Resilience & Vitality

Lisa Story on July 7, 2026

Turning Toward the Light While Remaining Rooted

This July carries special significance as our nation celebrates 250 years of independence. Celebrations of fireworks and festivities inspired but so did reflection. I pondered a bit about the history of our country and in many ways, thought of resilience became the focus. Our history reflects people that navigated uncertainty, rebuilt after hardship, cared for one another through war, illness, economic struggle, and personal loss. Long before there were formal support services, there were family caregivers tending to aging parents, neighbors bringing meals, communities gathering around those who were grieving, and generations finding ways to move forward while carrying the memories of those they loved.

Today is no different. That same spirit continues. Every caregiver who rises before dawn to help a loved one begin another day demonstrates resilience. Every person navigating the unfamiliar landscape of grief while continuing to show up for family, work, or community embodies quiet vitality. These stories may never appear in history books, yet they form the foundation upon which families and ultimately communities are built.

Perhaps resilience is not simply about “being strong.” Maybe it is found in allowing ourselves to be human, in asking for help when we need it, resting without guilt, finding laughter in the heavy and accepting that healing rarely follows a straight path. Like the sunflower, resilience is less about standing unmoved through every storm and more about staying rooted enough to bend, recover, and continue reaching toward the light.

In much the same way, vitality may look different than we expect. It is not always found in endless energy or constant productivity. It can be found in the quiet moments that restore us, such as a meaningful conversation, time spent in nature, a nourishing meal, sharing a story, or finding room for joy even while carrying sorrow. These small moments of care gently remind us that we are still growing, still healing, and that our lives continue to offer hope to others.

At Hope Grows, we believe resilience is cultivated in relationships. Whether through counseling, support groups, the Gathering Table (Grief Soup gatherings, Caregiver2Caregiver mentoring, and the Legacy Project), or simply putting a head on a pillow at the Iris Respite House or walking through the healing gardens together, healing happens when people discover they do not have to carry life’s burdens alone. Every story shared strengthens not only the individual but the community around them.

As we commemorate 250 years of our nation’s journey, perhaps take the time to ponder a few things about what the 250th anniversary of our country invites us to consider. One of the greatest tributes we can offer is to continue caring for one another. Every family caregiver who sits beside a hospital bed, every neighbor who delivers a meal, every volunteer who offers a listening ear, and every person who walks alongside someone in grief strengthens the fabric of our community. Our country’s future will not be measured solely by its accomplishments, but by how faithfully we support those who are vulnerable, honor those who came before us, and invest in those who will come after us.

The Hope Grows legacy asks us to share just that.

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

  • Essential Oil: Melaleuca (Tea Tree)
  • Flower: Sunflower

At Hope Grows, we believe healing happens when we create space for both grief and growth. Through counseling, support groups, respite opportunities, and programs such as The Gathering Table & Legacy Initiative – Grief Soup, we invite caregivers and those grieving a loss to share their stories, find connection, and discover moments of restoration along the way. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email [email protected].

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.

Category: Emotions and Coping, Grieving, Mindfulness and Understanding, Self Care

Tag: coping with loss, grief, loss

Nourishment – June Focus

Lisa Story on June 4, 2026

Nourishment: Savoring What Is Blooming

June arrives with longer days, gardens blooming, and nature quietly reminding us that growth does not happen all at once. Spring’s tender beginnings have given way to the possibilities of summer abundance. Blossoms open, vegetables begin to emerge from the soil, birds feed their young, and the world seems to exhale into a season of nourishment.

Yet nourishment is about more than food.

For those navigating grief, loss, caregiving, or life transitions, nourishment often becomes something deeper; a gentle invitation to replenish what has been depleted. Feeling the sadness or pain of loss has a way of consuming our energy, disrupting our routines, and disconnecting us from the things that once sustained us. Amid the sorrow, we may forget to eat well, rest deeply, or tend to our own needs. We may find ourselves surviving rather than thriving.

Nature teaches us another way.

A garden does not bloom continuously without pause. Between periods of growth are moments of rest, integration, and renewal. The roots beneath the soil quietly absorb nutrients. Rain nourishes what the sun has awakened. Growth and restoration work together, each depending on the other, the same is true for us.

