Safe Refuge, Part II: What We Protect May Leave Something Behind

Apparently, word has gotten around.

My garden has become a safe refuge for wildlife.

I did not apply for this designation.

There was no inspection. No certification. No little sign appeared beside the raised beds announcing that accommodations were now available.

Nevertheless, after a bird decided my garden was a suitable place to shelter during a storm, another visitor made an even more consequential decision.

A mother rabbit built a nest for her babies in my garden.

Her babies.

Let me add one important piece of information.

I have two large dogs.

Two large dogs with high prey drives.

So, naturally, when I discovered that a mother rabbit had looked at all the available real estate in the neighborhood and selected my garden as the nursery for her children, I had questions.

Ma'am.

Did you conduct a risk assessment?

Because I live here, and I have concerns.

Safe Does Not Mean Risk-Free

My first thought was that she had made a questionable decision.

Then I started thinking about it differently.

Maybe she hadn't chosen a place without danger.

Maybe she had chosen a place where the conditions gave her young the best opportunity she could find.

Those aren't the same thing.

And that distinction matters far beyond the garden.

We sometimes talk about creating "safe environments" as though safety means removing every possibility of discomfort, disagreement, failure or risk.

That's rarely possible.

Certainly not in business.

And apparently not in my backyard.

A genuinely safe environment isn't necessarily one where risk doesn't exist.

Sometimes it is one where risks are recognized and responsibly managed.

That changed my responsibility the moment I discovered the nest.

Once You Know, You Have a Responsibility

Before I knew the nest existed, my dogs using the backyard was simply part of our normal routine.

Once I knew?

The situation changed.

The dogs hadn't changed.

The rabbits hadn't changed.

The garden hadn't changed.

My knowledge had changed.

And with knowledge came responsibility.

I could no longer behave as though I didn't know something vulnerable was there.

That meant paying attention.

Changing routines.

Watching where the dogs were going.

Protecting an area that previously hadn't needed protection.

And, perhaps most importantly for someone who has learned many gardening lessons through the irresistible urge to investigate things:

Not messing with the nest.

Because sometimes stewardship looks like action.

And sometimes stewardship looks like restraint.

Restraint Is Also a Decision

Gardening has repeatedly challenged my belief that noticing something means I need to do something.

See something unusual?

Investigate it.

Wonder what's happening underground?

Dig.

Want more information?

Dig some more.

I have learned this lesson the hard way:

Curiosity does not always justify intervention.

Sometimes you already have evidence that the system is working.

The mother rabbit knew where her babies were.

The babies were doing what baby rabbits apparently know to do.

My job wasn't to become the project manager of Rabbit Operations.

My job was to recognize what was working and avoid becoming the disruption.

There is a leadership lesson hiding in there.

Not Everything Needs Our Hands on It

Good leaders are often rewarded for action.

Solve the problem.

Remove the obstacle.

Make the decision.

Create the plan.

Intervene.

But leadership also requires knowing when not to intervene.

Sometimes the team is working through something productively.

Sometimes someone needs enough room to solve a problem without having the solution handed to them.

Sometimes a process looks unfamiliar because it isn't our process—not because it is failing.

And sometimes our desire for visibility can become interference.

There is a difference between paying attention and hovering.

There is a difference between providing protection and taking control.

There is a difference between asking, "Do you have what you need?" and deciding, "I'll take it from here."

The garden keeps reminding me of that distinction.

And Then There Was the Parsley

Eventually, the kits grew.

The little family moved on.

The protected area of the garden no longer needed protecting. My dogs could return to their regularly scheduled programming, and I could stop running backyard security for a family of rabbits who had contributed absolutely nothing toward the mortgage.

Or so I thought.

Because after the rabbits left, something happened.

My parsley grew.

Not just grew.

It grew in ABUNDANCE.

The timing made me smile.

Now, I can't tell you that the rabbits were responsible for my parsley suddenly flourishing. A garden has far too many variables for me to make that claim.

But I can tell you what I saw.

Something vulnerable came into my garden.

I changed my behavior to protect it.

I allowed it to exist without constantly interfering with it.

It grew.

It left.

And afterward, something else in that same space flourished.

I don't need to turn that into a scientific conclusion to appreciate the lesson.

Maybe the Return Isn't Always Direct

We tend to think about investment in transactional terms.

If I put something in, what do I get back?

If I give someone time, when will I see the result?

If we invest in developing people, how quickly will performance improve?

If I create space for someone else, what does that produce?

But ecosystems don't necessarily work that neatly.

Neither do people.

Sometimes what we protect doesn't repay us directly.

Sometimes the person we mentor eventually leaves.

Sometimes someone needs support during a difficult season and there is no measurable business outcome attached to helping them.

Sometimes we create an opportunity for someone who eventually takes everything they've learned somewhere else.

That can make investing in people feel like loss if we're only looking for a direct return.

But perhaps that's too narrow a way to measure what we've created.

Because healthy environments produce effects beyond a single relationship.

The thing you protected may leave.

The environment can still be richer because it was there.

Safety Is Something We Maintain

There were always two large dogs in this story.

I couldn't simply announce that my garden was a safe refuge and expect nature to honor the branding.

If I wanted that tiny corner of the garden to remain safe, I had to manage the very real risks within my control.

Workplaces aren't so different.

An organization can say people are safe to speak up.

A manager can say questions are welcome.

A team can say mistakes are opportunities to learn.

But those statements mean very little if the environment punishes the behavior it claims to welcome.

People watch what happens.

They notice whose ideas are dismissed.

They notice what happens when someone says, "I don't know."

They notice whether asking for help changes how they are perceived.

They notice what we actually protect.

Safety isn't created because we say the right things.

It is created through what we consistently do.

The Garden Keeps the Receipts

I don't know why that mother rabbit selected my garden.

I can't assign human reasoning to her decision.

But I know what her presence taught me.

Something vulnerable existed in an environment where danger was also present.

My responsibility wasn't to pretend the danger didn't exist.

It was to recognize it.

Manage what I could control.

Protect what needed protecting.

And leave alone what didn't need my interference.

Then, when the rabbits no longer needed the space, they left.

