ADHD, motherhood, and the necessity of community
What I learned from the wild trees
When I turned thirty, I was an anxious new mom, an undiagnosed neurodivergent, and a lost soul trying to find my direction in life.
I was at a tipping point of overwhelm, striving with every cell in my body to do everything myself… because we’ve been made to believe that’s where honor lies. Asking for help and leaning on others feels like failure in a society that values the individual over community.
My family — including my husband, siblings, parents, and brothers-in-law — gathered to celebrate my milestone birthday, forming a circle around me to read aloud from written letters.
They went around the circle one by one, sharing their thoughts about what made me special — things I had forgotten to remember about myself.
They couldn’t have possibly known how much I needed their words of affirmation during that transitional moment in my life. They couldn’t have possibly understood the strength I took from that circle that day.
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In a previous blog I talked about getting into nature and experiencing life’s magic. I finally got to do something I’d wanted to do for years. My husband and I took our two kids to California to drive the Pacific coast to see nature in all its wondrous glory.
A species older than the dinosaurs, the majestic Redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens) are among nature’s most resilient survivors. The ones I saw on this trip have been growing, climbing, watching over the world for thousands of years.
Touching them, many scorched from centuries of raging fires, I could feel the wisdom they held. It was a religious experience to walk among them.
How do they do it? How have they survived so long in such a harsh world?
The answer is connection.
Did you know Redwoods do not typically grow alone? They grow in what’s called family circles around the charred ruins of one of their own. The apparent destruction of one tree enables life for an entire unit of trees to spring up around it.
These trees communicate and share, transferring nutrients to the trees within the circle that need it most. Their connectedness protects them from disease, drought, floods, and winds. Together, they withstand it all.
What if, like the trees, a transfer of strength among humans goes both ways?
What if, like the Redwoods, whose roots are entangled beneath the earth, we, too, gain stability from our connection? From supporting others? From building one another up?
What if my family gained just as much from their circle of affirmation as I did?
That’s what community is about. It’s a way to stabilize ourselves, a sharing of essential energy, an exchange of strength and resilience. And it’s the only way to survive.
We are stronger when we show the weakest among us that they matter. In turn, those who feel broken give life and inspiration to others through their suffering. We are better and more resilient when we realize we are not separate beings but one big complex organism.
We don’t have to go it alone.
As my family and I walked through the Redwood forest in wonder, my six-year-old put it best, “Wild trees are love!”
They remind us how to love.
And while the world can be harsh, and sometimes it can be hard to see the forest through the trees, to quote someone slightly lesser known than my daughter, Hugh Grant in the movie Love Actually says:
“It seems to me that love is everywhere. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling, you'll find that love actually is all around."
Who is your circle?