We Learn What We Live

Social Learning Theory, developed by Albert Bandura, teaches us that much of human behavior is learned through observation and modeling. As children, and throughout life, we absorb lessons not only from what we are told but from what we witness in others. We learn how to express emotions, navigate relationships, cope with stress, and respond to grief by watching those around us. This idea is reflected in Dorothy Law Nolte’s well-known phrase, “Children learn what they live.” In many ways, behavior is caught more often than it is taught. The patterns we experience and observe often shape how we move through the world, influencing how we care, cope, connect, and heal across generations.

As some of you may know, Hope Grows was born out of my grief and I tell the family story through a 4-part YouTube Video Series. As I reflect on my childhood, I observed and absorbed lessons of nourishment in the sense of ‘taking a break’. I watched my parents, especially my mom, never “Take a Break.” She was a real trend setter back in the day, a work from home mom, juggling six children and running the office for my dad’s roofing business. I learned about great work ethic but also learned that “taking a break” had to be earned. Ugh!

I digress a bit here, but the point being that as we move through June, let us consider nourishment as more than just food to sustain us. Nourishment begins by giving ourselves permission to rest. Not because we have earned it, but because we need it. Rest is not laziness. It is an act of care. It allows our minds, bodies, and spirits to integrate what we have experienced and creates space to reflect on where we have been and where we are going.

One Last Thought: Nourishment in Grief is Storytelling

One of the most overlooked forms of nourishment in grief is storytelling. When we tell our stories, we begin to gather the scattered pieces of our experience. We make meaning from what has happened. We remember not only the loss, but also the love. Sharing our stories allows us to carry memories forward rather than carry them alone. It helps us discover that our grief is part of our story, but it is not the entirety of who we are.

Just as a honeysuckle vine grows by intertwining itself with the world around it, our stories connect us to others. They remind us that healing often happens in relationships. Through conversation, reflection, journaling, support groups, or simply sitting with a trusted friend, we nourish ourselves when we allow our stories to be heard.

Book with a sprig of lavender 1

Consider lavender, the essential oil for the month. It is beloved for its calming and restorative qualities. Lavender encourages us to slow down, breathe deeply, and create moments of peace amidst life’s demands. It reminds us that nourishment is not always found in doing more. Sometimes it is found by being present, allowing our nervous systems to settle, and receiving the comfort that the oil offers.

Reflection: May you find nourishment for your mind, body, and spirit. May you rest when needed, savor what is blooming, and remember that your story matters.

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

Focus of the Month: Nourishment
Essential Oil: Lavender
Flower: Honeysuckle

At Hope Grows, we believe healing happens when we create space for both grief and growth. Through counseling, support groups, respite opportunities, and programs such as The Gathering Table & Legacy Initiative – Grief Soup, we invite caregivers and those grieving a loss to share their stories, find connection, and discover moments of restoration along the way. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email [email protected].

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.

Belonging

Lisa Story on May 16, 2026

The Cost of Love (and the Gift of Belonging)

There is something almost unbelievable about rose oil. It takes approximately 252,000 individual petals—about 8,000 roses—to produce a single 5ml bottle. Forty-two pounds of petals, gathered, distilled, transformed… into something so small, so potent, so precious. Holy roses!

And perhaps that is where we begin this month.

Because caregivers understand cost. Not in petals—but in moments. In sleep lost. In meals skipped. In parts of themselves quietly set aside. Love, in caregiving, often becomes synonymous with giving. With doing. With enduring. But what if belonging asks something different from us?

A Different Kind of Love

Lily of the Valley blooms softly, almost hidden. It does not demand attention. It does not compete for space. It simply exists—sweet, quiet, present. Its fragrance is not overwhelming. You must come close to notice it. There is no striving in it. No performance. Just presence.

And this is where we gently challenge a thought that many of us have come to believe. That love must be proven through depletion. That connection must be earned through sacrifice. That belonging is something you give, not something you receive.

There is a sweetness that can come without demand. At Hope Grows, we often speak about rest, restoration, and care, I mentioned this in last month’s Tender Growth blog. I know those words can feel hollow when your world has shifted. So, let’s not start there. Instead, let’s ask a different question. Can you allow love to exist, without needing to prove it? Not the love you give, but the love that might be offered to you. Because belonging is not built through effort alone. It is cultivated through allowing.