No ownership.

No expectation of repayment.

No demand that they demonstrate the ROI of my temporary rabbit-protection program.

They simply left.

And the garden kept growing.

The bird taught me that something will seek refuge where it feels safe enough to weather a storm.

The rabbits taught me that sometimes something will trust an environment enough to grow there.

And the parsley?

The parsley reminded me that the return on what we nurture doesn't always come from where we expect it.

Maybe that's the larger lesson the garden has been trying to teach me all along.

Create the conditions.

Protect what needs protecting.

Know when your intervention is necessary—and when it isn't.

Don't demand that every investment return something directly to you.

Sometimes, your responsibility is merely to steward the environment well enough for whatever belongs there to do what it already knows how to do.

And while you're waiting to see what grows?

Manage the dogs.

And let the system work.

Safe Refuge: What Makes Something Choose to Stay?

There was a storm.

Not the kind of gentle rain that makes you want to sit near a window with something warm to drink. This was the kind that sends everything outside looking for somewhere else to be.

And apparently, my garden was somewhere else.

A bird found refuge there.

I don't know what calculation goes through the mind of a bird during a storm. I don't know whether it surveys its options or simply responds instinctively to whatever feels protected enough in that moment.

But I do know this:

It chose my garden.

That stayed with me.

I Built a Garden. Something Else Saw Refuge.

When we create spaces, we usually think about them from our own perspective.

I planted this here because I wanted it here.

I built this because I needed it.

I arranged this because it worked for me.

But nature has a way of reminding us that what we create can have an entirely different meaning to someone else.

To me, it was a garden.

To a bird caught in a storm, it was shelter.

There was something about that environment that communicated, in whatever language nature uses:

You can come here.

You can rest here.

For right now, you are safe here.

That made me think about the environments we create for people.

What Does It Feel Like to Enter the Spaces We Create?

We talk a lot about culture in business.

Company culture. Team culture. Leadership culture. Customer culture.

We create values statements. We talk about collaboration and belonging. We establish processes and expectations.

But culture may be revealed much more simply:

What happens when someone needs refuge?

When an employee doesn't know the answer, can they say so?

When someone makes a mistake, is their first instinct to hide it or bring it forward?

When a new person joins the team, how long does it take before they feel comfortable contributing an idea?

When someone is overwhelmed, uncertain or simply having a difficult day, does the environment give them somewhere to land?

Those moments tell us something that a values statement cannot.

They tell us whether people actually feel safe.

Refuge Doesn't Mean the Absence of Expectations

This is where the metaphor could easily become too comfortable.

A safe environment isn't one where nothing difficult happens.

My garden didn't stop the storm.

It couldn't.

The rain still came. The wind still blew. Whatever sent that bird searching for protection was still happening outside the boundaries of my yard.

The garden simply gave it somewhere to endure the storm.

There is an important distinction there.

Healthy workplace environments still have deadlines, expectations, accountability, disagreements and difficult conversations.

Psychological safety doesn't mean everyone agrees.

Belonging doesn't mean every idea is accepted.

Support doesn't mean standards disappear.

It means difficulty doesn't automatically become danger.

A person can ask a question without being made to feel foolish.

Someone can disagree without immediately becoming "difficult."

A mistake can become information rather than ammunition.

And people can acknowledge that they don't know something without wondering whether they have just changed how everyone in the room sees them.

You Cannot Declare Yourself a Safe Place

This may be the part that interests me most.

The bird didn't know anything about my intentions.

It didn't know how much work I've put into the garden. It certainly hadn't read a mission statement posted beside the raised beds.

It responded to the environment itself.

That feels important.

We can tell people that our organizations are supportive.

We can tell employees that we welcome feedback.

We can tell customers that we care about them.

We can tell teams that it's safe to speak honestly.

But ultimately, the people experiencing the environment decide whether those things are true.

Safety is not established by declaration.

It is demonstrated through experience.

And trust may be one of the clearest indicators that the environment we've created is actually functioning the way we intended.

The Garden Keeps Teaching Me

I started gardening because I wanted to grow things.

Somewhere along the way, the garden apparently decided that wasn't going to be the entire curriculum.

I've learned about patience.

I've learned about intervention.

I've learned that curiosity does not always justify digging something up to see what's happening underneath.

I've learned that one signal is not the whole system.

And now I'm learning something about refuge.

There is something deeply satisfying about realizing that a space you created for yourself has quietly become useful to something else.

The bird eventually left.

That was the point.

Refuge isn't always somewhere you stay forever.

Sometimes it is simply the place that gives you enough safety to recover, gather yourself and continue.

And perhaps that's something worth thinking about in the environments we create for people, too.

Not:

How do we make people stay?

But:

What are we creating that makes people feel safe enough to stay when they need to — and strong enough to move forward when they're ready?

I thought I was building a garden.

During a storm, a bird told me I had built something else.

A safe place to land.

The Discipline of Not Digging

What growing sweet potatoes taught me about curiosity, evidence, and knowing when to leave a working system alone

There are sweet potatoes growing beneath the soil in my garden.

I know this because I have already seen one.

That should be enough information.

Apparently, it is not enough information for my curiosity.

For weeks, I have watched the vines spread through one of my garden beds. They have climbed, tangled, overlapped, and competed for space with butterfly pea vines that have become so aggressive that “companion planting” no longer seems like an accurate description. At this point, it feels more like a corporate acquisition.

The sweet potato vines are still substantial and green, but some of the older leaves have begun to yellow and die back. Every time I look at them, the same question occurs to me:

What is happening underneath all of this?

I could find out.

I could move the vines aside. I could dig carefully around the soil. I could investigate.

I will not.

Partly because gardening has not yet convinced me that putting my hands into unseen places is a reasonable activity—even with gloves.

But there is another reason.

I don't actually need the answer yet.

And that realization reminded me of something much larger than gardening.

Curiosity does not always justify intervention

We often talk about curiosity as an unquestionably positive quality in business. And it is an important one. Curiosity leads us to ask better questions, challenge assumptions and explore possibilities.

But curiosity can also tempt us to interfere with something simply because we don't have complete visibility into it.

