Every year in a garden is different, just like every day in a garden is different.
Some years, you have wild successes, beautiful crops, perfect weather and no weeds.
Then there are years like this one. When your world kind of falls to pieces and your garden along with it.
There are years like this one, when your harvests are few and far between and your plot is in a constant state of dissaray.
When every time you step foot into your garden, your heart sinks where it used to sing.
It has not been my most productive gardening year and as much as I loathe to admit it, I have on more than one occasion considered giving it all up.
Don’t panic! I have no intentions to quit. I just can’t, you see, my garden still makes me inexorably happy, even when it’s gone to shit, and mine has, essentially, gone to shit.
My raised beds are broken, there are weeds everywhere, bits of debris everywhere, my crops have all but failed with the exception of my sweetcorn.
There are countless reasons for this bad year, including ill health, stress and a lack of motivation, and I want to talk about that. That lack of motivation, because that is the gardener’s biggest enemy.
I want to make you all squirm a bit here. I usually keep this blog light hearted and fun, but there are realities that we all have to face.
Harsh realities about ourselves and the nature of why we do the things we do. I’ve had to face many of them this year.
I am not a great gardener. I am not an expert. The majority of the time, my plot is a disorganised mess, much like my scatterbrain. I fail in the garden every single week. Seriously. Every week.
All that being said, gardening is still that extra beat in my heart, the extra air in my lungs.
Gardening is literally, my be all, and end all, and this year, I lost sight of that. I lost sight of why I garden. I became obsessed with wanting a perfect plot, perfect crops and the whole endeavour failed miserably.
I have learned that I need to go back to my roots.
I need to garden for the fun of it, I need to garden for the joy.
I need to garden for the peace.
With that in mind, I want to write a little about something I’ve wanted to address for a long time but have never had the temerity or strength.
I’d like to write a little about the mental health benefits of gardening, but I don’t just want to load you with facts you can find anywhere.
I don’t just want to spout the same old numbers and statistics and surveys. I want to tell you MY story.
I have an incredible life, truly incredible. I love my life. I have two parents who love me dearly, countless friends who make me happy, a career, my health, food in my stomach, a roof over my head. I have a garden. I write. I have clothes and shoes. I love a few drinks. I love sci-fi and video games and dancing. I love my bloody amazing life.
I have a wonderful life but sometimes I can’t see it through the fog. Sometimes, the fog is all that there is.
Now, before you think I’ve gone all maudlin on you, trust me, this post is another howler, I swear.
The fog is not just my depressive episodes or low moods. The fog is what happens when I lose sight of why I do what I do.
I had a thought today and I can’t stop thinking it.
How many gardening websites, magazines, TV show, publications write about the mental health benefits of gardening?
All of them, and rightly so. It has long been established that gardening is good for mental health and a form of therapy for a wide range of disorders.
Now, take all of those articles, shows, interviews you’ve read, watched and heard about the mental health effects of gardening and ask yourself this:
How many of them have told you that gardening actually makes you mental?
So, I’m here to rectify the situation and tell you the dirty side of growing nobody tells you about. Gardening turns you into a bona fide nut job.
Only mental people walk around allotments in their bare feet.
Only mental people choose to spend freezing winter mornings in a garden, pouring their warm breath into the cold world.
Only mental people spend weeks germinating 19 different varieties of tomatoes because they’re slightly different colours.
Only mental people prefer getting a gift of cow shite than jewellery.
Only mental people choose to be surrounded by slugs, centipedes and spiders.
Gardening makes you a mental person!
I’m telling you, if you get a garden, you won’t recognise yourself within a year. Not because you are a walking orb of hippie zen like you envisioned, but because your life is now RUINED.
Your hands will be banjaxed and your clothes will all be ripped. What used to be your shoe rack now will just house plant pots and seeds.
You’ll be covered in scars from bites and stings.
You’ll talk to plants. Seriously. You will.
You think you won’t do it but you absolutely will. It’ll creep up on you.
You’ll just casually find yourself in your polytunnel one day, reworking all the lyrics to Macklemore’s thrift shop so it has garden lyrics and you’ll stop and wonder who you even are anymore.
You’ll cancel nights out so you can water your polytunnel. You’ll spend a stupid amount of money on crap. Literally. You will literally exchange hard earned money to obtain the excrement from another animal.
You will actually cry when crops fails. You will cry actual tears.
You will find yourself screaming at nettles.
You will turn into a mental person and you will never be happier.
That’s what has happened to me really. I used to be very morose and quiet*, I used to be a normal human being with normal hobbies*, I used to be clean*.
*all outright lies
This year, being away from my garden a lot, I’ve become less mental and that’s what’s wrong with me. I’m telling you I do things like watch TV, drink tea, clean my house. CLEAN MY HOUSE!
I hate it. And so, I shall endeavour to garden more during the coming weeks so I return to my glorious mental self.
Next weekend, I’m heading to Waterford to the amazing Food Matters Festival in Grow HQ where I’ll be giving a walking tour and speaking about allotment growing and I’ll be chatting all about allotment growing and the benefits of gardening for your mental health.
Also, the folks at GIY have some amazing people coming along, including Alys Fowler who I may freak out and embarrass myself when I meet!
Nothing new there so.
It’s going to be an amazing weekend so please pop along. I promise I’ll wear more than just my GIY knickers.
If anyone takes issue with my tongue in cheek tone here, I myself have mad problems with anxiety and depression so please do not think I am being disparaging.
I want you to know that there is hope, there are lights at the end of the polytunnel, there is love in the fresh, garden air and there are places in which you can dig all your shit and literally come out smelling of roses.
Much love to you.
If you need to chat to someone about depression or anxiety, you can contact the wonderful people at one of these numbers:
Pieta House: 1800 247 247
The Samaritans: 116 123
Aware: 1800 80 48 48
1 thought on “The light at the end of the polytunnel”
Thanks for this post. It’s always good to see another way of overcoming depression. Gardening is definitely something I’ll try, but I think I’ll wait until the weather gets a bit better. ?