The Accidental Therapy

There is something deep and profound about weeding. The physical action of pulling things up and out that shouldn't be there. I feel myself work with my hands, straining at times to pull roots free, putting my full weight into ripping them from the ground. And I can't not accept therapy from it. I never felt this way about gardening before. I never enjoyed pulling weeds or got anything from it. How I was missing out...
I have always said that I had a black thumb. I named it and claimed it and now I'm thinking...maybe I was projecting that failure on myself, robbing the potential joy and enjoyment of an activity I simply had no experience in. I was proclaiming myself bad at something I didn't know how to do. Looking at it that way, it seems so ridiculous. But how often do we do that to ourselves? I can't cook. I'm bad at writing. All I can draw are stick figures. I'm not a patient mother. I can't sing. I'm bad at parallel parking.
Sound familiar? But how does it make you feel? What effort have you made to learn more or improve and what is your measure of success? What are you basing your expectations of accomplishment on? Is there an end goal or can you content yourself to learn through experience, with no win or lose in mind?
I pull from the base of the plant, removing the roots of the weed with the stems. And I envision myself pulling unhealthy habits out of my life by the roots. Unhealthy relationships? By the roots. Negative self-talk? By the roots. Yelling and using zero self-control? By the roots. I shadow my physical moments with my emotional spring cleaning, clearing out what shouldn't be there. It is powerful clearing land yourself. Even the smallest piece of land. There is power in ridding it of pests, things that hurt it or dominate it. You cannot help but harken bygone days, of settling new, unclaimed land, taming the wild. And really, you are reclaiming this land as your own. This mental space that was being taken up by self-doubt? Reclaim that land. Physically pull up what you don't want or need and do it by the roots. Clear the land. And then cultivate it with intention.
A plant was drooping that I had just bought but had not yet planted. I had planted another just like it. I couldn't help looking from one to the other, comparing their conditions and wondering if it was something I'd done wrong, wondering if it would survive. Instant self-doubt. So I decided to do something about it. I dug the hole and cleared roots and made sure everything was well watered. I felt accomplished when I was finished and excited to see it perk up. I felt its limpness before planting it. I went over afterward and felt the other plant, felt the springyness of life and good health as it begins to take root and flourish. I couldn't help feeling some pride seeing something I'd buried in the ground growing stronger, alive.
I still don't know if I'm any good at gardening. But I know I can try. And learn. I am.