Writing Challenge Day 17

The morning routine

When we bought this house 10 years ago, I built a cubby house in the backyard for the kids. I ripped out all the non-native plants, replaced them with natives, and planted a veggie garden along the back fence. That’s when the passion fruit vine came into my life. I planted a grafted vine next to the cubby and stapled wires onto the fence so it could spread out. It thrived, and I felt proud watching it flourish.

But seven years ago, things went south with the passion fruit and my marriage. My body and mind felt just like the fruit on that vine. The fruits would wrinkle, shrink, and fall before they ripened. While the reason for the vine’s decline was a mystery, the reasons for my own struggles couldn’t have been clearer. Yet I didn’t know where to begin fixing things for both.

Sure, a fancy retreat or escape sounded like an amazing way to kick-start my healing, but let’s be real—that wasn’t in the cards. I couldn’t even scrape together petrol money for a trip to the beach. So, instead, I started going for morning walks. They didn’t cost me a cent, but they were pure gold for my mind. Those walks filled me with endorphins and allowed me to sort through the chaos in my head. Slowly, the walks became part of my routine.

One morning, after walking with Mr. Toby, I grabbed a bucket and started weeding the garden. It was calming, almost therapeutic, and soon enough, it became a part of my morning routine—something I looked forward to. Over time, I added pruning and guiding the passion fruit vine to my ritual, hoping to revive it. Like the vine, I was settling into this new routine. But even with that precious me-time to reflect, something was missing. Like me, the fruit wasn’t thriving—it lacked the right care and attention to flourish and regain its full, authentic vitality.

The mystery of the vine’s struggles became the starting point for figuring out my own. Google wasn’t very helpful in finding answers for either of us. Then, one day, while watching Gardening Australia, I heard a tip that changed everything: passion fruit vines love wet feet, a buddy to grow with, and a canopy-like space to thrive. That was my light-bulb moment. I realised I hadn’t paid enough attention to the vine or myself. The soil had gone too dry, and the vine, which had been growing alongside the neighbour’s, had lost its companion when they replaced their fence. It got me thinking: What conditions and support did I need to feel whole again?

So, last year, I planted a new vine on the other side of the cubby house, which I had transformed into a hammock chill-out zone by then. I connected wires from the fence to both sides of the cubby to create a space where the vines could grow together. I even refined my vine-guiding technique, wrapping tendrils back onto the vine instead of the wire, helping it support its own weight. Pruning became easier too; no more untangling dead tendrils from the wire. Every afternoon, I’d crawl into the hammock under the canopy of the vines and let the day melt away before heading inside to make dinner.

That first harvest after planting the new vine? It was epic. So much fruit! But even more than that, caring for the vine transformed me. Morning after morning, I’d guide its tendrils and ensure it had everything it needed to thrive. It was like therapy—nurturing something outside myself helped me focus, reflect, and heal.

What caught me off guard was how much the vine was teaching me about myself. Learning to care for it made me start caring for me. I began paying attention to my feelings, noticing when things were off, and making adjustments. I realised, just like the vine I needed the right conditions to thrive too. The vine wasn’t just a plant but a symbol of my growth.

Now, here I am. The scars are still there, but they don’t define me. I wear them proudly because they tell my story of nurturing, rebuilding, and learning to let go. They say it takes half the time you were with someone to move on. We were together for 15 years. And now, seven years later, I can finally say I’ve done it—I’ve moved on. And let me tell you, it feels fantastic to finally feel free.
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