I read a quote over lunch recently that stopped me mid-bite:
“People don’t grow where they’re planted; they grow where they’re loved.” — Bob Goff.
“Sure, Bob. Let me just put down my fork and have an existential crisis real quick.”
Next thing I know, I’m rethinking my entire life over leftovers.
Because, sure, you can grow in hard places. I’ve done it. I’ve bloomed in downright rocky soil — gritted my teeth, pushed through, threw some Miracle-Gro on the situation, and made it work. But thriving? Thriving happens in spaces where you’re loved. Where you’re safe. Where someone is looking out for you, not just looking at you.
It’s easy to romanticize resilience, isn’t it? We love a comeback story. We cheer for the underdog. But when I look back at the chapters of my life where I actually flourished — I mean grew in deep, meaningful ways — it wasn’t because I powered through alone. It was because someone saw me. Someone cheered me on. Someone reminded me to drink water, get out of my own head, and believed in me before I could even articulate why I needed it.
I’ve also withered. Not because I wasn’t trying, but because the air was toxic. The light was too harsh. Or — honestly — because I’d surrounded myself with people who didn’t know the difference between pulling a weed and uprooting the whole dang plant.
So here’s what I’m chewing on (in addition to my now-cold lunch):
Are the people around me life-givers or joy-drainers? Do they lovingly help me spot the stuff that’s choking out my joy, or do they add to the overgrowth? And maybe more importantly: Am I that kind of person for the people in my life?
It’s not about perfect relationships. It’s about loving people into wholeness. Gently. Repeatedly. Even when they’ve forgotten how to ask for it.
If I want to thrive — and I do — I need to be honest about the soil I’m planted in. And if I want the people I love to thrive, I need to be the kind of friend, partner, coworker, parent, and human who offers light and water and room to breathe.
Here’s to becoming good soil for each other. We don’t grow just because we’re planted. We grow because we’re loved. Plants don’t waste time wondering if they deserve the sunlight. They just lean in. Maybe it’s time we did the same — and moved toward the places and people that bring us to life.
Rachel L. Richard is a small-town farm girl turned suburbanite, a delightfully irreverent optimist, Mrs & Mama, floppy dog ear scratcher, lifelong learner, channel surfer, wanderer, believer, occasional creative, out-of-practice musician, cupcake addict, book devourer, and lover of all people.
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