🥵 When the Garden and the Blogger Both Take a Nap

🌱 When the Garden and the Blogger Both Take a Nap

Somewhere in the middle of July, I blinked… and suddenly it was August.

The truth? My garden was a bust this year. The seeds had grand ambitions. I had grand intentions. But the Texas heat had other plans — and if I’m honest, so did my motivation. Between the scorched soil and the slow simmer of summer, not much wanted to grow. Including me.

Back in spring, I had a plan. A reasonable one, I thought. Skip the seeds, start small, and set myself up for something that actually stood a chance. I even wrote about it here: Skip the Seeds: Why I’m Starting With Starter Plants This Year.

But in true me fashion, I got a little ambitious anyway. The seed trays came out. Hope sprouted faster than anything in those little cells. And the results? A flop — but a character-building one. I shared all the messy middle in Seedling Sorrows: What I Learned When Nothing Grew, because sometimes the garden teaches you even when it doesn’t grow.

Even when the garden stalls, there’s magic in the tiny green things we keep cheering for.

The only thing that really sprouted this year is a maybe-hydrangea that started its life back in March — a hopeful little clipping that I tucked into a mason jar, convinced I was doing something special. I wrote about it at the time, mostly amused and a little unsure: One Tiny Sprout (And a Whole Lot of Mold).

It's still here. Still growing. Still leafy. Still not entirely convinced it’s a hydrangea — but too determined to be dismissed. I haven’t had the heart to give up on it. Maybe because it’s the only thing that did grow this summer. Or maybe because some part of me needs to believe that quiet things in jars can surprise us.

The garden taught me a few hard truths this summer — ones I didn’t want but probably needed.

I’ve learned a few hard truths this summer — ones I didn’t really want, but probably needed. For starters, I’m heat-intolerant. With the blood pressure and heart meds I’m on now, the Texas sun isn’t just uncomfortable — it’s downright dangerous. I can’t just “tough it out” anymore, and honestly, that’s okay.

I’ve also had to face the fact that I procrastinate more than I like to admit. Not in the cute way, where you still get everything done at the last second. The kind where it’s July before you realize the garden beds are still empty and the shade cloths never got put up. And in Texas? Waiting until “later” often means “not at all.”

But I’m not giving up.

I’ve decided that next year, I’ll try a container garden. Smaller, simpler, movable. I’ll stick to what I originally planned — tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and a few mosquito-repelling flowers — but this time, I’ll give myself a setup that works with me, not against me.

The heat has also changed how I live day to day. We’re using a window A/C unit now, which has saved us hundreds on the electric bill, but I spend most of my time camped in front of it like a human houseplant. Add in a few box fans, a steady stream of iced water, and an unreasonable number of naps… and that’s pretty much been my summer survival system.

August in North Texas? It’s rude.

The weatherman could just hold up a sign that says HOT and go home. We had one brief, polite “cold front” that brought us a drop to 88 degrees, but that was a fluke. It’ll be back in the triple digits by the weekend. And yes, I have a personal vendetta against the sun now.

But even with the heat still clinging like a wet blanket, I can feel something shifting. I’m looking forward to all things Autumn. It’s my favorite season — the colors, the cool mornings, the sense that everything’s slowing down on purpose. I don’t need full sweater weather just yet. I’ll settle for a breeze that doesn’t feel like a hair dryer and the promise of change on the horizon.

I took July off. From blogging. From social. From... a lot. At the time, it didn’t feel like a choice — more like a quiet unraveling. One skipped post turned into a week of silence. Then a month. And suddenly it was August.

Looking back, I feel all the things. Guilt for disappearing. Relief for not pushing myself. Peace from just resting. And confusion about what day it even is anymore.

What have I learned about motivation when it disappears? Not much. In my wisdom from my advanced age (balanced, of course, by my youthful spirit), I’ve stopped trying to chase it. I just wait. It always comes back. Eventually.

The only thing that truly grounded me in July was my faith — that quiet belief that things work out. There wasn’t some spark or grand creative moment. Just rest. And that was enough.

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So if you're reading this and feeling behind, burned out, unmotivated, or just plain done — I hope you take this as permission.

Permission to rest. To reset. To simply be. If that’s all you can manage right now, it’s enough.

Laugh when you can. Cry when you need to. Water something small, even if it’s just your hope. And remember: tomorrow is another day. You don’t have to bloom yet. But you’re allowed to believe you will.