What Do Plants & Parenting Have in Common? Patience.

What Do Plants & Parenting Have in Common?

 Patience.

The other morning, as I crouched beside a bed of catnip and chamomile, gently pulling back weeds, I thought about how much parenting reminds me of gardening. No matter how much compost I add or how diligently I water, I can’t make a plant grow faster than its natural rhythm. And no matter how many books I read or affirmations I speak, I can’t rush the unfolding of my child’s growth. In both gardens and motherhood, the common thread is patience.

Not the forced kind. Not the grit-your-teeth-and-hold-your-tongue kind. But a softer patience. A sacred kind. The kind that knows: everything has its season.

Growth Takes Time

You don’t plant a seed today and expect it to bloom tomorrow. You tuck it in the soil, water it, speak sweetly to it, and wait. You trust that the darkness is doing something important—even when you can’t see it.

Parenting works the same. We plant values, routines, love, and discipline—and sometimes we don’t see the fruits for weeks or months (sometimes years). But the root systems are forming deep beneath the surface. Patience teaches us to keep showing up, even when the progress feels invisible.

Each One Has Its Own Rhythm

Some seeds sprout within a few days. Others take their sweet time. It doesn’t mean one is better than the other—it just means they’re different. I’ve had plants in the same bed, with the same light and water, growing at completely different rates. Sound familiar?

Children are no different. One may take to reading early, while another is still figuring out their emotions. One might need constant reassurance, while the other explores boldly. They’re not behind or ahead—they’re simply unfolding in their own divine rhythm. Comparison kills joy. Patience nurtures it.

Daily Care Over Occasional Perfection

In the garden, skipping a day or two of watering won’t ruin everything. But long gaps of neglect can. It’s the little, consistent acts of care—mulching, pruning, observing—that keep things alive.

With children, it’s the same. You don’t have to get everything right. You don’t need to have all the answers. What matters most is presence. Being available. Listening. Apologizing when needed. Showing up with love, again and again. Not perfect, just present.

You’re Growing Too

This journey isn’t just about what we’re raising—it’s about who we’re becoming. I used to think I was teaching my child how to be in the world. Turns out, he’s teaching me how to be—period.

Patience has softened me. Grounded me. Taught me to regulate my nervous system. To breathe deeper. To accept the mystery of it all. Some days I thrive. Some days I wilt. But like my garden, I always return to the soil. I always begin again.

Cultivate With Patience

Whether you’re raising a child, a garden, a dream, or even your own spirit—be patient with the process. Don’t dig up the seed just to see if it’s growing. Don’t compare your timeline to someone else’s harvest. Trust the slow magic.

This kind of patience isn’t passive. It’s active surrender. It’s steady attention. It’s a quiet kind of faith.

And isn’t that what love really is?