Lilly of the Valley 1

Hope Grows and the Root of Good Care Counseling practice strives to nurture the process of sitting with someone’s pain, and allow the emotion without judgment.

By allowing someone to sit with you without fixing, allowing a meal to be shared without obligation, and allowing your story to be heard without needing to shape it into something acceptable is one of the hardest things to do but worth trying.

The Gathering Table: Where Belonging Is Practiced

This “allowing” is the quiet heartbeat of the Gathering Table & Legacy Initiative. Not a program you attend, but a space you enter. A table where nourishment is offered—not just in food, but in presence. Where stories are shared—not for outcome, but for connection. Where mentorship is not about guidance alone, but about walking beside. There is something sacred that happens when people gather without expectation.

When the question is not, “What do you need to do?” but rather, “Can you simply be here?”  Many ways, it mirrors the rose. Thousands of unseen moments that come together to create something deeply meaningful. Not because of what each petal does individually…but because of what they become together.

A Gentle Disruption

So here is the invitation—and perhaps the disruption—for May. What if you stopped measuring your love by how much it costs you? What if belonging was not something you had to earn and what if sweetness—real, sustaining sweetness—did not come from pushing through… but from softening into connection? This may feel unfamiliar, even uncomfortable, but so does standing still in a season that is asking you to grow in a different direction.

The rose reminds us that something precious can come from many small parts.
The Lily of the Valley reminds us that presence does not need to be loud to be meaningful.

And nature, as always, offers us a quiet truth where nothing blooms alone. Not the rose, not the lily, and not you. It is about being rooted and connected.

Reflection

As you move through May with the focus of belonging, consider where in your life you are trying to earn belonging? And then what might shift if you allow yourself to simply receive it?

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

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

Focus of the Month: Belonging
Essential Oil: Rose
Flower: Lily of the Valley

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.

Trusting the Thaw

Lisa Story on March 10, 2026

March arrives quietly, often caught between winter’s lingering chill and spring’s first whispers. Snow may still cling to shaded corners. Trees may still appear bare. And yet—beneath the surface—life is stirring.

For caregivers and those living with grief, March often mirrors this in-between space. You may feel tired of the heaviness, longing for lightness, while still carrying deep emotional weight. “Trusting the thaw” is an invitation to honor this tender transition—to believe that healing is unfolding, even when it isn’t yet visible.

The landscape of the winter thaw does not arrive all at once. It happens gradually—drop by drop, root by root. In nature, this slow unfolding is essential. A sudden shift would overwhelm fragile ecosystems, including humans. I, for one, suffer greatly with allergies when the temperature shifts 30 degrees in one day, however, fortunately for the earth, it softens slowly, patiently allowing life to reawaken at a sustainable pace.

Grief and caregiving follow a similar rhythm.

There are seasons when emotional numbness protects us. When exhaustion wraps around us like winter’s blanket. When simply getting through the day feels like enough. And then—quietly—something begins to soften. A moment of laughter. A deeper breath. A spark of creativity. A desire to reconnect.

These moments do not mean grief is gone. They mean you are learning to carry it differently.

March reminds us that we do not have to rush our healing. We are allowed to thaw in our own time.

Daffodils & Laurel Leaf: Courage in Early Emergence

Among the first flowers to rise after winter, daffodils symbolize hope, resilience, and brave beginnings. They do not wait for perfect conditions. They bloom when the ground is still cold and storms still threaten; blooming occurs regardless.

Laurel leaf, long associated with inner authority and spiritual strength, complements this message. Historically linked to victory and wisdom, laurel reminds us that courage is not always loud or visible. Often, it is quiet persistence.

For caregivers and grievers, this courage may look like asking for help when you’ve always been “the strong one”. While this sounds easy, it is not, especially when you have been the one relying only on yourself for a long time. Setting boundaries around your energy is another hard one. Most empathetic and nurturing people struggling with boundaries. They want to be the fixer, the helper, the nurturer but I will tell you that if you set boundaries, you can rest without guilt, begin to tell the story about how hard this really is, and then the result is tenderness toward yourself. 

This is early emergence. This is quiet bravery. You do not have to be “fully healed” to move forward. You only need enough courage to take the next gentle step.

