02/26/2026
𪡠A few years ago, after I became an acupuncturist, I went through one of the hardest seasons of my life.
I had gone back to school to build a better life for my children and myself. I was told that once I graduated, my practice would be busy, and I would get to move forward in life. But when school ended, I was drained, and my schedule was nearly empty.
My body was burnt out. I felt like I had failed my kids and myself.
One day, sitting in meditation, feeling completely defeated, an image came to me. I saw a lotus seed being dropped into a pond.
It sank slowly down through the water and into the dark mud at the bottom. For a while, there was nothing.
Then, very gently, the seed began to open. A tiny sprout emerged. A stem started reaching upward through the thick water, inch by inch. I never saw it break the surface in that vision. But I understood something:
Just because I couldnât see the growth didnât mean it wasnât happening.
I knew that seed was my practice. đą
I started this painting around that time, and finishing it now feels deeply symbolic. February marks three years since I began my practice, and this feels like the moment the lotus is finally reaching the surface and beginning to bloom.
My practice has grown, but more than that, my understanding is deeper.
Because now, when someone comes to me feeling stuck, exhausted, discouraged in their healing, I recognize that place. I know the mud. And I know that so much is happening beneath the surface long before it becomes visible.
The lotus does not bloom despite the mud.
It blooms because of it.
If you are in a season where you canât yet see the results of your effort⌠where healing feels slow, or life feels heavy⌠please know: unseen growth is still growth. Your roots may be forming. Your stem may already be rising.
I am so grateful I didnât give up when I was still underwater.
And it is an honor to sit beside others while they grow toward the light, too. â¨ď¸
