I feel like my story began a long time ago, and I’m only now seeing how all the small pieces—every choice I made—led me here. Standing in my garden, hands covered in dirt, while my birds serenade me.
The funny thing is, I wanted to be a psychologist.
In high school, I had it all figured out: college, become a psychologist, and two cats. No husband. No kids.
Needless to say, that plan changed.
I had my daughter at 19. I was married at 24. My husband came with a bonus child. The life I imagined shifted—drastically.
I moved from pharmacy tech, to bank teller, to court service assistant. And now here I am—a stay-at-home mom with two 14-year-olds.
For a long time, I felt lost.
I was fired from a full-time job that paid well and offered good benefits, and suddenly I felt like I had nothing to offer. I went through seasons of intense sadness and hopelessness. At my lowest, I even felt like the world might be better off without me.
I tried therapy. I tried medication. I tried to “fix” it.
What I realized was that there wasn’t an easy fix. I needed to change me. I wanted something I could feel proud of—something I created, something that was my own.
That’s when my husband suggested the garden.
When we first bought our house, I tried to start one, but it didn’t survive the heat. Still, I remembered how happy it made me. So this time, he rented a rototiller and carved out a patch of dirt just for me to play in.
And that’s where Rooted Joy was born.
Rooted Joy began in a small patch of dirt, but it’s become so much more than a garden. It’s where I’m learning to slow down, to heal, and to grow. This is the beginning—and I’m grateful you’re here.