Use this time of year, the confidence in bloom, to foster tranquility. If you are feeling a bit unsettled, like I am right now, remember that letting go is a practice, not a destination—one that is nurtured through appreciation, reflection, and compassionate care for both others and oneself. It is the reciprocal relationship that occurs between self and nature.

Happy Spring!

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

Appreciation

Lisa Story on March 3, 2025

I woke the other day to a beautiful heavy snow. It happened to be on a Saturday, so my morning was a bit more relaxed. The picture from the sunroom window, here at the Iris Respite House & Healing Gardens, was breathtaking. I stood there, looking out the window, mesmerized by the beauty. I felt gratitude and appreciation for what nature was providing. Quickly, the feeling left me as I moved my focus back to the long task list that I put together for the weekend of hopeful accomplishments. I expressed (out loud, I might add), “Why does my day have to be so full of ‘to-dos’?” The tasks on my list were important and needed to be done, but how can I slow down this weekend and appreciate something as soothing as this snowy morning? I wanted to just continue to stare, but thought, how unproductive.

Appreciation is the focus for the month of March. When stress and to-dos happen, self-sabotaging tendencies appear. While nature is one constant in our lives, it can help with appreciation and all the little things in life, but the busy-ness of the day seems to always get in the way. How can we appreciate the surprise of what is below an overturned rock, the transformation of a deciduous tree in the autumn season, the continuous flow of water from a rain storm, or the plant showing its beauty after a long cold winter season?

In this scenario, the moment of surprise was the snow. I know that nature’s rhythm is a reminder of resilience and renewal. We share and shout this message from Hope Grows quite often…blah, blah, blah! But how, even in the midst of stress and many to-do’s can these small moments of wonder anchor you in appreciation?

While the morning went on and I kept busy with the to-do’s, I noticed the snow turned to rain. I found myself drawn to the process of this particular element of nature, in the moment, as it switched from snow to rain. Something happened that I haven’t felt in a while. I was inspired, almost awe-struck at the grounding this change in weather created. I took a moment and just watched, even opened the door to breathe in the scent it was bringing. I watched it move across the window. Even in those few seconds of noticing, I felt a small act of appreciation amidst the busyness of my morning.

As the day continued to unfold, the weather changed several times from rain to snow, back to rain, and then snow again. In fact, the entire weekend’s weather did this; it kept flip-flopping, as if it switched to the rhythm of my endless list. I found myself noticing small acts of appreciation throughout the weekend, gently shifting my awareness from the busy weekend to what was happening outside my window and then back again. I was super excited at the end of the weekend, as it had been one of the most productive weekends in task completion that I have had in a long time. Was it the small acts of appreciation of nature I kept engaging with or was it just pure coincidence? I don’t know, but what I do know is the way I chose to engage perhaps made the difference. Consider trying the following:

  • I Paused – for just a few seconds, I took a break from the rush of my to-do’s. It wasn’t a long break; it was just enough to acknowledge the moment.
  • I Observed – I tuned into my surroundings. I noticed what was happening in the here and now of nature, in my environment, and even within myself. I took mind of the way the snow looked, how the rain sounded, the scent from the door, and in the filling of my lungs with the air.
  • I Acknowledged – Internally, I took notice. I even made comments out loud. “Look how large those snowflakes are!” “Oh wow, it now turned to rain.” “The scent of the air outside is intriguing.” “It’s snowing again, this is beautiful.” I expressed gratitude for the beauty before returning to my tasks.
  • I Felt – I allowed myself to experience a sense of gratitude, wonder, and connection, even if it was for a brief moment. It seemed to reinforce the habit of appreciation as I kept looking out the window between tasks.
  • I Returned – I went back to my tasks, but continued to carry out the moment of noticing and appreciating. I kept setting an intention to notice one more “smaller” thing out the window as the day went on. I was excited to wake the next day of the weekend and continue with my tasks; I found I didn’t dread the remaining to-do’s and ended up feeling so accomplished.

As the weekend came to a close, I realized that appreciation doesn’t need to be grand. It can be woven into the smallest of moments. I think the process became more intuitive as I kept noticing what was happening to me and outside. Despite the many tasks on my list, I felt rested, relaxed and restored, and accomplished.

With a mission to inspire hope through nature while empowering family caregivers to seek wellness of mind, body, and spirit, we focus on resting, relaxing and restoring as a way to appreciate life. This acknowledges both the challenges caregivers face and the power of nature in fostering well-being. Rest, relaxation, and restoration are not just luxuries but essential parts of sustaining appreciation and resilience.