That distinction matters.

In my garden, I have evidence that the system is working. The vines grew. The foliage flourished. I have already discovered that storage roots are developing beneath the soil.

Could I gather more information by digging?

Absolutely.

But what decision would that additional information allow me to make today?

None.

I would be satisfying my curiosity—not solving a problem.

That is a very different reason to intervene.

One signal is not the whole system

The yellowing leaves initially caught my attention.

Something is changing.

But looking at the entire bed tells a more complete story. There is still significant green foliage. There is still active growth. There are still healthy vines.

The yellow leaves are a signal. They are not, by themselves, a conclusion.

That distinction extends far beyond a garden.

In our work, we encounter individual data points constantly: a metric moves, customer behavior changes, a process slows, one campaign underperforms, someone raises a concern.

The temptation is to react to what is most visible.

But good judgment requires context.

What does this signal mean relative to everything else we know?

Is it evidence of a problem?

Is it a normal part of the cycle?

Does it require action now?

Or does it simply require observation?

Sometimes the most visible thing is not the most important thing.

Restraint is also a decision

This may be the lesson my garden has taken the longest to teach me.

I tend to associate progress with action.

Identify something. Assess it. Improve it. Measure it. Iterate.

Those instincts have served me well professionally.

But iteration does not mean constant interference.

There are moments when the evidence tells us to change direction. There are moments when experimentation is necessary. There are moments when a process has clearly stopped producing the intended outcome and intervention is overdue.

And then there are moments when the system is doing exactly what it is supposed to do—and our job is to give it enough time to produce the result.

Choosing not to intervene in those moments isn't passive.

It requires observation.

It requires judgment.

And sometimes it requires considerably more discipline than taking action.

Knowing when to dig

Eventually, I will harvest the sweet potatoes.

To be clear, I will be supervising this particular phase of the operation. My willingness to develop patience has not somehow evolved into a willingness to blindly reach into densely planted soil.

There are limits to professional development.

But when harvest day comes, digging will have a purpose.

The information beneath the soil will finally be information I need.

Until then, the vines can continue doing their work.

And I can continue doing mine: observing the system, paying attention to the signals, resisting the urge to confuse activity with progress, and remembering that sometimes the most strategic action available to us is knowing when not to act.

Sometimes we need to inspect.

Sometimes we need to iterate.

Sometimes we need to intervene.

And sometimes?

We need to stop digging.

This reflection is part of my continuing exploration of the connection between gardening, Agile principles, systems thinking, and professional practice—the thinking behind From Soil to Strategy.

From Overwhelm to Clarity: How the APR Framework Cultivates Success in Business and Life

The journey of a small business owner or an individual committed to personal development is rarely a straight line. It is a path defined by pivots, unexpected challenges, and the constant need to adapt. We all reach moments where the sheer volume of decisions—from market strategy to personal habits—can feel overwhelming.

My own path has been a testament to this continuous evolution. I’ve navigated the demanding world of eCommerce, where daily metrics dictated success, and transitioned into the structured, yet highly adaptive, environment of Agile as a Certified Scrum Master and Product Owner. The common thread across these seemingly disparate fields is the necessity of a robust mental framework for navigating change.

This is where the simple, yet profoundly powerful, APR (Awareness, Pause, Reframe) framework comes into play. It is a mental model that allows us to move from reactive stress to proactive strategy, transforming challenges into opportunities for growth. For the small business owner facing a market shift or the individual striving for a new personal goal, APR is the tool that cultivates resilience and clarity.

1. Awareness: Checking the Soil of Strategy

The first step in any successful endeavor, whether growing a business or a garden, is to understand the current conditions. Awareness is the act of recognizing your current state—your emotions, your limiting beliefs, or the objective reality of a situation—without immediate judgment.

In the world of business and Agile, this is the principle of Transparency. You cannot solve a problem you refuse to see. When I ran my eCommerce business, awareness meant facing the sales numbers, the inventory shortages, or the customer feedback, however uncomfortable. In Scrum, it is the foundation of the framework: inspecting the product and the process honestly.

This concept is central to the lessons in my book, From Soil to Strategy. Awareness is akin to checking the soil in your garden. Is it too dry? Is it nutrient-deficient? Are there pests? You must know the truth of the environment before you can plan your next action. This honest inspection requires the Scrum values of Openness and Courage—the courage to look at the hard facts and the openness to accept what you find. Without this foundational awareness, any action you take is merely a shot in the dark.

2. Pause: Cultivating Space for Intentional Action

Once awareness is established, the natural human tendency is to react immediately. A sudden drop in sales, a harsh critique, or a personal setback often triggers a fight-or-flight response. The Pause is the conscious, intentional interruption between that stimulus and your response. It is the space where wisdom resides.

My transition from a decade-old business to pursuing certification as a Scrum Master was a significant "pause" in my professional life. It was a period of deep reflection, upskilling, and solidifying my worth. This intentional break allowed me to process the lessons of the past and strategically plan the next phase.

In the Agile world, the Pause is institutionalized in the Sprint Retrospective—a dedicated time to stop the work, reflect on how the work is done, and plan improvements. In the garden, the Pause is the quiet, consistent work of weeding and waiting. It is the commitment to the process, not the immediate gratification. This space is cultivated through Focus and Commitment, two core values of the FROCC framework (Focus, Respect, Openness, Commitment, Courage). By pausing, you are committing to a better outcome by refusing to be driven by impulse.

3. Reframe: Harvesting New Perspectives

The final, and perhaps most transformative, step is Reframe. This is the cognitive shift where you take the data gathered during Awareness and the clarity gained during the Pause, and intentionally change the narrative. You move from seeing a challenge as a disaster to viewing it as a valuable data point or a necessary catalyst for innovation.

The lessons I carried from my eCommerce business were not failures; they were the tuition for my next venture. They were the raw material that informed my understanding of strategy and value. As a Product Owner, reframing is a daily practice: a user complaint is reframed as an opportunity to delight, and a technical roadblock is reframed as a chance to simplify the architecture.

