Lessons From A Skeleton & A Fiddle Leaf Fig
Last year on my birthday, a few of us took a trip to one of my favorite places on Earth: Waco, Texas. If you know me, you know I love all things Magnolia. I swear if Joanna Gaines and I ever crossed paths, we’d be best friends on sight. I can already picture it… me, her, and Chip teaming up for a Fixer Upper project so good people would lose their minds.
One day, for sure.
Until then, I visit their spots in Waco as much as I can. On that birthday trip, iced coffee in hand, walking the Silo grounds, I came across a small corner where an artist was selling prints. She carved intricate, full-picture stamps and pressed them onto thick paper. The level of detail was wild… each design looked raw and intentional. Most of the prints featured skeletons doing everyday things, which immediately caught my attention.
One, in particular, stopped me in my tracks. It showed a skeleton watering a houseplant in a cozy room. Simple image, right? But the skeleton’s expression… or whatever it gave off… looked proud. Like it was looking up at that plant, fully aware of how much care went into it.
And right then, I had a thought: that’s how you should look at yourself.
So I bought it.
Now it hangs on the wall in my office, surrounded by my own growing little jungle… two pathos, a fiddle leaf fig, and a snake plant… none of which I had any clue how to care for before. I’ve never been a “plant person,” but something about watching them grow because of the care I give them just hits differently. It’s a reflection of the kind of care I’m trying to give myself… mentally, spiritually, and physically.
There’s this quiet pride that comes from watching something thrive because of your effort… even if that something is you.
Each of my plants has its own rhythm: different light, different schedule, different level of patience required. And they’ve taught me that growth doesn’t look the same across the board. Sometimes it’s fast and obvious; other times it’s slow and hidden.
But together, they’ve created this tiny ecosystem in my home office that keeps me grounded and inspired.
It’s a space that helps me grow while I work on growth.
One of my pathos plants, though, taught me a harder lesson. It was full and thriving when I bought it, but during a dormant season, I decided to “help” it out by adding plant food. I overdid it. The fertilizer burned it; it thinned out fast. I had to accept that my good intentions caused harm… it needed less forcing and more patience. So, I scaled back, gave it time, and just like that, it’s slowly coming back.
Human version of that? Burnout.
We push ourselves, thinking we just need one more “boost” to recharge… a new project, a new goal, a new motivation hit… when really what we needed was rest and restoration. Growth rarely happens when you’re forcing it.
That skeleton print taught me more than I expected. Growth isn’t about constant progress; it’s about consistent care. It’s about knowing when to lean in, when to let go, and when to just water what already exists.
So if you don’t have it already, I hope you find some “print” or ritual or object that reminds you to nurture not just it… but yourself. Something that makes you pause, look at your own progress, and think, damn, I’ve come a long way.
-db <3