10/30/2024
Today, I spent hours at the base of a few trees on my property, trees I’ve passed countless times before. These trees had trunks wrapped in chain-link fencing, put there long ago, likely to protect them as they grew. But what struck me today was that this same protective fencing was now cutting into the bark, biting into the trunks as the trees outgrew the very thing meant to shield them. The once-beneficial guard had become restrictive, leaving scars as the trees pushed against it to keep growing.
I couldn’t help but see a reflection of our own lives in these trees. How often do we wrap ourselves in layers—ideas, habits, people, or roles—that once served to protect us? As we grow, these protective layers can sometimes become restrictive, keeping us from moving forward and leaving marks on us in ways we don’t always see. Just like these trees, we too can become bound by the very things that once kept us safe, even if now they hinder us from becoming who we’re meant to be.
As I sat there, carefully cutting and unwinding the fence from around each trunk, I felt an unexpected swell of emotion. Tears came as I freed the trees from their bonds, seeing firsthand the scars they had carried and knowing that I, too, have my own marks left from my “protections.” After releasing them, I felt compelled to embrace each tree, thanking them for the powerful reminder and apologizing for the hurt that this well-intentioned barrier had caused them.
Nature has a way of teaching us lessons if we pause long enough to look. Today, these trees reminded me of the importance of letting go, of allowing ourselves to grow unbound, and of tending to our scars with gentleness.