In the context of From Soil to Strategy, reframing is seeing a garden pest not as an enemy, but as a signal that the ecosystem is out of balance, prompting a more sustainable, long-term solution. This act of reframing is an expression of Respect—respect for the complexity of the situation, respect for your own ability to learn, and respect for the potential of the future. It is the ultimate act of mental leadership, turning perceived weakness into undeniable strength.

Cultivating Your Next Success

The APR framework is not a one-time fix; it is a continuous loop of self-correction and growth. For the small business owner, it means turning a quarterly loss into a strategic realignment. For the individual, it means transforming self-doubt into focused action.

By cultivating Awareness, honoring the Pause, and mastering the Reframe, you equip yourself with the clarity and resilience needed to not just survive, but to thrive in the face of complexity. Start today: the next time you feel overwhelmed, stop, breathe, and apply the APR framework. The strategy you need is already within you, waiting to be cultivated.

(To explore the deeper connection between these strategic frameworks and the natural world, consider reading From Soil to Strategy.)

[1] Shift Happens. How APR (Awareness–Pause–Reframe) ...

[2] APR Framework: Awareness, Pause, Reframe

[3] The Three Steps of Mental Leadership – Become Aware, ...

[4] How to demonstrate calm and optimism in a crisis

[5] What the FROCC are the Scrum Values? - itFinesse

Building a Business Without a Network: The Power of Authentic Connection

From Soil to Soul

Reading time: 6 minutes

What You'll Learn in This Post:

• Why authentic connection matters more than growth metrics

• How to build business relationships when you're starting from scratch

• A real story of how one customer interaction changed everything

• 5 practical strategies to cultivate meaningful connections

• How to turn relationships into sustainable business growth

Starting a business without an established network can feel isolating. You scroll through social media watching others celebrate their "community" while you're still figuring out how to have your first genuine conversation with a potential customer. You wonder: How do I build real connections when I don't know anyone in my industry?

Here's what I've learned: The most successful businesses aren't built on the largest networks—they're built on the deepest connections. And those connections? They start with a single authentic interaction.

Let me tell you about the day I learned this lesson.

When Growth Outpaced Connection: A Turning Point

In my early days as a business owner, I chased growth.

I tracked every metric—sales, followers, conversions—believing numbers told the whole story.

But behind those numbers was a quiet truth: I wasn't connecting with people. I had customers, not clients. Transactions, not transformation.

At the time, my Facebook group was thriving. Orders came in daily, messages poured in, and I thought connection meant activity. Then one day, I received an email from someone who said she'd purchased one of my products in a store in Hawaii and needed help with a return.

The only problem? I'd never had a physical store.

She was adamant. "I know it was your company," she insisted. I could have ignored the message or quickly corrected her and moved on—but something nudged me to help. So I did. I guided her through finding the right contact, the manufacturer, and the next steps to get her issue resolved—even though she wasn't my customer.

Months later, a new order came through on my website.

It was her.

That moment reminded me that connection isn't built only through sales. It's built through service—through being human, helpful, and present, even when there's nothing to gain.

This experience became one of the founding principles I explore in my book, From Soil to Strategy—the idea that every interaction, whether it leads to a sale or not, is an investment in your business foundation.

Building Business Relationships: Why Connection is Your Foundation

Every thriving garden begins with living soil—rich, nourished, and full of unseen life. In business, that soil is relationship.

When you invest in people—truly invest—you build a foundation that can weather any season. Whether it's a supportive comment, a thank-you email, or guidance for someone who may never buy from you, those small acts enrich the soil of your business.

Starting From Zero: You Don't Need a Big Network

If you're starting out and don't have a network yet, don't let that discourage you. The entrepreneurs who build the most authentic communities rarely start with connections—they start with curiosity.

Begin small and be intentional:

• Comment genuinely on others' work (not just "Great post!" but thoughtful responses)

• Join online communities where your ideal customers gather

• Ask questions more than you make statements

• Offer help without expecting anything in return

You don't have to "network"—you can simply connect.

"The most fruitful businesses are those rooted in real connection, not transactions."

How Authenticity Builds Customer Trust (And Why It Matters)

Authenticity builds trust—and trust builds loyalty.

It's easy to feel pressure to appear polished or "successful," especially online. But people are drawn to honesty more than perfection. When I began showing up as myself—open about what I was learning, imperfect but consistent—conversations deepened and engagement became more genuine.

What Authentic Business Relationships Look Like

Authenticity isn't about exposure; it's about alignment. When your actions, words, and values match, people feel safe engaging with you. That safety becomes trust, and trust is the seed from which loyalty grows.

In From Soil to Strategy, I share a framework for aligning your business practices with your values—because authentic connection starts with knowing what you stand for.

Here's what it doesn't look like:

• Performative vulnerability (sharing struggles only to sell solutions)

• Following trends that don't align with your values

• Saying what you think people want to hear

Here's what it does look like:

• Consistent, honest communication about your journey

• Admitting when you don't know something

• Making decisions based on your values, not just profit

• Showing up even when you're not launching something

Connection Beyond the Sale: The Soul of Your Work

When your business is rooted in authenticity, it transcends the transaction. You begin to attract people who connect with your why, not just your what.

Those relationships are the soul of the work. They remind you that behind every email address, every order, every comment, is a person seeking connection, not just convenience.

Some of my most meaningful business relationships came from simple gestures:

• Responding personally to a message instead of using a template

• Following up months later to see how someone's project went

• Sharing a resource that helped me, even if it wasn't mine

• Celebrating someone's win when they had nothing to offer me in return

These are the quiet moments that build credibility and community.

5 Practical Strategies to Cultivate Authentic Business Connections

If you're building your business without an existing network, start here:

1. Lead with curiosity, not credentials

Instead of: Introducing yourself with your title and accomplishments Try this: Ask questions and listen first. Example: "I'm curious about your approach to X—what led you to that strategy?"

People remember how you made them feel, not your resume.

2. Engage meaningfully online

Instead of: Leaving generic comments like "Love this!" or using emojis only, Try this: Spend 15 minutes daily leaving thoughtful comments on 3-5 posts in your industry.