By taking mindful moments, such as the above, becomes a way to embrace and encourage one to “take a break.” This process instills appreciation. At Hope Grows, we incorporate and encourage others by gratitude practice, mindful techniques, use of healing gardens, the language of flowers, bird watching, connecting to nature, aromatherapy, and labyrinths…to name a few. This beautiful holistic approach weaves together mindfulness, nature, and sensory experiences. Each of these practices offers a unique way to slow down and connect—whether through the symbolism of a labyrinth, the stillness of bird watching, or the grounding presence of a healing garden.

The next time your list has many to-do’s on it, try to appreciate the beauty outside the window in small moments of time throughout your day. You just might feel rested, relaxed, and restored in your busy-ness and have a new found sense of appreciation.

In appreciation of all of you!

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

Breathe

Lisa Story on February 5, 2025

The month of February seems to lend itself to moments of deep breathing. Research shows that mindful deep breathing practices elicit balance and transform stress into peace. James Nestor, the author of “Breath” writes about the new science around the lost art of breathing. I truly find the book fascinating and worthy of the reading time. His research shows that no matter what we eat, what our body size, the exercise we accomplish, and/or our age, none of it matters if we do not breathe properly.

Inhaling and exhaling of breath is something we do instinctually about 25,000 times a day. James goes on to say in his book that humans have lost the ability to breathe correctly, partly due to the bone structure of our skull being smaller in size than our historic ancestors. In the book, I found the studies of implementing different methods of breathing intriguing, especially the studies with athletes.

The athlete studies resulted in better stamina and exertion during high performance sports when proper breathing techniques were applied. I bought a second copy of James Nestor’s book for my oldest grandson, an exceptional athlete, so that he can learn how to apply breathing techniques. He took it to heart, learned and applied it. I can always tell when he applies the breathing techniques, evidenced by his athletic performance and the color of the redness of his face.  

On another note of moments of needing deep breaths, I ended the month of January celebrating and honoring the life of two people. One at the age of 80 and the other at the age of 38. Both shocking nonetheless, both deaths took my breath away. As a licensed counselor and certified thanatologist specializing in grief and loss, I know that when the initial news of a loss is heard, one of our first responses is to try and make sense of the death, evidenced by the question, “how did the person die?” We then begin to reflect on the person’s life and what the person meant to us. In most cases, we attend a service where friends and family gather to provide a community of support and an exchange of sharing and love. With these two recent deaths, shock and confusion were the common reaction due to the nature of the death: one being from a fall and the other from suicide, respectively. Deep breaths were definitely needed as we honored and memorialized them both.

In moments of stress, we either hold our breath or shallow breathe. The transition of breathing properly resumes eventually with a big deep breath inhaled. I relate this transition of breath with winter stillness; it is in that transition of breath that we can find calm and peace, even when we’re yearning for something else.

This transition reminds me of a word I recently learned, Gluggavedur! It is an Icelandic word meaning “window-weather,” which refers to the sort of weather best observed from your window. If we think about watching a storm from the warmth and safety of inside our home, we transition from the severity of the storm to the calm feeling of being protected from it.

As grief hits us unexpectedly, like the unwanted groundhog in the garden, we can apply the practice of window-weather. This mindful way of thinking about grief as an unwanted storm puts a safe distance from it. From this safe distance, the emotion is viewed more objectively, creating a calmer and clearer mind. This helps us to observe the pain and sadness as it rises and falls, feeling protected at the same time.

So, the next time the high stakes of emotions surface, remember the phrase Gluggavedur and, since the groundhog saw its shadow and predicts six more weeks of winter, think about transitioning to “window-weather” to help with the Ying and Yang of the weather and the onset of cabin fever.

And finally, think about the relatable practice of essential oils and symbolism of flowers. Roman Chamomile, the essential oil pick, is known for its calming and soothing properties, making it an excellent companion for February’s focus. It lends itself to an invitation for “window-weather” as it invites moments for pausing, breathing, and embracing stillness. The flower pick, Boston Fern, is a lush, vibrant plant that symbolizes purity, renewal, and vitality. Even in the stillness of emotion, grief, or winter, the act of taking moments to breathe lies in its role as both a natural air purifier and a symbol of life. 

Until the winds blow in March, Happy Window-Weather!

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