Blooming in the Cracks: Lessons From the Morning Glories I Never Planted

As we move toward spring — that liminal time when the soil softens and the world begins to stir — there’s a quiet magick happening beneath our feet. Seeds we dropped months ago without thinking, seeds carried by birds, seeds forgotten in the wind… all of them begin to wake.

Spring has a way of reminding us that not everything we plant is intentional, and not everything that grows is planned. Sometimes life blooms in the most unexpected places. And last year the morning glories in my backyard decided to teach me that lesson in the most dramatic way.

Here’s the funny part, I didn’t plant a single one of them. Not that year. Not the year before. Honestly, I had barely planted anything at all in a couple seasons at that point. The last few summers had been… well, a hot mess. Life had been loud, chaotic, unpredictable — the kind of seasons where even watering a plant felt like a heroic act.

And yet, nature didn’t seem to care.

My perennial daylilies came back without complaint. The tomato plants — bless Ohio soil — basically raised themselves. But it’s the morning glories that made me laugh every single day when I'd go out and deadhead them.

Because without fail, more and more seedlings keep popping up. Not just near the garden beds. Not just in the soil I tended three Ostaras ago. But in the cracks of concrete. In the forgotten corners. In places where other plants have tried and failed.

These little vines have a certain kind of confidence I aspire to — the audacity to bloom where no one expects them to, and the stubbornness to thrive in places that were never meant to hold them.

They didn’t wait for perfect conditions.

They didn’t ask for permission.

They didn’t need curated soil or a gardener with her life together.

They just… grew.

We Aren’t Meant to Stay Where We Started

It happened slowly, almost shyly — the way most truths return to us. I’d step outside in the morning, coffee in hand, and there they were again: the morning glories. Twisting themselves up the fence, curling through the cracks in the side of bricks, reaching for the sun with a confidence I envied.

And every day, they reminded me of something I forget far too often—we are not meant to stay where we were planted. We are not meant to remain in the same identity, the same mindset, the same chapter, the same soil. Life moves. We move. And sometimes the wind carries us farther than we ever expected — into new roles, new places, new versions of ourselves we didn’t even know we were growing into.

Watching these vines stretch themselves into impossible spaces, I realized how often I’ve tried to keep myself rooted in familiar ground. How often I’ve clung to old stories, old fears, old versions of myself simply because they felt safe. But the morning glories didn’t do that. They didn't bother themselves with past versions of their stories. They didn’t wait for permission or approval.

They just grew.

And the truth is, growth doesn’t always look intentional. Sometimes it looks like chaos.

Sometimes it looks like survival in the face of what tries to burden us. Sometimes it looks like blooming in a crack because that’s the only place the light could reach you.

But it’s still growth. It’s still becoming. It’s still magick.

These blue-belled flowers taught me that we don’t have to bloom in the places we started. That sometimes, it's better if we don't. That staying loyal to soil that no longer nourishes us is a discredit to our spirit. We don’t have to apologize for outgrowing the spaces that once felt like home.

We are allowed to stretch, to wander. We are allowed to take root in unexpected places.

And maybe — just maybe — the cracks we find ourselves in aren’t signs of failure, but invitations. Places where the sun finally touches us in ways that allows one to shine. Places where we learn how resilient we really truly are.

We Don’t Need Perfect Conditions to Bloom

If these morning glories have taught me anything, it was that perfect conditions to thrive is a myth. They bloomed without the right timing, without a gardener hovering over them with a plan. They didn’t wait for the right mindset or the version of themselves they thought others wanted before they dared to reach for the sun. They simply showed up — messy, persistent, instinctual — growing wherever they could, even if it was in dismay to the gardener nearby.

And watching them, I’m reminded that growth has never been about flawless circumstances. It’s about resilience. Instinct. It’s about that quiet, stubborn belief that you deserve to take up space, even in the places no one expected you to bloom.

Thriving Against the Odds

Those morning glories didn’t bloom because I tended them; they bloomed because they remembered how. And somewhere in that quiet, stubborn unfolding, I realized that we do too.

Even when life is chaotic. Even when we feel off‑track or far from where we thought we’d be. Even when we find ourselves growing in places we never expected, in seasons we didn’t choose, in soil that wasn’t part of the plan.

We are still allowed to thrive against the odds. We are still allowed to bloom in unlikely places. We are still allowed to take root in the cracks and call it holy ground. Because growth isn’t always graceful. Sometimes it’s wild. Sometimes it’s accidental. Defiant even. But it is always meaningful — a testament to the part of us that knows how to rise, even when nothing around us looks ideal.

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🌱 Witchcraft Journaling Prompt: Seeds in the Cracks

(Use this as an invitation, not an instruction.)

What parts of me are trying to grow right now, even in imperfect conditions?

Consider:

- What “seeds” have I dropped without realizing it?

- What unexpected sprouts are appearing in my life?

- Where am I blooming in places I never intended to plant myself?

- What does this growth say about who I’m becoming?

Let the answers rise like seedlings — quietly, naturally, without forcing them.

Growing in the cracks with you,

Tiffany