Example: "I love how you broke down the email sequence strategy—I've struggled with timing, and this helps me see it differently. Did you test the 3-day vs. 7-day spacing?"

3. Follow up and follow through

Instead of: Connecting once and moving on, Try this: Set a reminder to check in 2-4 weeks after a meaningful conversation.

Example: "Hi [Name], I've been thinking about our conversation about launching your course. How did that beta group work out?"

A brief "I enjoyed our chat" message can open future doors.

4. Collaborate early and generously

Instead of: Waiting until you're "big enough" to collaborate, Try this: Reach out to someone at a similar stage and propose a simple collaboration.

Examples:

• Guest swap in newsletters

• Co-host a free workshop

• Share each other's content with thoughtful commentary

• Create a joint resource (template, guide, checklist)

Growing together builds stronger foundations than growing alone.

5. Stay authentic and consistent

Instead of: Posting only when you have something to sell, Try this: Show up regularly with value, vulnerability, and variety.

Share what you're learning, the resources that helped you, the mistakes you made, and the questions you're exploring. Consistency and sincerity will always outlast performance.

The Long Game: Why Connection Matters More Than Metrics

Connection doesn't happen overnight—it's cultivated. Like a garden, it grows stronger with consistency, attention, and care.

I used to think growth meant movement—more followers, more sales, more buzz. Now I know growth is measured by something quieter: the depth of connection, the integrity of your relationships, and the authenticity behind your work.

When you nurture connection, you don't just grow a business; you grow yourself.

And that growth—from soil to soul—is where true success takes root.

Real Results From Authentic Connection

When you prioritize relationships over metrics, something shifts:

• People refer you because they trust you, not just your product

• Customers become advocates who defend your brand

• Opportunities find you through word-of-mouth

• Your business becomes more resilient during challenging times

• Work feels more meaningful because it's rooted in genuine relationships

That woman from Hawaii? She's now one of my most loyal customers and has referred multiple people to my business. The ROI on that one helpful email has been immeasurable.

Your Next Steps: Building From Soil to Soul

If this message resonates, I invite you to explore these principles more deeply in my book, From Soil to Strategy: A Guide for Entrepreneurs Who Want to Build with Intention, Patience, and Authenticity.

Inside, you'll find:

• The complete framework for building authentic business relationships

• Stories from the trenches of entrepreneurship

• Practical exercises to align your business with your values

• Strategies for sustainable growth that doesn't sacrifice connection

Ready to build a business rooted in authentic connection?

📖 Get From Soil to Strategy - Available now

💬 Join the conversation: What's one relationship that changed your business trajectory? I'd love to hear your story in the comments below.

🔔 Let’s connect and discuss insights on building a business with authenticity and intention

Key Takeaways

• Connection matters more than metrics when building a sustainable business

• You don't need a large network—you need genuine relationships

• Authenticity builds trust, and trust builds loyalty

• Every interaction is an investment in your business foundation

• Small, consistent acts of service compound into meaningful relationships

• Start where you are: one authentic conversation at a time

About the Author: Sheridan Gary shares lessons from her own journey — from chasing growth to cultivating genuine relationships — in this reflective post inspired by her book From Soil to Strategy.

Related Reading:

• Collaboration Over Competition

• Cultivating Your Business Garden

• Rooted Leadership

The Business of Love: Why My Marriage Works Like a Successful Startup

When people start out in business, they tend to think that everything needs to be perfect (just me? Ok, I can accept that). But it isn't. Starting a business from the ground up involves stumbling, learning, growing, facing fears that you didn't know existed and pushing through regardless. The fact is that you MUST push through.

I'm one of those people who associate this with that. I don't know why, I just do. It's how my brain is wired. I relate things to other things.

And here's what hit me like a ton of bricks one day—maybe in a dream, maybe during one of those 3 am moments where everything suddenly makes sense: If I think about personal or romantic relationships, I can see that the relationship that worked was the one that I pushed through in. Like my business, I keep going.

The Ones That Didn't Make It

I've had relationships that didn't work. I had a marriage that didn't work. And for a long time, I carried that weight. As a former teen parent, I felt like I had already failed somehow. That feeling sat with me, quiet but persistent, driving me to succeed at everything else. I didn't realize until much later that I was terrified of failing again.

But here's the thing about failure in business: it teaches you. Every stumble shows you what doesn't work, so you can figure out what does. And relationships? They're no different.

The Partnership That Works

My current marriage works because we treat it like what it actually is: a contract. Not sexy, I know, but stay with me. Marriage IS a contract between two people. It's a business we're both invested in.

My partner doesn't have the same skillset as I do. In a business, that would be an asset, not a problem. Why should marriage be any different? We see the big picture. We come together for meetings—yes, actual check-ins where we talk about what's working and what isn't. We've learned to communicate effectively, to work as a team.

I've learned about conflict resolution in ways that no business book ever taught me. I've learned about teamwork when one of us is struggling and the other needs to carry more weight. I've learned about promotion—celebrating my spouse's wins (no pizza party involved, but plenty of genuine recognition). These aren't just business concepts. They're relationship essentials.

The Fear I Didn't Know I Had

Starting a business forces you to face fears you didn't know existed. For me, it was the fear of failing again. Of not being enough. Of repeating old patterns.

But pushing through in business taught me something crucial: success isn't about being perfect. It's about showing up, doing the work, adjusting when things don't go according to plan, and refusing to quit when it gets hard.

That relationship that worked? It's the one where I applied the same principle. Where we both did.

Success Looks Different Now (But I Still Want It)

I wanted to succeed in everything. Business was something I associated success with. That hasn't changed—I still want to succeed. I still celebrate the minor and major wins.

But now I understand that success in a relationship looks like this: Two imperfect people with different strengths, coming together to build something bigger than themselves. It's meetings and check-ins and hard conversations. It's recognizing that some days you're the one holding it all together, and other days you're the one who needs holding. It's treating your partnership with the same seriousness, investment, and commitment you'd give to a business you truly believe in.

Because at the end of the day, isn't that what marriage is? A business you're building together. One where the ROI is measured in shared laughter, weathered storms, and a life built side by side.

