The First Green Shoots: Why Recovery Feels Like Spring in Memphis
Recovery sometimes feels like springtime in Memphis.
This is one of the first places I’ve (Joanna) lived where spring feels like a true transition—from the cold, gray, lifelessness of winter into something vivid, alive, and full of hope. The shift doesn’t happen all at once. It creeps in gently, a little more light in the evening, a slight warmth in the breeze, and then—suddenly—you see it: green.
I remember walking outside just a few weeks ago and spotting tiny green shoots on a plant I had long since written off as dead. It had been nothing but bare sticks for months. I had mentally added it to the compost pile, assuming it wouldn’t make it through the winter. But there it was—life. The excitement welled up inside me, and I almost jumped for joy. It’s alive. It’s alive! I couldn’t believe it.
And yet, I didn’t want it to stop there. I didn’t want a whole season of bare sticks with just a few tiny leaves clinging on. That would’ve been disappointing. No, I wanted more. I wanted the full, lush bloom of summer. But those first signs of growth? They were deeply meaningful. They were enough to give me hope.
In our work with couples healing from betrayal, we’ve seen that recovery often follows this same pattern. The relationship feels dead—cold, gray, brittle. It can feel impossible to believe that anything living could come from the devastation of broken trust. And when we imagine healing, we tend to leap ahead in our minds to the “after picture”—a vibrant, renewed, fully restored relationship, thriving and whole.
But what we often overlook is the sacredness of the first green shoots.
That first vulnerable conversation where one partner opens up and the other truly listens.
The first shared laugh after weeks of pain.
The first night they sit side-by-side without tension humming in the silence.
The first time forgiveness feels possible.
These moments might seem small, even insignificant when measured against the goal of full healing. But they matter more than we think. They are the proof that life is still there. And they’re not just symbolic—they’re energizing. They remind us that recovery isn’t a single leap, but a thousand small movements toward each other.
If we only measure success by the full bloom, we’ll miss the encouragement of early growth. We’ll miss the very thing that keeps us going. But when we learn to recognize and celebrate the signs of life, even if they’re just tiny leaves on bare branches, we cultivate hope. And hope is the fuel that keeps the healing going.
So if you're in that place of early recovery—still unsure, still hurting, but seeing the smallest signs of new life—let yourself feel the joy. Let yourself believe that maybe it’s not dead after all. And know that it’s okay to be both excited and still longing for more. The fullness of spring will come, but the first green shoots are worth celebrating all on their own.
And as those first signs of life appear, here are a few gentle, practical steps you can take to nurture them:
Name what’s growing. When something shifts—however small—say it out loud. “It meant a lot to me that you stayed and talked last night,” or “I felt a little lighter after we laughed this morning.” Naming those moments helps anchor them in your shared awareness.
Make space for both grief and gratitude. Early recovery is often a mix of conflicting emotions. Let yourself feel them all. Journaling, quiet reflection, or even sharing with your partner, “I’m still hurting, but I also noticed something beautiful today,” can help hold the complexity without shutting it down.
Focus on connection, not perfection. You don’t need to fix everything at once. Instead, ask simple questions that foster closeness: What helped you feel safe today? What’s one thing I did that felt meaningful? These kinds of check-ins keep you attuned to the small ways you’re rebuilding trust.
Celebrate progress, however small. Did you have a calm conversation? Did you spend time together without rehashing pain? These are not minor moments—they are signs that healing is happening. Take a breath, acknowledge them, and let them count.
Be kind to your timeline. Just as spring doesn’t rush into summer, your recovery doesn’t have to rush to resolution. Some days will feel colder than others. That doesn’t mean you’re back at the beginning—it just means healing, like growth, has its own rhythm.
The early shoots of healing are not fragile—they’re resilient. They’ve pushed through the hard soil of heartbreak, and they carry within them the promise of more. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just need to keep showing up, gently tending what’s beginning to grow.
If you would like a partner in your journey of healing we would love to chat with you about what that might look like. You can set a call with our team HERE!