Sunday Chapters – Life Between the Lines: Roots Before Blooms

“Just because it’s not visible yet doesn’t mean it’s not growing.”

Last week in The Winds of Change, I wrote about transformation—the quiet nudges and bold gusts that move us to take action, to let go, to begin again. Change has a rhythm like that. Sometimes it’s loud and insistent, demanding movement.

But not all growth begins with motion. Some of it begins with stillness.

And so this week, I found myself wondering… what if the next right step isn’t forward, but inward? What if the bravest thing we can do is not to leap, but to root?

Because before any bloom, there’s a season of unseen work. A slow deepening. A quiet rebuilding.

This reflection is for those moments. For the times when you feel like nothing’s happening, even though everything is. For the days spent tending to what no one else sees. Because beneath the surface, the magic is already underway. 🌱

This time of year always makes me think about what we can’t see. Spring begins slowly here. One day, you’re wrapped in a sweater with tea in your hands, the next, the light lingers just a few minutes longer than it did yesterday. You hear a bird singing something bold and new. The breeze smells like the earth stretching itself awake.

But even before we notice the changes—before the crocuses push through, before the air carries warmth again—there’s something happening underground. Roots are hard at work. Invisible. Quiet. Focused. And I keep thinking… aren’t we a bit like that, too?

For most of my life, I rushed to bloom.
New year? Time for a reinvention. New idea? Must make it real immediately. New role—mom, wife, writer, friend? Jump in, all heart, no hesitation. But somewhere in the last year, I realized that not every chapter is meant to be seen. Some chapters are slow. Internal. Unwritten, except maybe in a journal or whispered to the ceiling when the house is asleep.

They’re not glamorous. They don’t photograph well. There’s no social media highlight reel for the days you spend figuring yourself out, inch by inch. But those days matter. More than we give them credit for.

I call them root days.

Root days are the ones where you’re doing the real work: healing, adjusting, processing, building resilience, dreaming in quiet ways. They’re when you choose to stay in instead of show up, when you read instead of perform, when you walk away from what doesn’t align—even if no one notices but you.

They’re messy, soulful, necessary.

Earlier this month, I stood in my backyard garden, mug in hand, toes cold from the morning dew, and stared at the empty planters I hadn’t touched since last fall. On the surface, everything looked lifeless. Dry soil. Leaf litter. That grayish, late-winter stillness.

But then I knelt down and brushed the soil back. Tiny green shoots were threading up toward the light. My breath caught a little. I didn’t plant anything new yet. These were the hardy perennials—plants I’d forgotten about, that had been quietly building themselves beneath the surface for months.

They reminded me of myself.

Because here’s the truth no one tells you: the biggest transformations happen in the dark. When no one’s watching. When you’re still figuring it out. When you’re growing roots so you can bloom bigger, stronger, and more beautifully later.

For a long time, I resisted that season. I wanted to show something. A finished project. A polished essay. A perfect kitchen. A clear direction. I wanted proof that I was doing something with my life.

But lately, I’ve learned to honor the work that’s happening inside me, even when there’s nothing visible to show for it.

Maybe you’re in a root season right now, too.
Maybe you’re waiting on a dream that’s still forming shape.
Maybe you’re healing from something that no one else sees.
Maybe you’re rediscovering who you are when no one needs anything from you.
Maybe you’re just tired and still waking up from a long winter of the soul.

And if you are, I want you to know—you’re not behind. You’re not stuck. You’re not invisible. You’re growing.

Your roots are reaching deeper, and they’re anchoring you for something good.

I’ve stopped needing to bloom for other people’s timelines.
I’ve started asking myself: what am I building underneath?
Am I nurturing ideas that feel aligned with who I’m becoming?
Am I clearing out the beliefs and habits that no longer serve me?
Am I tending to myself the way I would a fragile sprout—patiently, lovingly, with room to breathe?

Because when the time comes to bloom again, I want to do it from a place of strength. Of wholeness. Of joy that doesn’t depend on being seen, but on being true.

So if you’re in your root season right now, be gentle with yourself.

Let yourself move slowly.
Read the books that stir your soul.
Journal until the words make sense.
Say no to things that don’t feel right.
Stay off social when you need stillness.
Drink your tea hot.
Light the candle just because.
Pull weeds out of your mind like you would your garden.
Keep doing the invisible work.

And know that one morning, without even realizing it, you’ll step outside and notice something has changed. The air will be different. The light will feel warmer. You’ll be different. Braver. Clearer. Ready.

You’ll bloom.

But for now, let yourself root.

Because that, too, is where the magic happens.

Until next time…
May your Sundays be unhurried, your reflections gentle, and your heart open to the stories still waiting to unfold.

I’ll meet you again between the lines.

Love,
Emma 🌿✨