What the garden taught me
When I first started gardening, I was over 100 pounds heavier and just trying to find a way to feel something again. I didn’t know what I was doing — I just knew I wanted to grow something useful, something nourishing.
I wanted to move a little, be in the sun, and maybe remember what it felt like to take care of myself.
That first season, the plants didn’t thrive right away.
But I did.
Every morning, I’d go out to the garden and slowly begin to move. It wasn’t about exercise or goals. It was quiet. I could just be there, tending to something outside of all the noise.
And in that stillness, I started to hear myself again.
The garden gave me space to reflect on all the things I’d pushed aside for years — grief, burnout, fear — and all the ways I’d learned to survive by ignoring what I needed.
But with each new leaf, I started to believe that maybe healing didn’t have to be dramatic. Maybe it could be slow. Rooted. Patient.
There’s something sacred about putting your hands in the dirt. About watching something small become something nourishing.
That garden helped me remember I deserved nourishment too.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that garden was the beginning of Tía Erika’s — a reminder that care — for ourselves, our communities, the land — takes time. That tending to something small can change everything.
I’m still learning how to take care of myself. Still slowing down, still listening.
And this path I am on is one I never expected to take, but somehow, it all feels connected.
If you’re in a season of rebuilding, tending, or trying to come back to yourself — slowly — I hope you know you’re not alone. And I hope you give yourself the grace to grow at your own pace.
With love, Erika
P.S.
P.S. I created Tía Erika’s Coffee as a quiet invitation to slow down — to ground, to reflect, to be.
If you’re in need of a ritual that feels like care, I’d love to share a bag with you.
