I’ve been suffering from spring allergies for many years. I only realized this year why I suffer from it and what I can do to heal.

On my window still stands a flower pot, filled with earth and seeds. I water them, give them love and attention. One morning, with a little help of springtime sunlight, the first small green part of a plant is birthed from mother earth. From darkness in to light. From protection into exposure.

I can only imagine how fragile this little plant feels. How sensitive, dependent on light and water and love, yet full of hope to grow tall someday. Trusting mother earth to carry her every step of the way.

I can feel what my little plant feels, because every time spring comes around, I feel exactly the same. There is so much tenderness, but also hope and excitement in the air. There is light, after months of soothing, lonely darkness.

There’s a funny notion on the internet that human beings may be more like plants, but with more complicated emotions. There might be more truth in this than we thought.

I need this new light. I’ve been awaiting it anxiously. Every cell in my body is dragging me out, out into the first bits of sunlight. My time of preparation, protected by the comfort of winter, is over. It is time to bloom, it is so time to blossom now.

This is not a question of whether I want to come out of isolation, it’s a necessity for my whole body and mind. It’s mandatory. A powerful energy that cannot be denied, because otherwise, spring would come to a halt. Imagine the consequences if nature itself would try to withstand the power of spring, of new live, of growth—and ultimately, of change.

I however, have been is resistance to change (and therefore, to spring) for a long time. Every year my body sinks into the low frequency of aggression and fear. I cough, I sneeze, I itch. The new life that is about to be built doesn’t feel like hope or excitement to me—it feels more like an annoying cold, forcing me into either isolation or suppression. Here and now, I sense that I don’t embrace change—I fight it with everything I have, and my body reacts accordingly.

On the outside, I may say: I want to go and feel the sun. But my inside, deep in my subconscious mind, has a program running that says: change is evil. Change is bad. To shine a light, to blossom in near-perfection, to see and feel with an open heart; that’s a risk too dangerous to take.

I am allergic to change. Especially the kind of change that has you filled with excitement on the edge of your seat, feeling hopeful, feeling light and feeling joyful.

Untamed joy is not and emotion for the isolated cowards among us.

Untamed joy is to jump and laugh and dance in the first hours of warm sunshine, total surrender to anything that may or may not grow, and above all, it’s embracing the human your heart wants you to be.

I don’t want to be a walking advertisement for resistance anymore, sneezing and coughing and teary-eyed, displaying for everyone to see: she cannot fully embrace this growth.

So what I do now, is the same thing I do for the little plant on my window still. I give myself love and attention, a little light and even more water.

I realize, the resistance was born out of fear and protection for myself. Maybe, it was necessary in the past. Now I consciously choose something else: I am loving and embracing change. Not because I want to, but because I have to. If the little plant on my window still would be as scared as I am, she’d never leave the dark, cozy lap of mother earth. If nature was in as much resistance as some of us are, it would remain winter all year long.

This is me, vulnerable, taking steps—as small as they may be—to unravel my fears. I am trying to befriend the tilting ground beneath my feet and sunshine and thunderstorms alike.

The process is simple, sometimes uncomfortable, but always worth it: I affirm and feel.

The first step to changing a pattern is to make it conscious.

I am aware of my resistance to change.

Then, I sit with it.

I am not my resistance, but it is a part of me that deserves my attention. I am here for you.

Lastly, I love it.

I want to thank you for trying to protect me, your guidance means a lot to me.

But you are not needed anymore, for I am now strong and sensitive enough to face change on my own.

Thank you.

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash