I often think of healing like the life of a dandelion.

A dandelion doesn’t choose where it grows. It takes root wherever it lands—sometimes in rich soil, often in places that are hard, cracked, or overlooked. Many of us begin life this way. We grow in environments shaped by what was available to us, learning early how to adapt, stay safe, and belong. The ways we learned to cope were not mistakes; they were acts of survival.

As a dandelion grows, it sends down strong roots. I see these roots as the parts of us that learned to stay alert, to please, to work harder, to stay small, or to stay in control. These parts protected something tender inside. In therapy, I don’t try to get rid of them. Instead, we slow down and listen. We get curious. We honor how hard they’ve worked to keep you going.

When the dandelion blooms, it does so boldly—bright yellow, impossible to ignore. This reminds me of what happens when people begin to feel safer, both within themselves and in relationships. When you are met with consistency, care, and presence, something naturally opens. You begin to feel more like yourself—more alive, more connected, more grounded. This is often where people start to experience moments of relief, clarity, and self-compassion.