I spent two years in a deep state of grief, but strangely, I hadn’t "lost" anything.

My loved ones were healthy, I had a job I enjoyed, and I was in a long-term relationship. By all accounts, I was living a beautiful life.

But inside, I was miserable.

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Every few months, I would spiral into the same painful thoughts and emotions. I’d wander the streets at night searching for answers, burst into tears in coffee shops, and low-key blame everyone around me. But I couldn’t understand where these feelings were coming from. On paper, my life looked great, yet I was denying myself the truth: I was deeply unsatisfied.

At the time, I worked on a farm, a job I adored. I’d start each morning with cacao, make the scenic drive to the island, and spend my day barefoot in a flower field. It was romantic—yet exhausting. Everything was done by hand: breaking ground, planting seeds, pulling weeds, hauling endless buckets.

As any farmer knows, margins are tight. I have a newfound respect for the industry, but that didn’t change the fact that I was barely scraping by. The farm prioritized our well-being, paying us more than most other farms, but I still struggled to afford basic needs. In my heart, I knew I needed to find a better-paying job, even if it meant leaving behind something I loved. What’s not romantic is being underfed.

At the same time, I was in a long-term situationship turned relationship. We loved each other, and everything was easy—no pressure, lots of laughter, and great adventures together. Yet something was missing at a core level. I spent years debating whether to stay or leave, knowing deep down it wasn’t right, no matter how much I cared for him.

The solution seems obvious, right? Leave the job, leave the man. But if you’ve ever been a people-pleasing, trauma-bonded, scarcity-driven soul, you know it’s never that simple.

Consciously, I knew there were better opportunities and relationships out there. But “doing the work” means confronting the unconscious beliefs that keep you stuck. Even though I saw clearly, I wasn't ready to let go of my old patterns.

Oh- did I mention it was my Saturn Return. Makes sense, right?

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Still, I kept denying my truth, clinging to a life that wasn’t bringing me the pleasure I craved. The grief would return in waves, leaving me inconsolable. No affirmations or meditations could pull me out. And then, Rosemary came to me.

During every depressive episode, Rosemary showed up—on my walks through the neighborhood, in parks, even in a school yard. One day, I found myself hugging a Rosemary bush behind this school building, collapsing into her in dramatic grief, only to look up and see the security camera pointed right at me. (Still praying that footage never ends up online.)

As embarrassing as it was, that’s where I was—completely lost. And Rosemary held me.

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After many encounters, I began to research Rosemary’s folklore. I found the biblical story about the Virgin Mary fleeing to Egypt. She found refuge under a Rosemary bush. In that moment, I saw the symbolism: Mary, filled with grief, leaving her home for the unknown. I, too, was stuck between what I had known and the uncertainty of where I was going.

For months, I repressed my grief, which only prolonged the pain. But Rosemary guided me back to myself. I began burning Rosemary to clear my space and spirit, drinking it as tea, and meditating with her. Rosemary taught me that just as she clears stagnation and stimulates the body, she also clears the mind and spirit of grief. She helps us release our tears so we can regain clarity.

Rosemary's wisdom is tied to the womb—the sacred vessel of creation. Just as the womb nourishes and holds us, Rosemary nurtures our emotional process, helping us mother ourselves through grief. She teaches us to hold ourselves in unconditional love, like a mother soothing a crying child, guiding us to let go and embrace the healing power of presence.

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Eventually, I claimed my truth and with the support of Rosemary I expressed it to the world. I left the job, left the guy- still having so much reverance for the lessons I learned with both.

I realized how grief can trap us in excessive yin energy, drowning us in emotion. I learned that Rosemary brings fire—she stirs the circulation, warms the body, and moves energy. She helps us face our emotions fully, allowing them to transform. And once we’ve felt everything, she brings us back to ourselves.

Yes, grief is a heavy, and often a cyclical experience. But Rosemary teaches us that we can’t avoid or suppress it forever—it will surface. By allowing ourselves to fully feel and release our grief, we can clear our minds, return to ourselves, and move forward with clarity. Rosemary is the divine mother in plant form, nurturing us through the process of release and renewal. If you find yourself lost in grief, trust that Rosemary can help you reconnect with your inner fire and remember who you are.

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