Trusting your inner authority in times of loss.

Grief can shake our sense of self. Caregiving can erode our confidence. When life revolves around crisis, illness, or loss, it becomes easy to forget that you still hold wisdom inside you.

March invites you back to your inner authority. This means learning to listen inward again and asking yourself these questions.

  • What does your body need today?
  • Where are you feeling depleted?
  • What brings even a small sense of peace?
  • What no longer feels sustainable?

You are allowed to honor these answers. Inner authority is not about control. It is about self-trust.

It is believing that your needs matter.
It is recognizing that rest is not weakness.
It is understanding that tending to your own spirit strengthens your capacity to care for others.

Just as laurel grows steadily, rooted and resilient, you are learning to grow into a new version of yourself shaped by love, loss, and lived experience.

Happy Spring!

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

Focus of the Month: Trusting the Thaw
Essential Oil: Laurel Leaf
Flower: Daffodil

Breath and Softening

Lisa Story on February 20, 2026

February asks very little of us—and that, in itself, can feel unsettling. This sure did apply with the latest storm that blanketed over 45 states recently. The calendar says winter is nearly over, yet the cold lingers. The light is returning, but not fast enough. We are told to look for signs of renewal while our bodies and hearts may still feel heavy, tired, or raw. This is often the month of holding on—not dramatically, but quietly. Breathing through what has not yet eased.

Our February focus is Breath & Softening, an invitation not to fix or push forward, but to gently support the nervous system as it carries grief, loss, caregiving fatigue, and the weight of uncertainty. It is about humility—acknowledging what we cannot control—and quiet resilience—the kind that does not announce itself, but endures.

When Winter Lingers in the Body

The nervous system is deeply influenced by season. Cold, darkness, and prolonged stillness can heighten stress responses, particularly for those already living with grief or caregiving demands. When loss is present, winter can amplify isolation and emotional numbness. When caregiving is ongoing, the body may never fully rest.

And sometimes, even when the snow rests beautifully on the branches of trees, there is no joy in the view. No peace. Just a sense of going on. This is where breath and softening matter—not as a cure, but as a form of companionship for the body.

Roman Chamomile: A Gentle Exhale

Roman Chamomile is known for its calming, soothing properties, particularly for the nervous system. Emotionally, it carries a message of reassurance—you are allowed to rest here.

Rather than energizing or uplifting, Roman Chamomile softens. It supports the parasympathetic nervous system, helping the body shift out of vigilance and into safety, even briefly. Inhaling the oil signals safety to the body and supports release. 

Roman Chamomile does not ask you to feel better. It simply helps you breathe where you are.

Violet: Humility and Quiet Strength

Violet grows low to the ground. It does not compete for attention. It thrives in shaded places and often appears when the cold has not fully loosened its grip. As a symbol, Violet teaches humility—not in the sense of diminishing oneself, but in accepting life as it is in this moment. It reminds us that resilience does not always look like courage or optimism. Sometimes resilience looks like tenderness. Like staying present when things hurt.

Violet is traditionally associated with the heart and with grief. It speaks to those moments when sorrow feels too heavy for words, when strength feels quiet and unseen.

In February, Violet reminds us that survival does not require joy. It requires breath.

Breath as a Bridge

Breath is one of the few tools that gently bridges the gap between adversity and endurance. When grief, loss, or caregiving overwhelm the system, breath offers a way to soften without surrendering. This is not about calming the mind. It is about letting the body know it does not have to brace every moment.

When the Beauty of Nature offers No Peace

There can be a quiet shame in not feeling comforted by nature when others say it should help. Snow-covered trees may be objectively beautiful, but grief can block access to wonder. Caregiving can drain the capacity for delight.

And that is okay.

Nature does not require us to feel anything specific. Winter teaches endurance through stillness, not through joy. Trees do not bloom prematurely because the calendar changes. They wait.

So can we.

February’s invitation is not renewal—it is softening into what remains unfinished. Breathing alongside what lingers. Trusting that humility and quiet resilience are not failures of faith or strength, but expressions of wisdom.

Even when peace feels absent, the breath is still available.
Even when joy does not arrive, softening can.

And sometimes, that is enough for now.

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

Focus of the Month: Breath & Softening
Essential Oil: Roman Chamomile
Flower: Violet

Rooted Stillness: Honoring Winter’s Pause in Grief and Care

Lisa Story on January 20, 2026

January arrives quietly.
The world is hushed beneath frost and shadow, inviting us into a slower rhythm—one that resists urgency and instead offers presence. At Hope Grows, this season reminds us that stillness is not absence or stagnation. It is a deeply rooted state of being, one that provides grounding, support, and spiritual anchoring—especially for those carrying grief.

For caregivers and those navigating loss, winter’s pause can feel uncomfortable. Our culture often pushes forward motion: healing timelines, productivity, “moving on.” Yet grief does not follow a straight path, nor does it respond well to pressure. Like the earth in winter, grief asks for rest, gentleness, and trust in what is quietly unfolding beneath the surface.

Rooted in Stillness, Not Alone

At Hope Grows, we believe that support does not mean fixing or forcing progress. It means creating space where grief can be held with compassion. Rooted stillness is at the heart of the care we offer—individual counseling, caregiver support, and grief-centered programming that honors where each person truly is.

Stillness allows us to be met, not managed.
It gives permission to pause without explanation.
It reminds us that rest itself is a form of resilience.

In winter, trees appear lifeless, yet their roots are actively gathering strength, anchoring deeply into the soil. In the same way, moments of stillness allow those in grief to reconnect with their inner foundation—values, memories, faith, and meaning that endure even after profound loss.

Nature as a Teacher in Grief

Nature consistently mirrors the rhythms of grief. Winter does not rush into spring; it trusts the process. Snow-covered ground protects what is dormant, not dead. Seeds wait patiently for warmth and light.

When we honor winter’s pause—through quiet walks, sitting beneath bare branches, or simply noticing the slower pace from our windows, we receive a subtle but powerful message: nothing is required of you right now except to be. For many who come to Hope Grows, this realization can be deeply relieving. Grief does not need to be explained or justified. It needs witness, safety, and time.

Frankincense: A Companion for Sacred Stillness

January’s essential oil, Frankincense, has long been revered for its spiritual and grounding properties. Its resinous aroma invites deep breathing and contemplation, helping calm the nervous system while opening space for reflection.

In grief, Frankincense supports the connection between body, mind, and spirit. It reminds us to slow our breath, soften our shoulders, and anchor ourselves in the present moment. Used in meditation, prayer, or quiet rest, it becomes a gentle companion—offering clarity without urgency, peace without the absence of pain.

At Hope Grows, we encourage simple rituals: placing a drop on the palms, inhaling slowly, and allowing the breath to settle. In these small moments, stillness becomes accessible—even in the midst of emotional complexity.

The Snowdrop: Hope Rooted in Cold Ground

The Snowdrop, January’s flower, is a powerful symbol of rooted stillness. Emerging through frozen soil and snow, it does not bloom loudly or dramatically. Its beauty is quiet, humble, and persistent.

Snowdrops teach us that hope does not require ideal conditions. It often arrives softly, almost unnoticed, when the ground still feels cold. For those grieving, hope may not look like joy or optimism. Sometimes it looks like getting through the day, allowing tears, or accepting support.

At Hope Grows, we see Snowdrops everywhere—in caregivers who show up despite exhaustion, in mourners who continue to love despite loss, in moments of connection that feel small but meaningful. These are not signs of weakness. They are evidence of deep roots.

Honoring January’s Invitation

Rooted stillness is not about retreating from life; it is about returning to what sustains us. January invites us to release the pressure to “do” and instead allow ourselves to be held—by nature, by community, and by compassionate care.

As we move through this winter month, may you allow yourself moments of pause. May you trust that even in stillness, something meaningful is happening. And may you remember that at Hope Grows, you do not walk this season alone.

Like the Snowdrop beneath the snow and the quiet strength of winter roots, healing unfolds in its own time—deeply, faithfully, and with grace.

Hope Grows offers access to top quality essential oils, support groups, Grief Soup, mentorship, and mental health counseling. Contact us at 412-469-4673 or [email protected].—trusting that this season, like all seasons, carries its own kind of wisdom.

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

Focus of the Month: Rooted Stillness
Essential Oil: Frankincense
Flower: Snowdrop