The Cactus and Me
It all began a few years ago, when I received a gift from my son: six small pots, each holding a tiny, very prickly cactus. Before that, I had never grown cacti, yet I felt a quiet fascination with them. Maybe it’s because they remind me a little of us—how we learn to survive hard seasons, endure quietly, and still find a way to be beautiful in simple, even harsh conditions.
Over the years, they’ve grown quite a bit. Every year, I move them into slightly bigger pots, giving them a little more space, a little more room to keep going.
There were times I left home for a week and forgot to water them in the rush of getting ready. And yet, when I came back, they looked exactly the same—plump, green, completely unbothered.
That always amazes me.
They held life within them, a deep reservoir of strength I couldn’t see, but somehow knew was there.
Cacti are not fragile. They’re made for dry seasons, for neglect, for less. They don’t just survive—they manage with what they’re given.
And somehow, during my own difficult times, that felt like a message I needed.
A reminder that strength doesn’t always show on the outside. That sometimes, we’re holding more than we think.
When I look at them, I wouldn’t call it happiness exactly. It’s something deeper. Maybe a feeling of understanding… even solidarity.
In their silent, spiky way, my cacti seem to whisper: You can weather this too. Be still. Be strong.
There’s something so comforting about that.
Some plants—especially cacti—don’t ask much from us. And yet, they give back this quiet sense of grounding. Like little green anchors, keeping us steady when life feels uncertain.
Thank you for visiting. I hope my stories, memories, and discoveries bring a bit of warmth and inspiration to your day. Let’s keep celebrating life’s moments — big and small.
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