The Push Through

Starting a business from the ground up involves stumbling, learning, growing, and pushing through regardless. So does a marriage that lasts. So does anything worth having.

I saw my relationships as business contracts. And the one that worked? It's because we both signed on the dotted line and committed to making it succeed.

Not perfect. Just pushed through.

And that makes all the difference.

The Watermelon Lesson: Why Sustainable Growth Requires Multiple Seasons

In early May, I planted four varieties of watermelon seeds in my Texas garden: Tigger melons, Sugar Babies, Desert King, and Yamato. As a New York native who grew up in an apartment in Brooklyn, gardening wasn't part of my upbringing—concrete was my landscape, not soil. But here I was in Texas, following expert advice, preparing the soil, watering diligently, and waiting for the sweet reward of homegrown fruit. What happened next taught me more about business than any textbook ever could.

Those melons grew to the size of grapefruits, and then something unexpected happened—they stopped. One by one, they shriveled up right there on the vine, victims of the relentless Texas heat that turns gardens into proving grounds. I had done everything "right" according to the guides, but nature had other plans.

So I did what any stubborn gardener (or entrepreneur) would do: I planted again in late June.

Three Summers, One Season

If you've never experienced a Texas summer, let me paint you a picture. There aren't four seasons here—there are three variations of summer, each with its own personality and challenges.

First comes the mild heat—the get-ready-to-plant phase. Temperatures are climbing, the soil is warming up, and everything feels full of possibility. This is when you put seeds in the ground with optimism, believing that growth is just around the corner.

Then arrives the extreme heat—the survival phase. This is when whatever grows either thrives or burns. There's no middle ground. The sun is oppressive, the air feels thick, and you're just hoping your plants (and your air conditioning bill) can make it through. Some things flourish. Most things struggle.

Finally, there's the third summer—what the calendar calls fall but Texans know as bearable heat. Temperatures climb to the mid-nineties, but after months of hundred-degree days, ninety feels like a gift. This is when things that couldn't survive earlier suddenly find their moment.

My second planting in late June? Those watermelons grew bigger than pomelos. I was thrilled—until the wildlife discovered them. One morning, I walked out to find my beautiful melons chewed through, nature taking its share before I could claim mine.

When Adversity Becomes Your Teacher

Here's where most people would quit. I had two failed attempts, conflicting results, and now wildlife was busy adding insult to injury. But something shifted in my thinking. I stopped asking "What am I doing wrong?" and started asking "What is this trying to teach me?"

In August, despite what every planting guide said about timing, I dropped seeds again. This time, I wasn't following expert advice—I was following my intuition, shaped by experience. I had learned the rhythm of my garden, the personality of my soil, the patterns of the heat.

In late September, I bit into the sweetest Desert King watermelon I've ever tasted. It wasn't just the flavor that hit me—it was the realization: Timing was everything. And timing couldn't be learned from a book. It had to be earned through persistence and response.

For a Brooklyn kid who grew up surrounded by sidewalks and stoops, this garden continues to teach me lessons that amaze me every season. Nature doesn't care about my timeline or expectations—it operates on its own rhythm. And somehow, that's become one of the most valuable business lessons I've learned since moving to Texas.

Business Has Seasons Too

Your business operates in cycles just like my garden. There are seasons of planting, seasons of scorching heat, and seasons of harvest. The mistake most early-stage entrepreneurs make is treating every season the same, applying the same strategies regardless of the conditions around them.

In business, things are seasonal and cyclical. In the times when things appear to be slowing down—as they often do in Southern states during the extreme summer heat—that's not necessarily a sign of failure. It's often the perfect time to reflect on whether a pivot or change is necessary, or whether you simply need to wait for your season.

The hard part? Knowing the difference.

Recognizing When to Pivot vs. When to Persist

My watermelon journey taught me that expert advice can only take you so far. What matters most is how you respond to adversity and whether you're paying attention to the signals your business is sending you.

Here are the questions I now ask myself when business feels slow or stuck:

Is this a timing issue or a strategy issue? My first watermelon planting failed because of timing—the heat was too extreme. My second failed because of factors outside my control (wildlife). My third attempt succeeded because I adjusted my timing based on what I'd learned. Sometimes your product or service is solid, but the market isn't ready yet. Other times, you need to fundamentally change your approach.

Am I getting different results with the same actions? Notice that my second planting produced much larger melons than my first. I used the same seeds, the same soil, but different timing. In business, if you're getting wildly different results from the same efforts, you might be in the wrong season for that particular strategy. Pay attention to those variations—they're telling you something.

What's in my control vs. what's not? I couldn't control the wildlife, but I could control when I planted and how I protected my crop. In slow business seasons, focus on what you can influence: your skills, your network, your positioning, your messaging. Let go of what you can't: the economy, your competitors' moves, market trends beyond your reach.

Am I quitting because it's hard, or because it's wrong? There's a difference between persistence and stubbornness. Persistence is planting a third time with adjusted timing and new knowledge. Stubbornness is planting in May again and expecting different results. The key is learning from each attempt, not just repeating it.

What is this season asking me to do? During extreme heat, my garden wasn't asking me to grow—it was asking me to prepare, to observe, to learn. During the bearable heat of "fall," it was finally ready to produce. Your business has seasons that ask different things of you. Sometimes it's growth. Sometimes it's consolidation. Sometimes it's pivoting. Sometimes it's simply surviving until conditions improve.

The Real Strategy Is Response

Building a business often feels slower than we'd like. We see other people's highlight reels, their September harvests, without seeing their May failures or their June setbacks. We compare our extreme heat season to someone else's bearable heat season and wonder what we're doing wrong.

But growth takes time—just like a seed forming roots before it sprouts. Those roots you're developing during the slow season? They're what will sustain you when your harvest season finally arrives.

Patience isn't just a virtue in business—it's a strategy. But it's not passive patience. It's active, responsive patience. It's the patience that plants again in August when conventional wisdom says you've missed your window. It's the patience that learns from shriveled melons and wildlife raids and uses that information to make better decisions.

