I loathe my garden.

There. I said it. The thing I started this whole journey to reclaim is the thing I can barely look at right now.

It wasn't always like this. I have photographs of what it used to be. That garden feels like it belonged to a different person. The one I have now is 30ft of growth I can't get into, a wall of brambles taller than me, and a to-do list that gets longer every time it rains.

When you are gardening with depression, nobody warns you about this part. The part where the project that was supposed to help you heal becomes another thing you're failing at. The part where you stop seeing potential and start seeing evidence.

I started this journey last September with the honest intention of taking back control. And some weeks I have. Ten minutes here, one plank there, one bramble cut back from the edge. But right now the garden is winning and I resent it for it.

Nobody posts about this bit. Not the satisfying before-and-afters. Not the mindful moments with your hands in the soil. Just a person standing at the back door, looking at the mess, and feeling nothing but tired.

I'm not quitting. But I'm not pretending I love it today either.

The garden will still be there when I'm ready.

Taking back control... one bramble at a time.

Gardening with depression is not a straight line. Some weeks the motivation is there and the garden shows it. Other weeks, the back door stays closed and the to-do list stays untouched and that gap between what you planned and what you managed feels enormous. If you are trying to reclaim an outdoor space while also managing your mental health, you will know exactly what I mean. This post is about that gap, and why I have stopped calling it failure.

This journey started as an idea last September. At the time, I had a clear picture of how quickly things would move, but life has its own pace.

When you are juggling a job hunt, have family responsibilities, health issues and a garden that looks more like a builder’s graveyard than a sanctuary, speed is not really on the table. Persistence is.

The April sun was a welcome guest, but the month did not match the plan. Even with the good weather, the doing did not keep up with the dreaming. I did not clear as much as I wanted to.

A while ago, I would have labelled that as failure. Now I see it for what it is, a pause.

When you are rebuilding a life and a garden at the same time, some months are for planning, and some are for simply getting through. April was about keeping things steady.

One thing that has surprised me since September is how creative this process has become. I have leaned into social media far more than I expected. Sharing the horrible, unseen angles and the slow removal of debris has turned into a creative outlet I did not know I needed.

There is an odd satisfaction in marketing a process while it is still messy. It is honest and it is direct. And, judging by the response, there are people out there who value that kind of transparency as much as I do.

May is for the brambles. I am not interested in a long list of lofty goals. My focus is simple, keep moving. Move more brambles, clear more planks, and keep that clunk of progress going. I am learning that it takes exactly as long as it takes.

The garden was not ruined in a day, and it will not be reclaimed in one either. September was the start, but May is where the graft happens.

One plank, one bramble, and one post at a time. 

If you are trying to garden while living with agoraphobia, depression, or anxiety, you already know that the advice aimed at 'beginner gardeners' was not written with you in mind. Nobody talks about what it feels like when your own back garden sets off your nervous system, or when the gap between wanting to be outside and actually getting there feels impossible to cross. This post is for those of you who know exactly what that feels like, and who are finding your own way back, one small cut at a time.

April is a busy month. Outside, the garden is waking up in a chaotic rush, but for a long time, I have been watching that rush from the safe side of the glass.

Living with agoraphobia and depression means the "great outdoors" often feels less like a sanctuary and more like a high stakes environment. When your own nervous system treats the back garden like an ocean you are not sure you can swim in, even stepping onto the patio feels like a mountain climb.

An untended garden has a way of mirroring an untended mind. The longer the brambles grow and the deader the winter stalks look, the more they feel like a physical version of everything I have been putting off. Every tangled corner feels like a tiny defeat.

But this April, I am changing the narrative. I am not worried about planting or "growing" just yet. This month is strictly about cutting back. That being said, I mean it when I say I will, it just doesn't always happen on the day I intend it to. 

Reclaiming the Space, One Snip at a Time

There is a unique kind of power in a pair of secateurs. When the world feels out of control, standing in one small patch of your own territory and deciding what stays and what goes is incredibly grounding.

Cutting back is my version of taking control:

• Clearing the Path
  By removing the dead wood and the overgrown stalks, I am literally making a path for myself. I am telling the garden and my brain that I am allowed to be here.

• The Ten Minute Territory
  I do not have to clear the whole garden today. If I can only stay out for ten minutes before the panic starts to rise, then those are ten minutes of lopping and clearing. That is ten minutes where I am the boss of the brambles.

• The Tactile Reset
  The snap of a dead branch and the smell of the earth as I clear the debris helps quiet the alarm. It reminds me that I am actually safe, standing on my own ground.

If you are reading this and your own "garden", whether it is your health, your home, or your head, feels like it has grown out of control, please know you are not alone.

I am still an overwhelmed gardener. I still have days where the back door stays locked. But every dead branch I clear is a piece of my world I am taking back. April is not about perfection or blooming flowers this year. It is about making room to breathe.

One snip, one branch, and one breath at a time.

If gardening with agoraphobia, anxiety or depression is something you navigate, I plan to write about this regularly - the slow progress, the bad days, and the small wins that make it worth it. You can read more on the blog, or find me on TikTok, Instagram, Facebook and YouTube where I share the process as it happens, in real time and without the edited version.