I hope you all had a beautiful holiday, and I’m wishing you a gentle, grounded New Year.

I spent part of last week away with my family in the Midwest. The weather was surprisingly mild, and I found myself drawn to long stretches of time in nature.

Being among the trees stirred something in me, a reflection on love and the quiet wisdom trees offer us about how love truly grows.

For a long time, I lacked staying power in my own life.

I saw no wisdom in the tree.

When things became difficult, my instinct was to leave—to start over, to find a fresh beginning somewhere else. I believed movement meant growth, and I mistook change for transformation.

I didn’t yet understand the strength, patience, and maturity required to stay rooted.

Eventually, I began to see that all my changes were simply rearranging the same puzzle pieces. I wasn’t willing to go down to the root.

I wasn’t becoming the woman required to hold what I said I wanted year after year.

After many mistakes, one truth became impossible to ignore: the common denominator was me.

And to create the love and life I desired, I had to commit to becoming grounded, mature, and embodied enough to sustain it. 

In winter, trees remind us that dormancy is not failure, it's essential.

There are seasons in love when growth looks like stillness, when we are asked to rest instead of rush, to release what no longer serves rather than force forward motion.

In that quiet pause, something unseen is always taking place.

Seeds are being planted, preparing for what will eventually bloom.

When spring arrives, what was shaped during the hidden work of winter begins to emerge. The more we honor these natural seasons within ourselves and our relationships, the more fertile the soil of our hearts becomes.

When wind and turbulence come, trees don’t uproot themselves in search of safer ground. They do the opposite-they drive their roots deeper.

Love becomes resilient the same way:
through presence instead of escape, commitment instead of avoidance.

Storms do not weaken rooted love; they strengthen it.

I see this most clearly during tropical storms here in Florida. Palm trees bend and sway-they’re flexible yet steadfast, moving with the wind without losing their grounding.

Love asks the same of us: to remain adaptable without becoming unmoored. It doesn’t require rigidity, but it does require staying.

Trees do not survive alone.

In forests, when one tree lacks the resources to thrive, neighboring trees share from their own reserves. Love was never meant to be isolated or self-sufficient.

It grows best in connection-supported by community, mutual care, and shared strength.

There is wisdom here.

Staying rooted builds love that lasts. When we uproot ourselves every time love becomes uncomfortable, we deny ourselves the opportunity to grow beyond our fears.

And alongside that truth is a quiet grace: we were never meant to love alone.

There is resilience in staying, and there is healing in interdependence. These are lessons love patiently offers to those willing to remain. 

If you’d like to explore this work more deeply, I invite you to apply to join my Surrendered Woman Membership.

Apply HERE

With love,
Jen