The experts can give you guidelines, frameworks, and best practices. And you should listen to them—they're valuable. But they can't tell you the specific timing for your business, in your market, with your unique circumstances. That wisdom comes from paying attention, responding to what's actually happening, and trusting what you're learning along the way.

Your Growing Season

So if you're in a slow season right now, ask yourself: Is this my extreme heat phase, where I need to focus on survival and preparation? Or is this my bearable heat phase, where conditions are finally right for growth? Am I trying to force a May harvest when I'm built for September success?

The seasons will change. They always do. Your job isn't to control the weather—it's to recognize what season you're in and respond accordingly.

Sometimes that means pivoting. Sometimes it means persisting. And sometimes, it means planting one more time in August, even when everyone says you're too late.

I'd love to hear about your business seasons. What's your watermelon story? When did you learn that timing mattered more than expert advice? Share your experience in the comments—your story might be exactly what another entrepreneur needs to hear today. 🌱

Building something meaningful takes time. Sometimes it takes multiple attempts. But if you keep planting, keep learning, and keep responding to what each season teaches you, your harvest will come.

The Power of Patience:

Why Growth Takes Time in Business and in Life

Have you ever felt like your business should be further along by now? Like you’re working hard but the results just aren’t showing up fast enough? You’re not alone. Every new entrepreneur hits this moment of doubt. The truth is, growth doesn’t happen on demand—it requires patience, persistence, and the right mindset.

A seed doesn’t sprout overnight. It spends time hidden in the soil, developing roots long before it breaks through the surface. Your business, and even your personal growth, works the same way.

That’s the dual nature of growth: it isn’t just about strategy, sales, or scaling—it’s about who you are becoming along the way. The patience you practice in your personal life builds resilience for the inevitable setbacks in business. The mindset you bring to relationships, health, and learning shapes how you lead, market, and create. Growth in business and growth in life are not separate journeys—they’re threads of the same fabric, and the stronger one is, the stronger the other becomes.

Roots Before Results: Why Foundations Matter in Business Growth

Just like a seed focuses on roots before leaves, businesses need unseen groundwork first. The planning, the learning, the systems—none of it may be visible from the outside, but it’s what holds everything together later. Quiet seasons are not wasted seasons; they’re the preparation for what’s to come.

I’m reminded of when I first planted butterfly pea vines in my garden. For weeks, I saw nothing but bare soil. I watered, I waited, and I wondered if anything was even happening. But underground, roots were spreading, and when the first shoots finally broke through, they grew fast and strong. That patience in the early days made all the difference.

The same is true in business. The invisible work—creating processes, understanding your target market, building your personal brand—often determines the strength of the results people eventually see. When new entrepreneurs skip this stage, they risk building on shaky ground. Patience ensures your roots can hold the weight of future success.

Personal Growth Fuels Business Growth

Your business will only grow as much as you do. This is where a growth mindset in personal life connects directly to entrepreneurship. Resilience, adaptability, and patience aren’t just buzzwords—they show up in how you make decisions, handle stress, and lead others.

When you invest in your personal development—learning new skills, taking care of your health, or nurturing relationships—you’re also investing in the long-term health of your business. Entrepreneurs who neglect their own growth often find themselves overwhelmed, reactive, and stuck. But those who see personal growth as part of their business strategy create stronger, more sustainable companies.

Think of it this way: every time you read a book, join a course, or step outside your comfort zone, you’re feeding both your personal growth and your business resilience. The two cannot be separated.

Embrace the Pace: Slow Progress Is Still Progress

One of the biggest frustrations for entrepreneurs is the pace of growth. We live in a world that celebrates overnight success stories, but the reality is that most of those “overnight” wins were years in the making.

Growth is rarely a straight line. There will be bursts of momentum and periods of stillness. Slow progress does not mean failure—it often means sustainability. It’s in the steady pace where strong habits are built and burnout is avoided.

I often remind myself that slow doesn’t mean stuck. In the garden, overwatering or forcing growth can damage a plant. In business, rushing can lead to sloppy decisions, burnout, or missed opportunities. By embracing the natural pace of growth, you allow your business—and yourself—to thrive.

Lessons from Setbacks: Patience as a Tool for Resilience

Storms test a garden, and challenges test an entrepreneur. Every setback is a chance to build resilience and learn what doesn’t work. Patience gives you the ability to view challenges not as dead ends but as opportunities to replant, redirect, and grow stronger.

I’ll never forget the season a storm scattered my carefully planted seeds and toppled young seedlings. At first, it felt like all my effort was wasted. But replanting taught me two things: how to prepare better for the future, and that even setbacks can produce unexpected strength.

The same applies in business. A failed product launch, a lost client, or a dip in sales can feel devastating in the moment. But each of these experiences adds knowledge, perspective, and grit. What feels like a loss today often becomes tomorrow’s wisdom.

Celebrate Small Sprouts: Why Every Win Matters

Just as gardeners celebrate the first green shoot breaking through the soil, entrepreneurs should celebrate small wins. Landing a first client, finishing a tough project, or improving a process may seem minor, but these are signs of progress.

Celebrating milestones matters because it reminds you that patience pays off. It shifts your focus from what hasn’t happened yet to the progress you’ve already made. These moments keep motivation alive and build the momentum needed for bigger breakthroughs.

Think of small wins as your business’s way of saying: keep going—the roots are working.

Closing Thought: Growth Is Happening, Even If You Can’t See It

Growth in business and in life is never about instant results—it’s about steady, intentional progress. Just as a seed needs time underground before it blooms, your journey requires patience, trust, and a commitment to growing both yourself and your business.

So when you feel discouraged, remember: every root you’re putting down now is preparing you for the season when your efforts finally break through the surface. Keep watering your vision, keep nurturing your mindset, and trust that growth is happening—even if you can’t see it yet.

Call-to-Action

I’d love to hear your story—how has patience shaped your journey, either in business or in life? Share your experiences in the comments; your perspective may encourage someone else who’s just starting out.

And if you want to dive deeper into the lessons I’ve learned from the garden and how they connect to building a business, check out my book, From Soil to Strategy, now available on Amazon.

The Power of a Name: How I Learned to Set Boundaries with Grace

I used to think correcting someone about my name was too small to matter.

