In 2020, like so many others searching for stability in an uncertain world, I started a small project. I bought a lemon tree—a tiny starter plant, full of promise. At the time, I didn’t realize how much I needed it.
Because I had lost my sense of purpose.
Everything around me had shifted, and I no longer felt anchored. I was going through the motions, but deep inside, I felt uncertain of where I was headed. I needed something—anything—to ground me. And so, I poured my attention into this little tree.
It became something to nurture when I felt lost. A small, steady presence in my life. A reason to wake up and check its leaves, water the soil, and believe in its slow, unseen progress. In caring for it, I found a quiet kind of peace. A reminder that growth takes time, and that sometimes, simply tending to something is enough.
I watched it stretch taller, its leaves reaching for something more. But for years, no lemons came. Still, I believed in it. I kept watering it, talking to it, moving it into better light, hoping that one day, it would bear fruit.
And then—finally—it happened. Small green lemons appeared. A promise fulfilled.
Then winter came, and I brought my tree inside to protect it from the cold. I placed it in a sunny window, hoping it would continue to thrive. But one by one, the lemons fell. Each morning, I would check the tree and find another one on the floor. My heart sank. I had waited so long for them, and now, they were slipping away before they had the chance to ripen.
Except for one.
One single lemon clung to the tree. It held on. 🍋
I watched that lemon every day. It became a symbol of resilience, of perseverance, of something deeper that I couldn’t quite put into words at first. But then, I realized: that lemon was me.
For the past five years, I have been that single lemon. Holding on through storms. Through uncertainty. Through loss, grief, and the slow erosion of my purpose. There were times when I questioned whether I had the strength to keep going. Times when I wondered if I would ever find my way again.
But like that lemon, I held on.
And yet, just like my tree, I wasn’t truly thriving.
Then I did something different. I looked at my lemon tree, struggling through the winter months, and I asked myself: What does it actually need? The answer was obvious.
Light.
I bought a grow light, and within weeks, everything changed. My tree responded almost immediately. New buds emerged daily. Leaves stretched toward the warmth. Tiny green lemons appeared—more than I could count. My tree was no longer just surviving. It was thriving.
And again, I saw myself in that tree.
Because for so long, I had been doing the same thing—hanging on, pushing through, convincing myself that if I just endured long enough, things would get better. But survival alone is not the goal. We are meant to grow. We are meant to flourish.
Like my tree, I needed to ask myself: What do I really need to thrive?
For me, that light has been community. It has been creativity. It has been stepping fully into the work I am meant to do. It has been allowing myself to dream again, to reconnect with the things that bring me joy. It has been releasing what no longer serves me and embracing what energizes me.
And now? Now, like my tree, I am blooming again.
If you’ve been holding on, just surviving, I want you to know—there is more for you. You are not meant to live in the shadows, struggling to make it through another season. You are meant to thrive.
Find your light. Whatever that is for you, seek it out. Give yourself permission to receive what you truly need. And watch how you grow.
Because you were never meant to be just the one that held on.
You were meant to SHINE. ✨