Finding Health in the Soil Beneath My Feet

Six years ago, I stepped away from a career that had shaped so much of my identity. I had spent the last 20 years as an elementary principal—a role I loved for my students, the families, and the chance to make a difference. But over time, the stress became unrelenting, and the philosophical disconnect between what I believed in and what I was being asked to do became too heavy to ignore.

At the same time, my family was shifting. My beautiful mother had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and my daughter was expecting her first baby. My heart told me it was time to come home, even though I didn’t yet know what the next chapter of my life would look like. My husband, who is not from Stillwater, was ready to make a change and reminded me that I had been talking about moving home since he met me.

When we arrived, my entire family was waiting at our new home with banners, gifts and heartfelt hugs.  Together we unloaded the 26-foot U-Haul, toasted to our homecoming and soaked in the joy of my beautiful family.  I was home and my heart was full.

We immediately found ourselves drawn to our backyard. It had so much potential.  The beautiful stream and pond were the highlight with several varieties of Hostas surrounding the yard.  Although it was beautiful, it was also overgrown, untended, and a little wild. In a way, it reflected how I felt: worn out, cluttered, and unsure where to begin.

Even though we didn’t really have a plan, went to work transforming that backyard.  We pulled more weeds than I knew was possible, created a dry bed along the stream, moved Hostas and added colorful perennials.  We added enough bird feeders to create an aviary of colorful birds that delighted my husband and visitors alike.  We planted seeds without knowing if they’d thrive and moved mountains of mulch.  It was quiet, patient work—so different from the fast pace I was used to. Slowly, I learned what each plant needed to grow: the right light, water, nourishment, and space.

And without fully realizing it, I began doing the same for myself.

At the same time, I was reading everything I could find and listening to podcasts on Alzheimer’s to help my mom on her journey. My own genetic deck is stacked against me: heart disease, cancer, and now Alzheimer’s are part of my family history. That reality lit a fire in me—I didn’t just want to help my mom; I wanted to give myself the best possible chance for a healthy future. I explored nutrition, mindful movement, and meditation, not as quick fixes but as daily investments in my well-being. I embraced walks in the fresh air, early mornings with tea, and meals made from fresh, whole foods. I pulled the weeds of habits and thought patterns that no longer served me. I planted new ones—patience, compassion, and curiosity about my own health, knowing that the choices I make today are the seeds for the life I want to live tomorrow.

I began to think about sharing this knowledge with others and became certified in Holistic nutrition.  I combined my 30 years in education with my knowledge and passion for health and wellness and started my own tiny business: Sprout Nutrition and Wellness Coaching.  I now help my clients find the transformation they are looking for through nutrition, health and wellness. 

If my garden has taught me anything, it’s this: transformation is rarely instant. It’s the slow, steady work of tending to what matters, letting go of what doesn’t, and trusting that even after the hardest seasons, something beautiful can bloom.

So whether it’s a patch of dirt in your backyard or a quiet corner of your own heart, start tending to it. Pull a weed. Plant a seed. Give it light, water, and time. Before you know it, you’ll be standing in a life—just like a garden—that’s blooming in ways you never imagined.