Then it kept happening.

Even when my email signature clearly said FirstName LastName, people would respond to me using only my last name. At first, I brushed it off. But each time it happened, a quiet tension settled in—like part of me had gone unseen.

Growing up, I noticed something: people didn’t always use others’ real names, especially in my community. Sometimes it seemed harmless, but often it felt like a way to shrink someone—like their identity wasn’t worth the effort. I decided early on that I wanted my name to be respected. I never had a nickname, not because I didn’t like them, but because I wanted to be fully seen.

I realized what bothered me wasn’t just the word—it was the message underneath it: you’re not paying attention to who I am.

Coming from Brooklyn, I’ve always been comfortable being direct. It’s in my DNA to be clear and straightforward. But that clarity—especially as a woman—has sometimes been labeled as “harsh.” So when I decided to speak up, I found myself caught between two fears: sounding too sharp… or staying silent and feeling invisible.

That moment became a turning point.

Why Names Matter More Than We Think

Our names are more than labels—they’re living pieces of our identity. When someone uses them correctly, it says I see you. I respect you. I care enough to get it right.

When they don’t, especially after being corrected, it chips away at belonging. It can make even the most confident among us feel small, like we have to shrink to be received.

And that’s when I knew: correcting someone about my name wasn’t nitpicking. It was protecting something sacred.

From Friction to Empowerment

I created what I now call the Name-Correction Empowerment Toolkit—a resource to help me (and now others) set boundaries around our names with both clarity and grace.

It includes:

• ✍🏽 Polished response templates for professional settings

• 💬 Warm one-liners for quick chats and emails

• 🚨 Escalation scripts for repeated issues

• 🌿 Internal grounding phrases, affirmations, and reflection prompts

Because here’s what I learned: clarity isn’t conflict—it’s care.

Correcting someone about your name doesn’t mean you’re being harsh. It means you respect yourself enough to ask others to do the same.

What This Journey Taught Me

Creating this toolkit taught me something profound: every time I stand up for my name, I’m reminding myself that I deserve to be seen fully.

And every time someone adjusts and starts using it correctly? It feels like they’re saying, “I see you now.”

That small shift carries a quiet kind of power.

For You

If you’ve ever had to correct someone about your name—and felt nervous, guilty, or unsure—you’re not alone.

And if you’ve ever stayed silent and felt invisible, you’re not alone either.

You deserve to be addressed as you.

So here’s my reminder to you (and to myself):

Your name is part of your power. You have every right to protect it.

If you’d like to explore the Name-Correction Empowerment Toolkit I created, I’d be happy to share it with you. Let’s normalize respect, one name at a time.

A Final Thought

This experience reminded me that empowerment isn’t always about bold leaps—it’s often about the quiet, consistent ways we honor ourselves. Speaking up for my name was one of those ways. It taught me that clarity can be compassionate, boundaries can be graceful, and even small acts of self-respect can ripple outward to inspire others.

That’s the heart of my journey: creating space where people feel seen, valued, and encouraged to stand in their full power—starting with something as simple and as sacred as a name.

Author’s Note

Sheridan Gary is a writer, strategist, and advocate for authentic connection. She created the Name-Correction Empowerment Toolkit to help others set boundaries with clarity, compassion, and confidence.

Explore the toolkit [here]

Rooted Leadership: How Gardening Builds Sustainable Organizations

The Hidden Roots of Strong Leadership

In gardening, the roots are hidden beneath the surface, quietly anchoring plants and drawing in the nourishment that sustains visible growth. Leadership works the same way. The strongest organizations don’t thrive because of what’s immediately visible—the flashy projects, rapid expansion, or quarterly wins. They thrive because of what’s happening beneath the surface: the systems, relationships, and culture that keep everything grounded.

This is what I call Rooted Leadership: a way of leading that prioritizes sustainability, resilience, and care. Just as a healthy garden requires soil preparation, patience, pruning, and celebration of the harvest, sustainable organizations are built through leaders who cultivate conditions for long-term growth.

Soil Matters: Creating the Right Environment for Teams

Every plant needs soil rich with nutrients to grow strong. The same is true for teams. Leaders create “soil” when they shape the conditions that allow people to thrive: psychological safety, resources, and clarity of purpose.

Without healthy soil, even the most promising seeds struggle. Similarly, without the right environment, talent and ideas remain stunted. Rooted Leadership asks: Am I creating conditions where people can take root and grow?

Planting and Patience: Nurturing Growth Over Time

Gardeners know that seeds don’t sprout overnight. It takes time, care, and consistency to see results. Leadership is no different. Too often, organizations chase quick wins instead of investing in steady, sustainable progress.

Rooted leaders nurture potential with patience. They understand that growth takes time and that consistent care—coaching, feedback, recognition—is what transforms small beginnings into lasting impact.

Pruning with Purpose: Removing Obstacles to Flourish

A thriving garden requires pruning—removing what no longer serves growth. In organizations, this means letting go of outdated processes, unhealthy behaviors, or even projects that drain energy without adding value.

Pruning isn’t about cutting for the sake of cutting; it’s about making space for what truly matters. Rooted Leadership requires the courage to remove obstacles so that people and ideas can flourish.

Harvest Season: Celebrating Milestones and Sustaining Momentum

Every gardener knows the joy of harvest season—the reward for months of unseen labor. Leaders, too, must recognize and celebrate milestones. Harvest moments are opportunities to pause, reflect, and honor collective effort.

But harvest isn’t the end; it’s part of the cycle. Rooted leaders use celebrations to sustain momentum, prepare for the next season, and ensure the organization continues to grow stronger year after year.

Leading Like a Gardener

Gardening reminds us that sustainable growth doesn’t come from force—it comes from nurture. Leaders who embrace Rooted Leadership cultivate organizations that are resilient, adaptable, and deeply connected.

Whether you’re guiding a startup, leading a team, or steering a large organization, the question remains the same: What are you planting, and how are you tending it?

✨ This piece is part of my ongoing exploration of leadership and growth through the lens of gardening. To dive deeper, follow my blog or read my latest book, From Soil to Strategy.