My Spotted Orchid
She sits nearly still all day, every day, over on the edge of the room. She paints the space with dancing shadows and sways gently in the air. She’s painted white with purple spots on every petal. My spotted orchid sits very alive in my room, so easily missed on a busy day.
Plants have always made their way to attach to my soul, my story. At times of difficulty, my plants often wither. At times of growth, my plants have given me foretelling that I will do better than I thought I would. This case was the same; my spotted orchid surprised me, just as I surprised myself.
In mid-April of 2022, about one full year ago, I was gifted a tall, purple-spotted white orchid in full bloom on three of her stems. Immediately, I told myself she would be quick to pass on due to my history of killing precious plants no matter what I tried. Although those three stems became dry and lifeless as they stood, pinned up to three tall wooden sticks, I was surprised to see a small, green stem growing out from underneath one of her broad leaves. It was nearly winter by then, a surprising time to see growth for any plant that I’d cared for in the past.
Day by day, that tiny light-green stem grew horizontally, out from under that broad leaf. And, with all my excitement, she started growing these tiny buds in a zig-zag pattern about 8 inches out from the leaf. Every day, I would greet her with a sense of wonder and thrill as I got to be surprised over and over and over again.
Although it has covered a span of 2 months, one-by-one her minuscule buds popped open into these beautiful faces of color. As I write this, I reflect on the past 24 hours of her final bloom to arrive and show her face in all its glory, unashamed and wild.
It was about one year ago when I fell sick to burnout. I took on far too many clients by accident to the extent that I was so anxious I barely slept, could hardly eat, had a hard time breathing, and had acid crawl up my throat from being overwhelmed by work. I pulled it off well, so much so that my supervisors knew next to nothing about it. Daily, I’d try to hide the symptoms from myself, knowing that it was unlikely I could manage an escape for at least 3 months due to how my work functions. I hit rock bottom in my sickness, but the symptoms started telling their story much earlier than those moments.
Burnout would come like big, tormentuous maverick waves faster and faster each time. I tried everything in my coping skills book with no relief. My supervisors both gave me wonderful advice to help me get out of the burnout cycles I experienced. However, their advice was what was best for them and for those who had found relief under their advice before. I desperately needed to find my own plan of long-term escape. For sustainability.
Sustainability came in the form of enormous perspective changes. What had happened was that I lost all hope in what I was working toward. I would act as if I was being forced to walk down a path that was leading to an endless awful. My hope was lost completely in becoming this thing that I was “supposed” to become. At last, I decided I would no longer fit the box I was told to fit in. Then, I left.
In January of 2023, I made the decision to believe in myself and the dreams I had kindled inside of me for years. Although the external changes--like opening my own business, speaking more wholeheartedly, and pursuing new hobbies--made it look like it was about shifting my outside world was where it started, it actually began internally. For me, it started with genuine self-compassion.
My spotted orchid knew before me the growth that was being harvested. She felt the movement happening all around her, in my office as I chose to live with more and more self-compassion every day. As I pursued my perspective change, I watched my energy come back to me. I watched the world change around me. I watched all the internal health become external.