Wild Violets

What grows without permission sometimes carries the most meaning

I’ve been walking past them every day for weeks now.

They’ve spread exponentially and seem to be everywhere I look. They are in the grass, on the hill, in the shade of the wild plum trees. They are low to the ground and tucked into the grass like they weren’t trying to be seen.

Wild violets.

As far as I know, no one has ever planted them. They certainly didn’t arrange the perfect clusters under the oak trees as the sunlight dapples through the branches above the moist soil that is bursting with spring seedlings.

Something about the way they are simply there stopped me in my tracks.

Staring at them. How beautiful they are. How they appeared in mass this year more than any other year. How this must have some meaning that I am meant to see.

Most people call them weeds.

I stood there longer than I expected to — and something in me felt that ‘aha’ moment. It felt like a tap on the shoulder. A small, purple reminder from my spirit guides that beauty doesn’t always show up where we expect it.

Because these wild purple flowers weren’t loud. They were simply growing, still spreading, and still establishing themselves in a way that didn’t ask for permission.

I immediately felt the contrast.

How much of my life had been built on effort. On pushing. On trying to make something happen so I could see that it was working.

Right in front of me was something doing the exact opposite.

No urgency, performance, or need to prove anything.

It made me think about how quickly we dismiss anything that doesn’t look like progress. If it’s not obvious. If it’s not visible. If it’s not moving fast enough to reassure us then we assume it’s not working.

But what if it is?

What if there are things taking root in ways we can’t measure yet?

What if the slow phase isn’t a pause... but part of the design?

I think about this with people too.

So much of what we’ve been taught to see as problems — the sensitivity, the overthinking, the way we feel everything so deeply — gets labeled early. Too much. Too intense. Too hard to manage.

The worst part is that we have no choice but to believe it.

We spend years trying to fix the very parts of ourselves that are actually doing something important. Trying to quiet the signals, manage the feelings, and get ourselves under control.

But what if those parts weren’t weeds at all?

What if they were just growing in a place nobody knew how to tend?

The violets didn’t change. The label did.

And once I stopped seeing them as something to pull out. Once I let them be what they were, here they were. Bright and unbothered and completely beautiful.

I didn’t come to any big conclusion standing there.

I just noticed them.

And maybe that’s enough proof for today.

That’s the work I do with people. Not fixing what’s wrong. Looking more carefully at what’s actually there — and helping you see it differently than the label you were handed a long time ago.

Sometimes that shift is the start of changing everything that follows.

All love,

Sue